She lifted her brows, tilted her head in consideration, then nodded. “Probably right.”
“And travel,” he said, his gaze on the screen as he sipped from his cocoa, then licked the whipped cream from his lip. The sight shot a stab of lust between her legs—right where she’d like to feel that tongue. “On my own, I mean. I’ve traveled some for boarding, but I’m always too busy to really see the places I go.”
She put down the reports and gave him her full attention, intrigued. “Where would you go?”
He lifted his head and stared at the wall, gaze distant. “Central America. Africa. I’d like to spend more time in Europe.”
God, he was good-looking with that thoughtful expression. His features were chiseled but softened around the edges. His skin was tan, his jaw strong and square, his nose straight and perfectly balanced for his face. Even the little bump near the bridge added something sexy to the overall effect. And that mouth… He’d taste like chocolate now. Warm, wet chocolate…
“So?” His question dragged her back from the fantasy of tasting him, and he looked at her now with a knowing glint in his eye, as if he too felt the attraction between them. “How much time do I have to schedule all this?”
“According to these”—she glanced down at the reports—“quite some time. Can I see the images?”
He set down his mug and pushed from the table. With a twist, he dropped onto the sofa beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and slid the computer halfway onto her lap, letting the other half rest on his thigh. “Tell me what these things mean.”
His weight dipped the cushions, pulling her into him until the sides of their bodies pressed—shoulders, biceps, hips, thighs. And Julia really, really didn’t need to feel all that heat and muscle so close. Plus, the little buzz zinging through her body made her too relaxed. It had been a long damn time since she’d been exposed to this kind of body so intimately. She was really beginning to crave more.
She forced herself to focus on the scans and paged through the images, explaining what area of his leg and foot they were looking at and pointing out the various anatomical structures. “What’s weird is nothing here looks near as bad as it does now.” She angled toward him. “Scoot back and take off your sock.”
“Only if you’re not going to wig out on me and get all bitchy again. I like you a lot better happy.”
She pointed toward the floor. “Take it off.”
He grinned. “Okay, I sorta like your demanding side too.” He set the laptop on the table, drew his foot up onto the sofa, and pulled off his sock. “I also wish you were talking about more than just my sock.”
“I am. Take off the other one too. I want to compare.”
“Whoa, don’t get crazy on me now.”
When he’d stretched his legs out along the sofa, his feet toward Julia, she sat sideways and pushed his jeans up his shins, then ran her hands over every surface of his lower leg and foot, taking in the variances, probing the ligaments and tendons, testing the muscle. Shaking her head, she reached over to the computer and scrolled through the images, comparing the same locations there to what was currently under her hand. “Two weeks ago, you had barely any swelling. What the hell happened?”
“Last night happened.”
She glanced up and found his elbow on the back of the sofa, his head resting against his hand, a frown darkening his face. “I haven’t had a drink in four months. Then one of my buddies switches my tonic and lime for tonic and vodka. I think, hell, what will a couple of drinks hurt? Before I know it, I’m six drinks in and plastered, by which time nothing matters. Which is how I came by Samantha. Whom I didn’t sleep with, by the way.” His gaze lifted to meet hers deliberately. “Not that it matters to you, but I feel really shitty having you walk in on that this morning, thinking the worst of me. Now, if you’d met me six months ago, yeah, you could think the worst, and it would have been accurate. But not last night. That was a screwup. And this is what I get for it.”
She held up a hand. “Hey, relax. I’m not on the ethics committee. Hell, I’m not even your therapist. You don’t
have to explain anything to me. You’re an attractive, successful, rich, single guy doing what attractive, successful, rich, single guys do. It’s not a crime.”
But it was a reminder of why she shouldn’t be lusting after him. He was exactly the kind of guy who’d dug her last professional grave. And her personal one too. She didn’t need a third strike.
“Anyway, back to your foot, since it’s all about you.” She refocused on his ankle and did a little more touchy-feely work. “You’ve got a shit ton of scar tissue all along your malleolus and through the joint…”
“Shit ton. That’s highly technical language.”
“Three out of the five ligaments that stabilize your ankle are spongy, and you’ve got a couple of thin spots in the retinaculum.”
“English?” he said, then added, “But don’t stop touching me. That feels really good.”
His words kicked off a flurry of tingles low in her body, and her thoughts flipped from medical to personal. She forced them aside.
“That means that while it looks like your bone is healing here”—she pointed to the images—“it feels like your ligaments, tendons, and cartilage are still damaged in various places. Those often take longer to heal than bone. But you also lost a chunk of your talus, and I don’t know all that much about the calcium phosphate screw and cement your orthopedic surgeon used to put your ankle back together, so I don’t know how long that would take to set or regenerate new bone. But all in all, if this swelling is due to a night off the wagon, you’re in better shape than I initially thought.”
“See.” His face lit up in a smile so stunning it stole her breath. “I told you I was making progress.”
She smiled and tempered her voice when she said, “Maybe, but you’re still a very long way from X Game material.”
“Ouch.” His face turned dark just as his phone rang from his back pocket. Noah hung his head on a groaned “Leave me alone.” But he still dragged it from his pocket and answered. “Yeah.”