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I sigh.
She goes to the closet and takes out the mirror and the massage oil.
Shit.
I’m suddenly not sure it’s a good idea to have her touch my body right now, but I don’t know how to broach the subject with her.
So I don’t.
It'll be fine. I’ll find a way to distract myself. I’ll think about the fights Tucker and I’ve watched recently.
She has me slide my shorts up to massage my right thigh. I’ve overworked it between rehab, a long workout with Tucker, and again tonight, after our kiss. My quad muscle is so tight, it’s painful.
She kneels over me, her palms gliding up my thigh. Her thick hair swings freely as she moves, and her coconut shampoo mingles with the light fragrance of her body wash. Her eyes drift closed the way they sometimes do when she’s massaging, like she’s communicating with my muscles, listening to what they need. Her hands work their magic, moving further up my thigh with each stroke.
And my lower brain perks up and starts to pay attention.
A lot of attention.
Shit.
Not now.
And I panic.
I grab her wrists and jerk her hands away before she can see my growing erection. “I don’t want a massage tonight,” I say quickly.
Too quickly.
She stares in confusion. We both know my muscle is so tense I could bounce quarters off it.
“Are you sure? Your quad feels pretty tight,” she says, her brow furrowed slightly.
I shake my head firmly, dropping my eyes. I can’t face her questioning gaze as I firmly decline again.
What am I supposed to say? Your touch is giving me a hard-on I could cut diamonds with?
Because that wouldn’t make things more awkward between us at all.
She swallows, then nods and climbs off the bed. She puts away her tools and goes to wash up in my bathroom. I hurriedly rearrange the covers over me, leaving enough messiness to disguise my arousal. Charlie stays in my bathroom longer than usual. When she comes out, she won’t look at me, and her face is flushed.
Dammit. I’ve hurt her feelings.
I don’t know how to undo it, either. I sure as hell can’t tell her the truth. Things are uncomfortable enough.
She climbs into the bed and lies next to me. She doesn’t make contact as she faces the door.
I have hurt her.
“Good night, Big Guy,” she says quietly.
“Good night, Baby Girl.”
Saying my pet name for her makes me remember calling her Baby Girl earlier tonight. Twice. Once before I kissed her, when I told her how beautiful she is to me – how beautiful she’s always been to me – and once, when I broke our kiss.
Our steamy kiss.
Her lush curves.
