Page 53 of Playing Mr. Perfect

He manages to cock a brow. “Too bad. I was hoping you’d become a fan today.”

“I am, of you, but you don’t have to impress me with your virility. The lights at the show must have wreaked havoc with your head.”

“It was fine.”

“Why are you so stubborn? We’ve established that you’re not fine, and I’m just pointing out a fact. I wish you’d told me that you weren’t feeling well. We could’ve left early, or skipped it altogether.”

“I’d never disappoint you like that. It’s really not a big deal. I’ll be fine.” He slides an arm around me.

I’m touched by his efforts, but now that I’m looking for it, the tension in his face and body is inescapable. All I want is to take that pain away, and the way he’s acting makes me wonder if anyone has ever cut him a break and let him bring less than his A game. The thought of that makes my heart hurt.

“Let’s make a deal.” I put my hands on his chest and slide them up to his shoulders, rubbing gently. “You forget about having sex tonight and lie down, and I’ll take care of you.”

His brows knit. “That’s a sucky deal for you.”

“It’s a better deal than you know. It’s hands-on research. I’ve been working on a new pressure point device to alleviate migraines.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have, and if you lie down, I’ll tell you about it.”

He gathers me in his arms, speaking low, the way people with migraines do when the pain becomes overwhelming. “Sex is not off the table, but I’m not about to turn down your hands on me.” He presses his lips to mine and gives my ass a squeeze. “How about we get this dress off.”

I move his hands from my butt to my waist. “Getting your blood pressure up isn’t going to help your migraine.”

“Touching you will help.”

“Clay…”

Several negotiations later, I convince him to lie down. I wash off my makeup, brush my teeth, and change into my silk sleeping pants and matching cami. He’s lying on the bed in his black boxer briefs when I come out of the bathroom carrying a bottle of lotion. His arm is draped over his eyes, the blanket and flat sheet bunched up at the foot of the bed. He has definitely awakened something carnal in me, because as I drink in his broad, muscular body, and the bulge between his thick thighs, a sexual hunger takes hold.

He’s lying so still, I’m pretty sure he’s fallen asleep, so I crawl carefully onto the bed, trying not to wake him.

He reaches for me, his eyelids heavy, his lips curving up despite the pain written all over his face. “Aren’t you a sexy sight for sore eyes?”

The strain in his voice underscores that pain, and the hunger I felt morphs into a bone-deep desire to ease his discomfort. I’ve never been a caretaker like Amber and Grace, who always seem to know exactly how to help people feel better. But it feels natural, as if I have always been one, as I run my fingers through his hair and say, “Thank you. How about you tell me where you hurt?”

He gives a half-hearted eyebrow waggle, his hand resting on my hip.

“I doubt that hurts. Come on. Let me help you.” I trail my fingers over his shoulder. “I know your neck and shoulders hurt, but tell me about the migraine. Is the pain in one area, like your temples? One side? Or…?”

“I don’t know. It hurts everywhere.”

My heart squeezes. “Okay. There are several pressure points that might help, but why don’t I try to ease some of the tension in your shoulders and neck first? Can you turn over?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind doing this?” he asks as he turns over, and I can see that even that motion is hurting him.

“It is a chore to touch you,” I tease, moving closer, tucking my legs beneath me. “But I guess I can deal with it.” I pour lotion into my hand, warming it between them, and begin massaging his shoulders. His muscles are so tight, I wonder how much of his pain is caused by the insurmountable pressure he’s under with his career. “Wow, you’re all knotted up.”

“I’ve got a beautiful woman touching me and telling me not to touch her. Of course I am.”

I don’t want him to continue trying to keep up the charade, so I don’t respond, and apply pressure, kneading the knots with my thumbs. He winces. “Sorry. Are you always this tense?”

“Not when I’m buried deep inside you.”

“Nice try.” I apply more pressure, kneading and massaging, working my way across his shoulders and up the back of his neck.

“That feels incredible.” He’s quiet for a minute. “You can straddle my hips if it’ll help with leverage.”