Page 28 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

My hands stop.

Rocco’s head lifts slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

I center myself before touching him again. Whatever I felt belongs to him, and he expressly denied permission for me to interpret his reactions. A fragment is not an invitation.

“The tissue released more quickly than I expected,” I say.

“You stopped touching me.”

“I’m adjusting my position.”

It is not precisely a lie, but it is close enough to trouble me.

I move to his side and resume with lighter pressure. Rocco remains alert now. The fragile relaxation has withdrawn, but he does not tell me to stop.

My hands travel across the muscles beside his shoulder blade. Beneath the injury, I feel something deeper than physical guarding. His body has learned that safety is temporary and vigilance is survival. Even here, face down and nearly relaxed, some part of him remains prepared for impact. The observation rises to my lips before I can contain it.

“Your body has forgotten how to believe the danger is over.”

Rocco goes perfectly still. I close my eyes. So much for no energy commentary.

“Where did that come from?” he asks.

“I’m sorry. I agreed not to comment on your energy.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was an observation.”

“Based on what?”

“The way you hold yourself. The way your muscles respond before I apply pressure. You remain braced even when nothing is happening.”

“That sounds physical.”

“Physical and emotional responses aren’t always separate.”

His right hand moves from beside the table. I reach for the folded towel near his arm at the same moment. Rocco’s fingers close around my wrist.

His grip is fast, firm, and entirely instinctive. I don’t pull away.

“Rocco.”

He releases me immediately and pushes himself halfway upright, dragging the sheet higher around his waist. His eyes are no longer tired. They are sharp, focused, and fixed on the place where his hand held me.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Let me see.”

“I’m fine.”

“Loralee.”