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Chapter 5
Tiffany gavethe airy bedroom another glance of approval.
The wood burning in the fireplace gave more than enough light for her to appreciate the lush surroundings. A large, wooden four-poster bed occupied center stage, adorned by a thick bedspread and a few soft pillows. A couple of nightstands and a reading corner with a nice chaise longue and a lamp completed the space.
She had grabbed a few personal items from her suitcase and placed them on the nightstand. After the shower, Santiago had gotten dressed and probably moved his things to the office. However, his scent still lingered. Masculine. Powerful. Down girl. You’re helping him. That’s it.
As much as he tried to downplay it, she had seen his face tightening with pain. And now, by giving him a massage, in a strange way it seemed she opened yet another door for the redemption she dreamed of for so long.
She had told him to wait in the hall while she gave the room the finishing touches.
She opened the door. “You can come in. Undress to your comfort level and cover yourself with a sheet. Then lay face down and relax. I’ll be back in a moment,” she told him, and flashed him a smile she hoped made the situation a lot less awkward. He gave her a glance, before nodding and entering the room.
When the door closed behind her, she used her flashlight to guide her way to the end of the hall, and checked on the cat. She decided to call her Louise, like the lake, until she found the pet’s owner.
Louise curled up on the sofa, still wrapped in the towels she’d given her. The water bottles she’d warmed on the stove helped, too. Poor thing. She could have died.
“Wish me luck, Louise. I may have oversold my massaging skills,” she whispered to the cat, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
Louise leaned into her caress and purred lazily.
“Stop it. You’re just saying this because I saved your life.”
She stood, and sucked in a breath. It had been her idea, so why the fear? Because he will be sprawled on a big bed. Many miles from any other human being. If we have sex again, no one will ever know. Her devilish alter ego encouraged her, but she shook her head. He ached, and she would give him a hand—no pun intended.
Standing in front of the door, she knocked, adamant she would make this as professional as possible. Go away, dirty thoughts. She heard him saying something, probably a “come in”. Her heart thumped so loud it was hard to distinguish the other sounds.
The logs burning in the fireplace, plus the candles she had lit earlier gave the room a romantic vibe. The intimate lighting outlined his body, and as she walked closer and grabbed the body lotion she had set on the nightstand before, her throat thickened. Wow.
Santiago never played American football, but he had the ass of a quarterback. His shoulders were broad, masculine and his weight indented the bedspread. Even though a flowery sheet covered his lower back, there was no ignoring his muscular thighs. She’d seen a glimpse of them when he stroked himself in the shower. A warm sensation coiled into her stomach, and she squeezed a generous amount of lotion on her palm. Focus, Tiffany.
He had his head to the other side, where she couldn’t see him. Better this way.
“Take a couple of deep breaths,” she said, and for a second she could have believed she worked at a world-renowned hotel and he had the body of a hairy old man. Ah. Wouldn’t life be simpler that way?
He followed her order, without saying anything. Santiago didn’t chatter away when he wasn’t in pain, what made her believe he’d be all talkative when he ached? Small talk would help lessen some of the tension building within her.
The moment her hands touched his warm flesh, a tingle traveled up her arm. She tried to ignore it, after all this was all about making him feel better.
When Patricia had died, he had refused to talk to her—to let her explain, although what did she really have to say? We fought in the car because I found her drinking when she was pregnant. Besides, I didn’t want her to trick you into thinking she carried your child. I lost control of the vehicle in the rain. She and the baby died.
“What slimy oil did you just pour on me?” he asked, jerking her out of her thoughts.
She bit back a smile. “It’s Strawberry Delight. A body lotion.”
He groaned. “Smells like I’m being smothered in red goo.”
“There are worse things that could happen to you,” she said playfully. His shoulders tensed, and she focused on loosening the knots. He always had been athletic and chiseled, and after the doctors cleared him, he had gone back to training immediately. Well, it paid off. She applied more pressure on his shoulder blades, and he growled. Is he relieved, or displeased?
He sighed. “At least the awful smell is distracting me from the pain.”
“Why does it hurt? Have you done any different exercise lately to strain it?”
“I’ve had a couple skiing lessons. I’ve come here to learn from the best instructor for lower limb amputees.”
“Excelling at all the other sports isn’t enough? You need to learn how to ski, too?” she asked while she slid her hands down his smooth back. How easy to get distracted by the hard ridges of his body, and his hot skin compared to the cool lotion she applied. “I remember when we met. You played soccer,” she said, remembering when her father had brought her to the park to meet her stepmother and step-brother-to-be.
“It was amateur, but I was good.”
