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She tapped his back. “Yes. You had on a dirty jersey with the flag of Spain on it.” How could she ever forget? They were supposed to all go to lunch together, and Dad had insisted in meeting up at soccer practice.
“And you asked me what that was,” he said.
He still remembered? As a hormonal teenager, especially one who had never seen a man so beautiful, she had asked the first idiotic question that came to mind. “I knew it was the Spanish flag. I just couldn’t see under the dirt.”
“Sure,” he said.
“I went to college, you know? I have a good job. I’m not a failure,” she said, and hated herself for how defensive she sounded. Her hands stopped massaging him, and she took a deep breath. Don’t screw this up, Tiffany.
He turned his head in her direction, and slanted her a look. “I know, Tiffany.”
She chewed her lower lip. Should she just agree or lay it all on the table? Hell, what did she have to lose? If they were getting along, why not ask him the question bugging her all those years. “Ever since we met you never tried to get to know me.”
A long sigh escaped his lips. Evidence he didn’t want this kind of conversation. But, damn it. The man wore no clothes, and at her mercy which made it the perfect time to take advantage and talk.
“I know enough.”
She chuckled. “Really? Like what?”
Swiftly, he propped his elbow on the mattress, and cocked his head so his eyes fell on hers. “You like all vegetables but onions. You must have some weird, unjustifiable self-consciousness about your legs, because you’re wearing jeans or long dresses every time I see you. Orange is your favorite color, but you hate the fruit. And a part of you wishes the owner of Louise never shows up so you can take her to New York with you.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she drew back. When she reached her teens, her mother kept telling her how hiding her thunder thighs was the solution for not having a thigh gap like the older girls at her private school. How did he know all this? From her Facebook account? No. He had never accepted her friend request. She kept gazing at him. “I-I’m going to hold the sheet up, and you can turn around all the way.”
He followed her order, and she adjusted the blanket. He’d chosen to keep the prosthesis on his left leg.
“Your leg.” She cleared her throat. “Would you like me to—
“No,” he said in a rush. “Leave my prosthesis alone.”
She imagined he would be more comfortable without the prosthesis, but decided not to stress him out. “How is the pressure? Can I go deeper? Or is it too much?”
“You’re not too much,” he said, his voice a bit strained.
She carefully pushed the sheet off his leg, still covering his privates but giving her more room to work. She focused her attention on the right side of his hips; even though his hips were narrow, they were also muscular and sexy. She made circles and her hands moved over his skin.
You’re not too much. Was it a Freudian slip? She had asked him about the pressure. She kneaded his skin, making an effort not to look his way. She didn’t need to turn her head to feel his gaze watching her every move.
She should have added a playlist. Some new age music or rainforest sounds could dispel the tension. But because of the lack of electricity, she needed to keep whatever remaining battery she had on her cell in case of an emergency. God. Her breathing became heavy, even though she wasn’t doing anything strenous. Thank goodness she had on the lotion, otherwise he would have felt her sweaty palms and that’d have been humiliating.
She focused on loosening the tension in his muscles, and relaxing him. But, as she tried to look ahead to keep from looking directly at him, a bulge caught her attention.
Oh God. No. A rock hard erection lifted the soft sheet. She bit the inside of her cheek. What was she supposed to do? Well. What she wanted to do and what she was about to do were two very, very different things.
Ignoring it was ideal. This isn’t about me. He reacted in a perfectly normal way to a woman’s touch. So what? He’d masturbate like he had earlier in the shower. Or call someone when he got back to New York, or wherever he went after this trip.
Although… she leaned forward, entranced by the solid member. Her lips parted, her mouth hanging open like she gawked at some world-class dessert.
Food. Yes. Food was the answer. She’d revisit the pie in the kitchen, take the whole thing to bed with her. Stuff her flustered face later while laying on the same bed he laid on now. Forget about reading herself to sleep. She would be eating herself to sleep. Maybe both.
She pushed down the lump in her dry throat. Shit. None of this went as planned.
“Tiffany,” he said, and each tiny hair on the back of her neck stood on end, sizzling with awareness. Like the rest of her.
She peered at him. His eyes were two sparkly black cannons, targeting her and ready to shoot. She licked her lip, but couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. Silver specks shone around his irises, and the contour of his handsome face tensed up.
“Suck my cock.”
