Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
That said, when my gaze moved over Rowe’s body, the thoughts weren’t anywhere near as detached as I would have liked them to be.
See, all bodies might have been good bodies, but Rowe’s body was a perfect body. At least, perfect to my eyes right then. Better, even, than I’d fantasized about all those long, lonely nights when I would wake up aching for him.
Rowe was fit in a way that didn’t look like he was trying too hard. I knew from Malc that he’d been a lifelong biker and runner and hiker. He liked activities in nature that felt good, not being chained to some metal and plastic monstrosity at the gym for hours and hours. As such, he had a flat stomach and the hints of muscles, but not an outright six-pack.
His skin was golden, sun-kissed, and I couldn’t help but picture him taking a morning run with his shirt off, sweat glistening on his skin.
His chest and arms had slightly more defined muscles, evidence of some other sort of manual activity that I didn’t know about. Maybe he chopped wood like Malc did in the fall, stocking up his wood stores for the fireplace all winter long.
If you were wondering, yes, that did conjure up images of him splitting wood. And there was absolutely some primal pleasure at the idea of him doing that sort of manual labor to prepare for the winter.
Whether we liked it or not, there was still some instinctual part of us that were drawn to men who could hunt and gather and keep us warm and safe.
Rowe, apparently, could do all that.
“Oh, ouch,” I said, wincing at the stitches in his neck. From a bullet that had lodged in him. It looked rough then, I couldn’t imagine how awful it had looked when it was really fresh still. It would likely heal to a smooth, pink circle. Growing up in the family I had, old bullet wound scars were not entirely out of place or foreign to me.
“It’s not that bad,” he said. “It pulls because of the stitches, but it’s fine otherwise.”
“It’s a little pink,” I told him, pressing carefully at the sides to feel for warmth, a telltale sign of infection. “Make sure you’re keeping it clean. And don’t use anything like peroxide on it. It eats away at the healing skin. I can give you a little natural rinse, but use it sparingly until the stitches are out.”
“Sure, I’ll take it,” he agreed, sounding less than enthused, but I figured that he would at least use it once, which might be enough to get the worrisome pink to go away.
“Alright, your back,” I said, just barely resisting the urge to let my hand drift over his shoulder, then his arm, and around to his back as I moved behind him. “Oh, honey,” I said, my heart aching at the bruises covering his wide, strong back. They were almost in the shape of wings, but were in deep, awful shades of purple and blue with a little green and yellow at the edges.
I couldn’t seem to keep my hands to myself when I saw them, reaching out with gentle fingertips to glide over his skin.
And I swear a tremble moved through him at the touch.
“Ticklish?” I asked, having dealt with hundreds of people who squirmed when I first touched them until they relaxed enough for their heightened nerves to settle down.
“No.”
No.
Just no.
If I wasn’t completely mistaken, there had been a bit of a rough edge to his voice as well.
Almost like there would be if he was turned on.
No.
Nope.
I couldn’t let my mind go there. If it went there, I was going to get hopeful. There was nothing to be hopeful about.
Arousal was a common, impersonal reaction to physical touch for many people. Especially so for men. Hell, half of my massage clients got a chub when they got a massage. It was just a biological response.
I needed to focus.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I flattened my palm, gliding it down his spine, feeling the swelling at the small of it where he likely had his fractures.
“Have you been icing?” I asked.
“Here and there.”
“Can I put a salve on?”
“Sure. Is it one of your concoctions?” he asked.
“It is,” I told him. “You can buy a lot of natural-based ones in the store. And they work. But I think mine is just a little bit better.”
“What’s in it?”
“Well, a lot of things. It has heating ingredients like cinnamon, pepper, and ginger. Then it has cooling ingredients like menthol, peppermint, and camphor. So don’t be freaked out if it is hot or cool when it is applied, or if it jumps around with those sensations. On top of that, there is arnica and magnesium. And, finally, the little cherry on the pie of it all… there is some CBD. And I would be remiss if I didn’t suggest that if your pain meds aren’t working, you could consider smoking. Or edibles. If Dezi can’t get you some—and I can guarantee he can—then I can.”