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Then I thought about those thirty seconds when that same hand was gripping his denim-sheathed erection.

“For a massage,” I clarified, neck breaking out into a flush. “I used to give my Nana massages when I was younger. She said I had magic hands.”

Dammit. Nothing was coming out right.

Reed sucked in a breath, his jaw clenching tighter as his eyes closed for a beat. When they fluttered back open, he sent me a nod. “Yeah, sure.”

“Really?”

He didn’t reply to that. He wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to give him the chance to take it back. Climbing to both knees, I moved into his bubble as he pivoted slightly and provided me with his injured shoulder. We both looked across the room at Whitney when her snores amplified.

My exhale was shaky as I got into position and placed a palm near the crook of his neck.

He made a sound like a hiss.

I reeled back, worried I’d made it worse. “Shit. Sorry.”

“I’m good.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Said I’m good, Halley.” The words sounded gritty, like he was chewing on rocks.

I let out another breath and it whispered along the shell of his ear. I felt him shiver when I touched his shoulder again, curling my palm and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Right here?”

His chest heaved in and out as he fisted both knees in a white-knuckled grip. “Yeah.”

I pressed harder, maneuvering behind him for better access. My breasts coasted along the planes of his back, pebbling my nipples. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, I inched back and gnawed on my bottom lip as my hand worked him harder, fingertips gliding, the heel of my palm digging into the tender muscle.

He groaned.

The sound sent a shot of wetness straight to my underwear.

He leaned back into me, his breathing sounding unsteady as his eyes closed. The scent of him was intoxicating; amber and sun-warmed earth. I tried not to focus on how silky his hair looked and how I’d do anything to go back in time and graze my fingertips through it, if only for a second.

But I kept going, kept massaging, trailing my hand a little lower to selfishly feel the hard bulge of his bicep as it flexed beneath my touch. I imagined both of those arms on either side of me, caging me in, muscles straining as he hovered over me, hips moving, forehead cased in a sheen of sweat as he panted and moaned.

I squeaked out a whimper, then covered it with a cough.

My hand journeyed back up to the correct spot and continued to knead. “Is this okay?”

He nodded once, his hands still clamped around both knees.

I continued, pressing forward, my chest to his back. Soft curves to hard muscle. His body heat infiltrated me, staining my skin with blotches of pink to match the cast that had been cut off me.

As I worked him, my thumb burrowing deeper, he made another soft groaning sound and tilted his head toward me. His lashes fluttered, irises glazed over. Our eyes hooked and held, a surge of electric smoke and unsaid words funneling between us.

My lips parted to say something.

He glanced at them.

Then Whitney shifted on the couch and the TV remote tumbled to the floor.

I jolted away, my heart pounding.

Reed jumped to his feet.

I fell back on my haunches with wide eyes as I stared up at him, my heartbeats ricocheting and limbs quivering as I pressed my hand between my knees to erase the lingering throb of heat.

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