Page 110 of You, As You Are

“Does it ache?”

Which part of her was he referring to exactly? “A little less than before,” Maisie managed.

“You should be fine in a few hours.” Iain lifted the hem of his wet t-shirt, the solid muscles of his back stretching as he pulled it up and off. Her eyes bounced across the lightly tanned skin,from the low indent of his spine to the butterfly-shaped muscles popping between his shoulder blades.

Sienna was right – she needed to remember how to breathe.

Maisie hadn’t noticed the towel appear in his hands, but Iain rubbed his body over with it as he said, “You might be sore tomorrow.”

Her lower lip rolled between her teeth. “Mm-hmm.” In a perfect world, she’d hope to be sore for an entirely different reason than the one she had.

Iain turned with a fresh shirt in his hands, and Maisie dropped her gaze, still sitting with the pillow in her lap and the pair of jogging bottoms by her side that Iain went straight for. Fully clothed, he didn’t give her much chance to save herself from more embarrassment when he grabbed them and fell to his knees.

“Lift your feet.”

Whatwas he doing?

He held her jogging bottoms just off of the floor for her to place her feet into and Maisie did without a single inhale, watching his focussed brow as he rolled them up to her knees. But then her view got even better. The slow motion of Iain’s face as he turned it up to her, his lips slightly parted, made between her thighs throb. They locked eyes, and Maisie had not one single thought; only instinct to take his face in her hands, scratch her fingers through his beard. None of which she did, but she clutched down on the pillow as her heart travelled up into her throat instead.

“Hold,” he rasped.

Her delicate gasp wasn’t meant to escape. This height that she had over him was too vulnerable, too exposing, and the intensity of his eyes – no man’s gaze could ever stir her inside again like his did.

Unsure of what was happening, Maisie curled her fingers into the grey waistband bunched above her knees. “Why?”

“So I can hold you up.” Iain didn’t give her time to process what that meant before he levered to his feet.

He wasn’t going to hold her – he couldn’t, not like this. She wasn’t some delicate flower that could blow away on a breeze. Being lifted was the only insecurity Maisie had about her body. If Iain couldn’t manage her weight and she fell, it wouldn’t be the first time. That embarrassment … it wasn’t worth it.

Worry joined in the chorus of fleeting feelings in her chest. “Iain, I’ve been dropped before.”

His eyes pinched but never left hers as they searched for something deep within them. “I lift in a lineout, Daffy,” he said, “do you know what that means?”

Maisie shook her head; rugby wasn’t exactly herforte.

“It means I’m responsible for lifting a hundred and ten kilo lock into the air by his arse and getting him back down safely.” His forefinger touched her forehead so gently she barely felt it as he swept away a loose curl, voice softening down into its comfortable, riveting depth. “Trust my body, Daffy.”

She took a breath. In through her nose, slowly, and exhaling past her lips.

Trust his body.

Trust his body.

Trusthim.

“Okay.” Her voice came out scratchy, but she did – she trusted him. He hadn’t ever given her reason not to, and twice now in their weeks of getting to know one another he had held her up. She’d seen his body, felt the strength of his arms taking her weight. She worried for nothing.

Iain hovered his hands between her waist and her elbows, his body lowering down until they were face to face. Maisie couldn’t exactly look at him when she could feel his breaths upon hercheek, so she watched the fabric of his jeans strain over his primed thighs, the ones she never should have doubted.

He counted down and in two seconds had her on her feet easily, no insulting sound from his mouth to make her feel bad. It all happened too swiftly for Maisie to catch her bearings; her system overloaded from the arms around her, palms pressing into her back, her soft chest fully pressed to the firmness of his.

With her weight slowly shifting to both legs, she worked the jogging bottoms up over her hips, and it became abundantly clear that she didn’t need Iain’s help – she could stand on her own. But Maisie couldn’t tell him to let her go, either.

The sounds of his steady breathing were right by her ear, the breaths themselves tickling the wetness of rain still left on her neck. Her eyes rolled closed, and she shuddered, feeling the flex of strong arms tightening around her. Iain didn’t even support her anymore but just clung to her instead.

Swallowing, Maisie moved her hands between them, finding the cords to tighten and tie in a bow. She took her time. Rather torturously, her knuckles brushed the front of Iain’s jeans, and his face fell to her shoulder with a guttural groan.

Her thoughts became a scattered mess.

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