Page 74 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

Dakota raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Stand up."

"Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, not liking the tone or being told what to do. Even if this wasn’t my house, I wasn’t going to be ordered around.

"Stand. Up." He punctuated each word with quiet authority that somehow didn't feel domineering. "Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

I hesitated, then reluctantly pushed back from the workbench, wincing as my stiff muscles protested the movement. Dakota nodded with approval, moving to stand behind me. Before I could question what he was doing, his hands settled on my shoulders, strong fingers finding the knots with unerring precision.

I tensed instantly, my body responding to his unexpected touch even as my mind protested. "What are you—"

"Relax," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You're wound tighter than security at a federal building."

His thumbs pressed into a particularly tense knot at the base of my neck, and I couldn't suppress a small gasp—part pain, part relief as the pressure began to ease.

"That hurts," I muttered, though I didn't pull away.

"It's supposed to," Dakota replied, his fingers working methodically across my shoulders. "That's how you know it's working."

I closed my eyes, reluctantly surrendering to the firm pressure of his hands. His touch was warm, precise, and sent shivers down my whole body. I bit my lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds as he found another knot and worked it loose with practiced efficiency.

"Where did you learn to do this?" I asked, trying to distract myself from how good his hands felt against my skin.

"Military training," he answered, thumbs pressing in circular motions along my spine. "Field medics taught us basic techniques. Muscle fatigue affects performance."

"Of course," I managed, my voice slightly strained as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Everything's about... performance with you."

I felt rather than heard his low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Not everything."

The simple statement hung in the air between us, loaded with meaning I wasn't ready to examine. His hands continued their methodical work, moving from my shoulders to the base of my neck, then down along my upper back. Every press of his fingers seemed to leave a burning trail across my body, every touch somewhere between pleasure and pain. I found myself leaning into his ministrations despite my better judgment, my body betraying my mind's hesitation.

"Breathe," Dakota instructed, his voice a low rumble close to my ear. "You're holding tension in your lungs too."

I exhaled slowly, not realizing I'd been holding my breath. His scent enveloped me—cedar and rain, with something deeper and distinctly Alpha that made my pulse quicken. When his thumbs pressed into the muscles along my spine, a small, involuntary moan escaped my lips.

I felt him freeze for a fraction of a second, his fingers stilling against my skin. The greenhouse suddenly felt several degrees warmer, the air between us charged with an electricity I couldn't ignore. Dakota's scent—pine and earth and something distinctly Alpha—enveloped me, making a low wine from the back of my throat leave me.

I felt his hands resume their movements, but his touch was different now—more deliberate, lingering. His fingers traced the curve of my spine with exquisite slowness, leaving trails of heat in their wake. The intensity of his scent deepened, wrapping around me like a physical embrace.

"Dakota," I whispered, my voice barely audible even in the quiet greenhouse.

"Hmm?" His response was a rumble that I felt rather than heard, vibrating from his chest against my back.

I couldn't find the words to express the riot of emotions coursing through me—desire mingled with uncertainty, need tempered by caution. Instead, I leaned back slightly, allowing my body to rest more fully against his solid frame.

When he hit another knot, a whine left my lips again and following that a growl came from Dakota, his touch lingering on my shoulders, his fingers flexing slightly as if fighting for control.

"I should stop," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "This isn't..."

"Professional?" I suggested, not moving away despite my better judgment. "Appropriate?"

"Either," Dakota admitted, though his hands remained on my shoulders, thumbs tracing small circles that sent shivers down my spine. "You're under our protection."

I turned slowly to face him, suddenly needing to see his expression. His dark eyes had deepened to almost black, pupils dilated with an emotion I recognized all too well. The careful control that usually masked his features had slipped, revealing something raw and hungry beneath.

"Is that all I am?" I asked quietly. "A witness to protect?" I didn’t let any thoughts linger in my head as the haze being in the moment surrounded my thoughts.

Dakota's jaw tightened, a muscle working beneath the stubble that shadowed his face. "You know it's not."

There was silence for a minute before I heard Dakota growl more, this time its was more primal, his hands on me me gripping me,“Fuck.”

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