Page 59 of If the Slipper Fits
His mouth curved in an apologetic smile. “I do need help getting into this thing.” He held the robe out to her like a peace offering.
Shaking her head, a helpless, answering smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She took the garment and draped the rich silk over his broad shoulders easily now that she didn’t need to hold him upright. Acozy sense of intimacy unlike any she’d ever known seemed to envelop them.
She pulled the lapels open wide. “Right arm first. Slowly.”
The simple act of lifting his arm had his chest muscles flexing and his abdominals firming. A delicious tickle started in her belly. Her hands tightened reflexively on the lapels.
“Now the left,” she whispered.
He obeyed, and her gaze dropped to the narrowing trail of tawny hair that disappeared under the waistband of his snug-fitting black trousers.
“Did I miss an errant spray of blood?”
Her gaze shot to his face. “Er…No. That is, I thought perhaps I saw some…thing?” she finished weakly. Damn the too-observant man.
“Mm.”
How he laced the one-syllabic answer with such evident amusement was beyond her. Lifting her chin, she pretended not to notice.
Making no further comment, he tugged the lapels of his robe from her clenched fingers. In unhurried movements, he closed the robe, cinched the tie, and settled back onto his pillows, arms folded behind his neck. The repose left his throat and collar bones bared to her.
Face burning, she grasped the open jar and dipped her finger into the luxurious ointment. “May I apply your salve now?”
“By all means, Doctor Jones.”
She swallowed and shifted to face him, schooling her features into a mask of detached professionalism. She hoped.
She’d seen any number of things while accompanying her father on any number of house calls over the years, men’s throats, partial midriffs and more. Yet glimpsing the slight depression at the base of Caden’s throat where his heartbeat pulsed made her want to do brazen things like lean forward to demand he kiss her like he had this morning.
She wouldn’t, of course. Pride, not decorum saw to that.
She could not forget him breaking off their kiss as if his life depended on it. One minute she was entering heaven’s gate, the next, he was across the room boasting about how much she enjoyed his kisses.
No, she would not demand he kiss her. If he refused, she would die of mortification.
Besides, he needed her salve. With care, she dabbed the gooey tincture over his laceration, working her way outward ’til she’d spread the mixture across the entire inflamed area.
“Better?” she asked.
“I’d say it feels too damned good.”
The husky growl of his voice had goose flesh fanning over her body. Her gaze met his.
Caden stared at her through a blazing swirl of wild blue.
She froze, unable to move or look away. He wanted to kiss her—she thought. She couldn’t be absolutely sure. She licked her lips and leaned incrementally closer.
He swallowed hard and brought one hand up to trace the curve of her cheek. “This is not a good idea, Glory.”
Her insides melted at his touch, the fever in his eyes, her name on his lips. As if drawn by an invisible magnet, she leaned closer still, bringing her face inches from his.
“Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me?” she asked in a voice barely a whisper.
Caden huffed out a laugh that seemed equal parts exasperation and frustration. “No.”
His hand on her cheek slid to cup her nape, anchoring her in place with a palm that was hot and slightly damp. “I do. So. Badly—”
The glass jar she held slipped from her fingers to land on the carpet with a thud. She had heard all she needed to hear.
