Page 115 of Always to Remember
His gaze darted over to the table. The jar was sitting there with the lid already removed. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shook his head, took a step back, and bumped against the door. “I can’t.”
She moved a hand away from her blouse so she could rub her neck. The blouse slipped a little to reveal a fraction of a curve. He hadn’t seen any curves that night by the swimming hole. He’d felt them, but he hadn’t seen them. The sight of them could probably bring a man to his knees.
“I thought about asking my father to rub my shoulders, but he doesn’t know I come here so I didn’t know how to explain why I was hurting.” She shrugged slightly, and a little more curve came into view. “Robert knows. I guess I could ask him—”
“No!”
She lowered her hand and clutched her blouse. The curve disappeared.
“I mean—” He plowed his hand through his hair. “How badly do you hurt?”
“I can’t sleep.”
If he touched her, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but then he hadn’t been sleeping anyway. “All right.”
In her excitement, she rose onto her toes. Lord, her feet were bare.
“Will you spread the quilt?” she asked.
“The quilt?”
She nodded quickly. “I set it on the chair.”
He stalked to the chair in the corner, grabbed the quilt, and spread it out on the floor. The sooner he got this over with, the better. He stomped to the table and picked up the jar of salve. “All right. Let’s get this done so you can head on home.”
She turned a rosy shade of pink that traveled from her cheeks to the valley hidden by her blouse. Demurely, she presented her back to him and knelt on the quilt.
He could have sworn he heard the jar crack in his hand.
She draped her braid over one shoulder. Lord, she had more curves than he imagined: the curve of her side, the curve of her shoulders, the curve of her spine, the nape of her neck. And everything came together so beautifully, it took his breath away. He’d never be able to carve anything that looked as beautiful as she was now.
He dropped to his knees and set the jar beside him on the quilt. “Where exactly do you hurt?”
“Everywhere. My neck, my shoulders, my back. That’s why I took off my blouse. I thought it would be easier for you if you didn’t have to fight the cloth.”
Fight the cloth? Right now he was fighting a raging battle with his own flesh.
Digging into the jar, he coated his fingers, hoping if he used enough salve, he could shield his hand from the silky smoothness of her skin. She tilted her head, and the curve of her nape lengthened. He was grateful he couldn’t use his other hand. He took a deep breath. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
Tentatively, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She sighed, and he jerked his hand back. “Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not.”
He returned his hand to her shoulder and discovered the salve didn’t serve as a buffer against the warmth of her flesh. Slowly, he worked his fingers over her shoulders and neck. He carved her curves into his memory as he rubbed the salve into her skin. He had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have made love to her in the darkness of midnight. He should have waited until noon when she could have basked in the sunlight, and he could have appreciated all her beauty.
Her narrow back tapered down to her tiny waist. He thought he’d know all there was to carving if he’d been able to study her lines over the years.
He wiped his hand on his trousers. “There. That should take care of your pain,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.
She peered over her shoulder. “Are you in pain?”
He was, but it wasn’t any place he could invite her to rub. “No, I’m fine.”
She twisted around slightly. “Take off your shirt, and I’ll rub your back anyway. I don’t imagine anyone has ever rubbed your back for you.”
He shook his head vigorously. “I don’t like to take my shirt off in the light.”
To his astonishment, she rose, retrieved the lantern from the table, set it beside the quilt, and dimmed its flame until it cast more shadows than light.
