As he started breathing again, her laughter rang out, loud and unrestrained. Watching her, eternally optimistic, compassionate, unpretentious, and very much alluring, Houston was man enough to admit he was glad she was sitting in his kitchen.
And for the first time since he’d woken up and realized his career was more than likely over, Houston wanted to laugh, too.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Josie’s laughter and amusement died when Houston said, “Do you mind doing that massage now?”
Right. He wanted her to touch him.
Sloshing water over the rim of the glass as he unsteadily set it down on the table, Houston sank back into his chair with a stifled sigh. He sucked the spilled water off his hand, his lips making soft wet sounds, and Josie was nothing short of envious.
She wanted him to do that to her. Suck with soft, wet sounds. With shaking fingers, she approached his shoulders like they were radioactive, touching lightly, wincing at how warm and solid his muscles were. “Sure, now’s a good time.”
To torture herself.
But then she reminded herself that Houston’s asking for help was nothing short of miraculous and that she should see it as a sign of trust.
Resolute, she dug her fingers into his flesh, kneading and stroking along his back, fanning out towards his shoulders. She worked the bronze flesh there, noticing it was a shade darker than the rest of his back, and that he had a smattering of cute freckles that had her mouth itching to kiss. A rush of air expelledfrom him in what might have been pleasure or pain, she wasn’t sure.
“Is this okay? Am I pushing too hard?”
“No, that’s perfect.” His voice was quiet, throaty.
“Great.” Josie rolled her thumbs up his neck to where the fine black hairs scattered across the nape before ascending into the thick throng of short hair.
He gave a low groan.
After a minute she settled into the motion, enjoying the feel of him beneath her fingers, as she ran up and down the warm flesh and occasionally stole into his glossy black hair. Her breasts hovered close to his back and the muscles in his arms and torso flexed and reacted to her touch.
“Did you hurt your neck, or is it just sore?”
“It’s sore from sleeping on my back. I usually sleep on my side, but that tugs my leg, so I’m laid flat-out and it’s killing my neck.”
Josie moved down his arms, giving firm pressure with her thumbs, and he gave a soft moan of approval, which she barely noticed. She was distracted by thoughts of him suffering in pain.
She remembered the way he had looked when she’d entered the ER—covered in blood, every inch of his calf chaffed, scraped, shredded, or punctured. He had been on his surfboard, and a shark had lunged from underneath and done that to him. It made her shudder just thinking about it and what could have been the possible outcome.
“Did it... was it awful?” The question popped out of her mouth before she could prevent it, and she cursed herself.
He glanced back at her, his eyebrows raised. “What? Was what awful?”
Her hands stilled on his elbows. “What happened to your leg, I mean.”
“The shark?” Houston didn’t sound angry, just confused.
“Yes. I’m sorry, that’s a stupid question. Of course it was awful.”
The silence drew out and she studied the back of his head, wanting to just run her fingers into his thick black hair, lean her chest against him, and hold him to her.
Houston spoke slowly. “I don’t know if awful is the right word. It’s like, it happens and you just react, and then it’s over.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“I think so.” And she did. It had been like that when her dad had died. It happens, and you react, and later—much later—you start to deal with it.
Houston would still be dealing with the results of his accident for a long time.
“It was so fast. I thought I saw something, then there it was, on my leg, and I didn’t feel any pain and I wasn’t really even scared.”
Josie suspected she would have been scared enough to wet her bathing suit. She wasn’t aware she was squeezing his shoulders until he winced. She gentled her touch, returning to slow, smooth strokes. “Oh, sorry.”