Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“You’re welcome.” She ventured closer, despite her common sense telling her to go lock herself in the bedroom again. Common sense and her sense of self-preservation. The activity she had in mind was incredibly unprofessional, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from coming to a stop directly behind Burgess and going up on her tiptoes, reaching past him to take the olive oil out of the cabinet. “You were great with Lissa just now.”
“Yeah?” He shifted on his feet. “Thanks. Remembering to say the thing . . . it takes focus, right? You have to be ready at all times.”
Her hands paused in the act of uncapping the olive oil. Why was her heart beating so fast? Because he’d listened to her? “Parenting and hockey are more similar than you realized?”
“Yeah,” he said on a rushing exhale that didn’t sound all that steady. “I gotta ask. What are you doing back there, Tallulah?”
Good question. “I noticed your back is bothering you,” she said, pouring a dollop of olive oil onto the pad of her thumb, rubbing it together with her index finger.
He’d stiffened at her explanation. Now he picked up the plate and stuck it in the microwave in front of him, closing the door soundly. “It’s fine.”
Before he could move away, Tallulah lifted the back of his T-shirt and dug her thumb into the base of his spine, running it firmly upward. And the man all but collapsed forward onto the counter, moaning. It was actually far more dramatic a reaction than she’d expected—and she’d expected him to release a satisfied male groan at the very least.
This? This was a man who’d just sailed past the pearly gates.
“Do that again,” he ground out. “Please.”
She dug deeper and pressed a horizonal line up the base of his spine, before moving right and rubbing a circular pattern into the hard muscle of his rear hip.
“Oh my God,” he said raggedly, fully propped on his forearms now.
Oh my God was accurate. That’s what he was. A marble-slabbed God with a firm ass that was now fully displayed in mesh athletic shorts a foot below her face. And she’d brought him to his proverbial knees with a stroke of her thumb. Which was wildly empowering. Also . . . very worrisome.
“How long has it been hurting like this?”
“I can’t remember a time when it didn’t hurt,” he breathed.
“How are you treating it?”
“Over-the-counter painkillers.”
“Burgess.”
Momentarily, he straightened. Hesitated. And stripped off his T-shirt, tossing it onto the kitchen floor. Then he dropped forward once more against the counter with a mesmerizing ripple of muscle. “Yell at me all you want, gorgeous, just keep doing the thing.”
She’d never actually felt her pelvic floor so acutely, but wow, there it was, tightening up like shrink wrap around a doorknob. Holy mother, this massage had been the worst idea of her life. His back muscles were . . . prolific. Primal. Flexed. He had a tattoo on his right shoulder that went all the way down to the center of his back, the existence of which she was unaware of until this moment. The inked skin/thick butt/muscle trifecta was really bringing home the fact that she was not simply working for a single father. She was working for a snack. A DILF. A big boy.
The most eligible of bachelors.
How was this man—this hot, rugged professional athlete—not dating?
She knew firsthand that he was a skilled kisser. Now he’d broken out the body to end all bodies. The fact that he wasn’t out being chatted up by single women was a crime.
He needed a push. She’d obviously been sent here for the job. Even if the image of him surrounded by women caused a heat rash to break out under her clothes.
“You okay back there, Tallulah?”
“Yes,” she blurted, digging her thumb into him once more, forced to close her eyes against the deep burr of his satisfaction, the way it rumbled in his torso and vibrated her fingertips. Ugh, he was so warm and hard and taut. Everywhere. How would a man like this make love? Probably fast and furious. Or maybe he knew how to take his time?
Stop wondering. You’re not going to find out.
She cleared her throat of gravel. “So . . . I don’t really know how this type of thing works, but shouldn’t you tell a team doctor? Or trainer?”
“Yes.” She probably shouldn’t have made him talk, because the gratification was evident in his tone, causing regions of goose bumps to prickle into existence all over her body. “In fact, I’m contractually obligated to tell them about any injuries, so if we’re splitting hairs, I’m in violation of my contract.”
“Why not tell them?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“I imagine they have more advanced ways than Motrin for dealing with injuries.”
“They do. Shots and pills and physical therapy.” His muscles tensed beneath her fingers and she instinctively tried to rub away the tension. “I don’t want any of that shit.”