Tina Beckett - One Night That Changed Everything

A half hour later, she found herself again nodding off, the pain finally sliding away. The vibrations stopped and she was aware of the heating pad being lifted off and gentle hands again moving over her back, this time right where it had hurt. She pulled in a deep breath and felt nothing but that contentment she’d reached for a few minutes earlier. “It’s gone.” She whispered the words, afraid the pain would find her again if she spoke any louder.

“I’m sorry. Do you want me to put it back?”

“Put it …?” She realized he was talking about the heating pad. “No, I meant my back feels better. Can you help me sit up?”

“Yes, but we’re going to roll you onto your back first so you won’t have to twist at an awkward angle. I don’t want to give that muscle any reason to flare up again.” He placed his hands on her right shoulder and hip. “Ready?”

His fingers were almost as warm as the heating pad and a tiny shudder went through her. “I’m ready.”

“On three.” He counted slowly and when he reached three, before she could even brace her hands on the floor and help, he’d gently rolled her over.

Moving a tiny bit, she tested her muscles. Nothing felt out of place or sore.

His brown eyes slid over her face. “Everything okay?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s just wait a minute or two.” He nodded toward the reception desk. “I have some carisoprodol, just in case.”

She shifted again, a little more this time, to see if anything acted up. Still nothing. “I think the worst is over. And I’d rather not drive with that kind of medication in my system.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“Muscle relaxants knock me for a loop, and I’m never myself the next day.” She didn’t want to tell him that her year of treatment had conditioned her throat to constrict at the sight of anything that resembled a capsule. “I have to work tomorrow, remember?”

“Stay home.”

She lifted her hand, feeling at a distinct disadvantage lying flat on her back. “Help me up, and then we’ll talk about it.”

Greg stood and then curled his hand around hers. She sensed a slight hesitation on his part before his grip tightened and his arm bent at the elbow as he applied steady pressure. Their connected palms were doing crazy things to her stomach so, in an effort to hurry the process up, she braced her feet and launched herself into a vertical position.

Her momentum carried her straight into his chest where she landed with a thump.

Ack!

Greg wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against his solid body as she tried to catch her breath.

At least her stupid move hadn’t sent her back into another spasm.

Something she couldn’t say about her heart, which was pumping at an alarming rate. A hundred and twenty beats per minute at least … and rising by the second.

She tried to act nonchalant, as if falling against her employer was something she did on a regular basis. And it was no big deal. She’d hugged him before after all. “Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have gotten up so fast.”

“I’ll say.” The murmured words ruffled her hair and sent her heart on another race for the finish line. “How’s your back?”

She wiggled the upper part of her body back and forth to feel it out, then realized she’d just done a quick shimmy against his thorax.

Her nipples contracted in reaction, and she blurted out the first thing she could think of: “Can’t feel a thing.”

The hand at her back tightened. “Can’t you?”

Um, yeah. And it wasn’t good. Because she was suddenly aware of every inch of male flesh pressed against her. Muscular chest, firm abs, taut thighs, and …

No, it couldn’t be. She licked her lips, telling herself to pull back now before he realized that she realized that he was …

He was …

Yes. He was .

And if she shifted one millimeter, she’d be rubbing right against his was . Lord, did she want to press just a little bit.

And like that horrible thing that often happened when you told yourself not to do something—like not to eat that whole pint of ice cream in one sitting—your body did the exact opposite.

She pressed.

And the sound of his breath hissing in through his teeth met her ears.

Okay. Now he knew that she knew.

She slowly lifted her head and met eyes that were sizzling with something she hadn’t seen in a very long time in a man. Especially not directed at her.

Desire.

Steaming. Naked. Toe-curling need.

“Greg?” She had no idea why she said his name, but his gaze darkened further.

One hand came up and slid into her hair, his thumb resting along her jaw. “How’s your back?”

“Better.” The words came out in a whisper, because suddenly she knew why he was asking. She emphasized her point. “ Much better.”

“Hannah.” His thumb applied gentle pressure to tilt her head up, even as he angled his own down until only a breath of space remained between them. “You know this is a very bad idea.”

“Worse than playing with matches?”

“Much worse.”

It was. But the fascination of running that match across a strike plate and watching it flare to life proved too much to resist. Besides, she wasn’t sure she even had what it took to light that particular fire. Closing her eyes, she bridged the gap between them, deciding to prove him right … and herself wrong.

He didn’t want her. Couldn’t.

The second her lips met his, though, and the hand at her nape hauled her even closer, she knew.

He could.

And he did.

GREG wasn’t sure who kissed whom first, but he knew with certainty there was nowhere he’d rather be right now. First she’d coaxed him to eat. Then to sleep. When he’d awoken, he’d found her right there beside him—even if she had been folded into something reminiscent of a cube. Her mouth had been slightly open, one hand curled softly against her chest. Her breasts had slowly risen and fallen as she’d breathed. The sight had sent his endocrine system on a rampage, pumping chemicals through his body. Then she’d looked up with those big green eyes, and he’d been lost. He’d stayed where he was, when he should have run.

No, that wasn’t completely true. He’d been pretty sure he could walk away without a problem, until that singular moment when her hips had seemed to zero in on a certain part of his anatomy. The part that was now issuing all sorts of commands he wasn’t sure he could resist.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, ready to pull back at the first sign of hesitation on her part.

Damn it, what was he thinking? Her back had just gone through hell and back, and here he was, mauling her to within an inch of her life.

But wasn’t she mauling him right back, her fists buried in his starched shirt and hanging on for dear life?

Still, he had to be sure.

“Your back,” he whispered against her lips.

“Forgotten.”

“But—”

She pulled him close and cut off his words with another lingering kiss.

Okay, if that’s the way she wanted to play this, who was he to complain? Besides, he was tired of warring against his emotions, trying to keep them in check so as not to alarm his patients, or hand out undue hope, if things took a turn for the worse.

Like with Martha Brookstone?

No, don’t think of that right now .

He was with someone who’d fought the disease. Who’d won. He gloried in that. Celebrated Hannah’s life. Her health. It was why he’d surrounded himself with people just like her, to remind himself that cancer could be beaten. Not all of the time. His own sister had …

His fingers tightened in Hannah’s hair, desperate to feel the life force coursing through her body, her heart pumping strongly against his own.