Free His Heir, Her Honor by Catherine Mann

protect her heart.
    His hand settled at the base of her spine, as if already testing her resolve. She started to inch away, but he pressed ever so slightly, ever so perfectly, against the spot that ached. Again, she reminded herself the physical was different from the emotions. Why should she deny herself the comfort—the undiluted pleasure—of his touch?
    His fingers circled with deepening pressure and she sighed. A hint of a moan hitched a ride on the gusty breath making its way up her throat.
    While massaging in increasingly larger circles, he reached past her to slide open the shade further to improve the view of the clusters of city lights below. “How much does your back hurt?”
    â€œJust a little…right there.”
    His intuitive touch gave her pause as she realized just how he knew what to do. He lived in constant pain without a complaint.
    Straightening, she inched aside. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
    He followed, his hands never leaving her body. “There’s no need for you to handle it all. I’m trying to be nice, so stop arguing. Doctor’s orders.”
    â€œOkay, then.” She began to offer to rub his back in return and then almost gasped.
    An urge to laugh followed, chased by a bittersweet sense of how special this would have been had it happened the morning after they’d been together. Or if he’d apologized nicely yesterday for being a jerk these past months, providing a perfectly logical explanation for his behavior.
    But she wasn’t whimsical. She was practical. Therefore she would enjoy this blasted backrub to the fullest. It was about the physical, nothing to do with her emotions.
    Talking, however, would help keep her grounded more in reality and less in the sensual play of his fingers working tension from knotted muscles. “We haven’t gotten to talk since boarding. Is the plane yours?”
    â€œMy family owns controlling interest in a small charter company,” he answered softly from behind her, his subtle accent curling around each word and into her. “It’s an investment that also enables us to fly wherever we wish with minimal discussion of our plans.”
    â€œNo one knows your itinerary.”
    â€œThat’s the idea. I’ve been able to lead a relatively normal life at the hospital since my identity became public. You run a tight ship and I appreciate that. But out in the real world, I need to be careful.”
    Which explained why he was especially concerned to find Nancy waiting for them. Her shoulders rose with tension. He skimmed upward to cup them, rubbing until they lowered again. Relaxation radiated through her as he became some kind of medical magician.
    â€œThat’s better. Just let go,” he said, his mouth closer to her ear this time.
    Unable to resist, she soaked in the heat of his breath against her neck, inhaled the peppermint scent of his toothpaste. What would it be like if he were telling her to “just let go” while they were doing other, more intimately pleasurable things?
    She dragged her attention off his command in her ear and scrambled for something coherent to say.
    â€œYou’ve got a family-owned air taxi service for the rich and famous.” She traced the teakwood encircling the portal, brass edging gleaming. She’d ridden with her father in similar crafts as a kid. Of course, thinking about her dad was worse than thinking of Nancy.
    â€œActually,” Carlos’s thumbs pressed between her shoulder blades with intuitive precision that sent waves of pleasure radiating outward, “Enrique—my father—diversified the company a few years ago so that when the planes are not in use for the needs of our family and our associates, they are used on call for search-and-rescue emergencies.”
    â€œYour father sounds like quite a philanthropist.” Different from what she’d expected from a recluse monarch. “He sounds