Free Must Love Cowboys by Cheryl Brooks Page B

you could—or that you could at least get him to be quiet.”
    â€œTrue, but there’s a difference between being quiet and keeping a secret.”
    I couldn’t argue with that, but I didn’t think I could take much more of his close proximity without dissolving into a bundle of overstimulated nerve endings. My heart was already beating out of control, flooding my cheeks with warmth.
    I wanted him to go away and yet didn’t want him to leave. I knew I would relax and breathe easier without him there, but I craved his presence anyway.
    So why was he still standing there?
    â€œUh, Tina,” he began. “Listen, what you said about a massage… That actually sounded pretty good.” He paused, seeming reluctant to admit he needed help and even more reluctant to ask for it. “Think you could…?”
    I stared at the bowl of dough. I didn’t need to invent a reason why I couldn’t stop what I was doing and rub his shoulder for him. But at the same time, I had this itch to get my hands on something other than pie dough.
    And some itches must be scratched.
    â€œSure. Just let me wash my hands.” I put a plate over the bowl to keep the dough from drying out and turned on the tap. After letting the water run until it was good and hot, I washed my hands, then dried them with a dish towel. When I turned toward Wyatt, my worst fears were realized.
    He’d taken off his shirt and stood facing me, the broad expanse of his muscular chest, lightly dusted with dark, curly hair, fully exposed. “Where do you want me?”
    Right here. Right now.
    Heat sliced through my pelvis, stealing moisture from my mouth to send it gushing from my core. My attempt to swallow failed utterly. “There at the table is fine.”
    He would probably smell bad after being on the road all night and most of the day. Bad smells usually put me off immediately. I figured I was safe. But when I moved closer, he smelled fine. Not freshly showered, perhaps, but nice. “Do you have any ointment to put on it?”
    â€œThere’s probably something around here somewhere, but for now, just use a little olive oil.”
    I was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud. Getting my hands on a hot, studly cowboy might make my temperature soar, but by the time I’d smeared him with olive oil, he would smell like a salad.
    Not sexy at all.
    Unfortunately, after dribbling oil on his back and placing my hands on his shoulders, I was forced to revise that assessment. Wyatt would’ve been sexy even if he’d smelled like a barn. And salads, on the whole, were quite tasty.
    I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the image of the powerful-looking muscles in his back and shoulders, but I couldn’t hide them from my hands. His hair, although relatively short, curled at the nape. Using the excuse of massaging his neck, I touched it. For some peculiar reason, that affected me even more than touching his skin had done—the gesture was more intimate, somehow.
    Eventually, I found the sore spots in his upper back and shoulder and kneaded them hard. Wyatt’s groans and sighs were like candy, enticing me to keep going until I’d thoroughly massaged every muscle in his body. Twice.
    After a glance at the clock proved I’d been at it for about twenty minutes, I figured it was time to quit or I was bound to do something really stupid—especially since he was getting to me on a level no real man ever had. Surely twenty minutes was enough. Then again, he wasn’t asking me to stop. If anything, I got the distinct impression he wanted me to keep going forever.
    But I had work to do, a pie to bake, and chickens to roast. “H-how’s that?” My voice was hoarse and hesitant, no doubt due to the parched state of my mouth.
    Despite his long, shuddering exhale, his throat sounded tight when he spoke. “Good—um, better. Much better. Thank you.”
    I took a step back as