Free Race For Love by Nana Malone Page B

strategically placed, covered her bare breast. The whole damn picture had looked like white chocolate poured over milk chocolate.
    And then this fucking morning, the way she'd whispered his name. Like she'd been dreaming about him. Like she was just as affected by him as he was by her. She'd pulled him in with her good arm and nuzzled his chest like she wanted to climb him and rub herself all over him. Hell yes .
    No. Hell no . It was thinking with his dick that got him in trouble in NOLA. He wasn't making the same mistakes again. He'd just have to find a way to get over it.
    Quickly he made breakfast. Egg white omelets with spinach and chicken sausage with whole wheat toast and a green smoothie. His stomach roiled. What he wanted was a heaping plate of pancakes with real fucking sausage.
    But no. He was getting her ready to work again, so what she had to eat, he had to eat. Fantastic .
    Thanks to spending plenty of time with his mother in the kitchen, he knew how to cook. He had no idea how Sarah had done it growing up. Twelve kids and she usually managed to feed all of them. Half of them being boys. He and his brother Dylan alone could put away four thousand calories a day easily, especially if they were training.
    He was so focused on shoving her out of his brain that he almost didn't hear her call his name. The blender had been going, but something didn't feel right. Then she'd called his name again and he'd gone running. Maybe he'd overestimated what she should be able to do? Should he have stayed and helped her get dressed? Hell, did he even know how to dress a woman? He had plenty of practice undressing.
    When he shoved open the door to her room, she was wobbling as she held onto the bedside table. She had on tight workout pants that did her ass all kinds of fantastic favors, and a sports bra. Wow . Her abs were tight and toned despite her lack of physical activity. She even had a hint of a six pack. But she was still too thin. She could stand to put on five to ten pounds of muscle.
    And that sports bra—Jesus Christ. Those had to be some really full Cs. His hands itched with the automatic urge to touch them. He'd always thought himself an ass man, but she could make him a convert. Her hair was in a wild tangled mass just below her shoulders. Was that all her hair? For such a tiny thing, she was mostly dark tresses.
    She had one crutch, but the other had fallen over along with what looked like a workout top. The single word ran through his skull over and over and over again. Want . He was all kinds of screwed.
    "Well, are you going to just stand there? I need help."
    Help, right. Put on your trainer hat, asshole. And keep it in your pants. "Today we'll work on ways for you to get out of this situation okay?"
    She rolled in her bottom lip, but nodded. The frustration clear on her face.
    He reached for the top first. He had to get her covered up or he might be tempted to touch. The dancehall reggae song from Kevin Little that his sister used to listen to all the time popped into his head and he couldn't shake it. He handed her the top.
    "Thanks." She took it from him, but then stared at it. "I think I need your help with this too." Her voice was so soft and pained.
    "Okay, did you take the pills?"
    She nodded. "Yeah."
    "Good. We'll get some food in you and then you'll feel better." He took the crutch from her and laid it on the bed. Then, gently, he brought her left arm forward and eased one sleeve over it. "Since you have a bit of pain still, we're going to work this over your head before we put your other arm through, okay?"
    She nodded, and didn't fight him. He wasn't sure why, but it broke his heart. For her recovery, he knew she had to get to a point where she realized they had a ton of work to do, but it still hurt to see that realization.
    Once he had her dressed, he grabbed the crutch and handed it to her. But when he bent down to pick up the other one, she lost her balance and crumpled. He was on her in an