Free The Sheikh's Destiny (Harlequin Romance) by Melissa James Page B

unreadable look he stripped off his shirt, and slapped some of the oil onto his skin, rubbing briefly and moving to the next spot, slap and rub, as if he were taking a shower.
    Typical male! With an impatient sigh, she snapped, ‘Stop that, it won’t do a thing to help.’ She rubbed her hands together for warm friction, and took over. Spreading her fingers wide, she moved her hands over his skin, slow and deep, and gritted her teeth against the pressure building in her throat, the moan of pleasure at touching him bursting to be free. ‘This is how you do it,’ she said as coldly as she could manage, to hide her reaction. ‘You have to let the oils penetrate the muscle as well as skin, and soften the scar tissue or it won’t stretch.’
    â€˜Ah…I—I see.’ The words were a low growl, a masculine equivalent of purring desire whispering in her head, symphony to harmony. Was it because her hands were on his body again, or the physical release from the pulling pain the oils gave? ‘I think this skill took a long time to learn,’ he grated out.
    â€˜It, um, did take a while.’ Striving to master the craving, she gulped again. Fighting hot-honey temptation…but there were no scars on his neck, or up into his hair. She had no excuse to touch there…and the anger and betrayal that had held her captive for over a day was flying faster than a skier on a downhill run. ‘I took a course on massage therapy for burns patients after I worked—at a burns unit,’ she said, remembering in time not to give away more information than necessary. ‘When I graduated, that’s what I wanted to do, work in a burns unit.’
    â€˜You don’t find the sight of the mangled flesh—repulsive?’
    That crazy skier had just flown straight off a cliff, and theice surrounding her heart cracked, letting out steam. ‘I hate the endless agony of burns. I wish there were some new way invented to heal the scars, stop the pulling of the flesh, limiting movement. I hate that almost everyone who has suffered extensive burns no longer feels human.’ She continued the movements of her hands over his skin, slow and steady, deep and soothing…healing his body as she looked in his eyes. She saw the seething mass of self-revulsion inside, and her heart lurched and sloughed that ice right off, leaving only honesty. ‘But, no, I don’t find anything about you repulsive—except the ugliness that comes from your mouth.’
    The shimmer of his eyes, before they closed, told her how much he felt as he said, ‘You have no idea how I regret what I said.’
    â€˜What hurt most was that you meant it,’ she said quietly—and she was amazed how good it felt to say it, to say to him what she hadn’t been able to say to her father.
    â€˜Only because of this,’ he replied, his hands moving to hers, stilling them, and she caught her breath at the intimacy, at the look in his eyes, so stark and unashamedly vulnerable. ‘It isn’t you, Hana. If I could take the words back—’
    She shook her head, shivering in a breath. ‘But you can’t, and I can’t forget.’ She moved her hands until he took his away. ‘I can’t give you the absolution you want.’
    â€˜But you give me what I need—and right now, what I deserve,’ he said softly, lifting one oil-soaked hand in his, and kissing her palm—not in sexual intent, but in reverence, and tears rushed into her eyes as her foolish heart leaped of its own accord, whispering the words her mind refused to accept. ‘You’re honest with me, Hana. You don’t defer to me, to what I am.’
    She pulled her hand away, and lifted her chin. ‘What you were. You’re what I am now, a runaway helping others to try to forget what we left behind.’
    â€˜No matter what position we hold in life when we’re born, we all spend our