Chapter 6
Jaxon grabbed the pink bar of soap from the shower caddy.
The scent of roses and something else uber feminine struck him.
Great. Now he’d smell like her too. As if breathing the aroma of her hair and skin in the confined cabin wasn’t enough.
The worst part was that he couldn’t even venture outside for fresh air to clear his senses.
He turned his face into the warm spray, angling his head so the pounding water missed his bandage, and scrubbed the bar over his skin.
His dick throbbed, but stroking it in McKenna’s shower seemed like a violation—even if it’d take him only seconds to cum.
He grabbed her shampoo and groaned as his strands absorbed that scent too. He needed out of this cabin. Out of her house. Far away, if he didn’t want to act.
But he did want to act. Holding back from making a move on a woman was as foreign to him as being snowed in.
Okay, so he’d moved here for a simpler life, which included not starting up any relationships.
To get away from his drug-slinging brother’s constant requests for bailouts.
Moving away from Boston had been like severing a limb—a rotting one.
The infection would have spread to the rest of his body if he hadn’t escaped.
His current job as a carpenter was a far cry from the financial world he’d left.
After McKenna’s telling of what Trevor did, he couldn’t exactly come on to her. Not without feeling like a complete stinking pile of shit. Maybe if they weren’t forced under one roof, he could respectfully ask her out. Until then, he had to keep his dick in his pants.
He finished washing and turned off the water. He couldn’t think about the past. Doing so was as bad as reliving it. All he could do was pray that Raf had promised to get out of that lifestyle. Time would tell.
Jaxon stepped on the gray bathmat and toweled himself off before putting on the clothes he’d shed five minutes ago. He opened the bathroom door just as McKenna stepped out of her bedroom, towel in hand. She jumped an inch and then her shoulders sagged.
“Sorry,” he said. “Bathroom is all yours if you want it.”
She nodded. The bun on top of her head bobbed.
With her face free of the strands that usually framed her cheeks, every inch of her expression was visible.
Her cheekbones tapered sharply toward her temples, her thin nose was slightly turned up, and her eyebrows were a soft, smoky brown above watchful and cautious eyes.
He stopped his roaming gaze at her lips, even though it killed him not to go further.
Once again, he was struck with the realization that maybe he should be running toward and not away from her—how bad could a fling get?
She was attracted to him. The way her gaze jerked over his chest was clear evidence.
Hell, she could barely even hide it, so maybe she wasn’t trying to.
Worst-case scenario, things would go nowhere past the sheets.
“I’m going to hop in the shower as well. Hopefully the snow will stop and we’ll have power back soon.” She shrugged, and the neckline of her sweater dropped to expose her shoulder.
“’Course.” He moved out of the way and into the living room before he did something stupid like rip off the blasted shirt that taunted more than it covered. He needed to get his head straight. He heard the bathroom door click shut, followed by the spray of water.
And now she’s naked.
“Fuck, you’ve got issues,” he mumbled to himself.
He strode to the back door and stared at the ferocious weather outside the glass.
Snow had piled on the porch’s wooden railing.
His and McKenna’s footsteps were already filled in, either from fresh snow or the shit blowing across the property.
The firing of snowflakes made his eyes ache.
Turning away from the window, he moved to the remedies she’d left out in the kitchen and took another dose of each.
Then he dragged his attention to the new setup in the living room.
A massage table took up the center of the room and the coffee table had been pushed against the sofa. A cart sat next to the massage table. On top were weirdly shaped glass jars, bottoms up.
Huh. What’s she plan to do with those?
A steel bowl, several slim plastic packages, tongs, cotton pads, and a squirt bottle filled with a clear liquid had been placed neatly around the jars.
The bathroom door opened. He looked up as McKenna peeked her head around it. A towel was wrapped around the top of her head, another around her body. Her shower had been lightning fast—did she fear having him close? Or had he not left her enough hot water?
She clutched the towel at her breasts. Her face had a light sheen to it, and droplets of water dotted her arms and shoulders.
“Go ahead and take your shirt off and get comfortable on the table. I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Well, shit.
He pulled the shirt over his head then tossed it on the chair and lay on the massage table, which was covered with a green blanket.
The fireplace crackled, and he stared at the ceiling listening to what should have conjured soothing camping memories.
Instead, images of getting McKenna naked bombarded his mind.
His nipples puckered in anticipation and his cock grew to a painful length in his pants.
“Thanks for waiting.” She padded into the living room. This time she wore a lilac-colored sweater and gray yoga pants with thick, knitted socks that reached halfway up her calves. She stopped at the side of the table and smiled. And hell if her eyes didn’t twinkle impishly. “How are you doing?”
He bit back a comment about his aching dick and shrugged. “Wound hurts. Chest isn’t too bad. I took a couple more doses of that stuff.”
“Good. Let’s start with the attack.”
He frowned. “Do you need me to turn onto my stomach?” She wouldn’t be able to reach the wound while he was on his back—not that he wanted her sticking needles in the fucking gashes anyway.
Her gaze drifted over his chest to his abdomen and then lingered on the tent of his jeans. A deep blush overtook her cheeks and her throat moved on a swallow. “No, I’m going to focus on the trauma. We’ll get to the wound later.” Plastic crinkled. “Do needles make you nervous?”
He snorted. “Nope. Not unless a mountain lion is holding them.”
A light laugh tripped off her tongue, and he glanced up to see an unguarded expression on her face.
Her teeth gleamed in the pale light coming through the windows, and her wet hair hung in a tussled array around her shoulders.
She brought her fingertip to the space between his eyes and kneaded the skin there before swiping it with a wet cotton pad.
The scent of alcohol tickled his nostrils.
“This might smart a bit,” she said. The tip of the needle poked his forehead.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s grounding. Helps with stress and calms the mind.”
“How many needles do you use?”
She shrugged. Her brow dipped in concentration as she swiped the cool, damp cotton pad over his chest, arms, ribs, and legs.
After setting the pad aside, she pushed on the crook of his elbow with her index finger.
“It depends,” she finally replied. “Men can usually take a lot. I try to use as few as possible but with the best chance at getting results. Since I’m unfamiliar with your medical history, it’ll be a little difficult to determine what will work best for you.
” She paused then caught his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Let me see your tongue.”
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “My tongue? Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a good diagnostic tool.”
He sucked back the moisture in his mouth, swallowed, and then stuck out his tongue. “This is weird,” he said, the muscle hanging from his lips.
She chuckled and swatted his shoulder. “Hold still.” Her gaze raked over his tongue and then she nodded. “You’ve got a lot of trapped heat. There’s some congestion in the lungs and small intestine, which coincides with whatever virus you have.”
She pulled another needle from the open package. “The overall color is good though. Better than I expected.”
He grimaced. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He wasn’t vegetarian, nor did he keep track of his sugar intake. But he exercised daily and ate a healthy diet by his standards.
She met his stare and her eyes softened. “I often see a lot of heat and stagnation issues—your system seems to do a good job of moving things along. I’m sure you’ll kick this cold in no time.”
“How does this help?”
She stuck a needle in one pectoral muscle, and then one in the other.
“There are channels that run through your body called meridians. They move our energy and distribute it where needed. Along the meridians are points that connect to organs and various functions of the body.” She removed another needle and, with her free hand, felt around the left side of his ribs.
He squirmed as her fingers prodded his skin—her slippery touch tickled. She dug her fingertip deeper and he tensed.
“Tender there?”
“Yeah. That’s weird. It’s never hurt there before.”
Another needle pierced his skin. This time his flesh burned and snapped with pain. “Ah, what the hell?”
She winced. “Sorry. That’s a liver point for stress. A strong reaction like that is a good sign, though. It means we’re on the right track.”
He let out a low, deep breath. Sweat had collected on his brow. “I barely felt the other ones.”
She grinned. “It’s neat how that works. There’s a couple more points I’d like to do, then I’ll let you rest for a bit before we work on your back.”
She continued down his legs and stuck a needle on the inside of each calf. Once that was done, she drew the curtains. Shadows washed over him. He closed his eyes, and soft music began to play. The strum of violins and clap of cymbals lulled him to sleep.
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