Chapter 4
four
GENEVA
The night was rough. Peter insisted I sleep in his bedroom while he slept on the couch. Just in case I needed anything. It was a nice gesture, but being surrounded by sheets that smell like Peter made for a long night. It quite possibly could have been what led to several fantasy dreams he starred in.
At least my ankle is feeling a little better. I push to a sitting position and try putting weight on it. Yep, still tender. Carefully, I stand on one leg. Hopping into the living room, I find him sitting on the couch with a far-off look in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s hungover.
“What’s up?” I ask, joining him on the couch. He slowly swings his head to look at me.
“I think I’m broken.”
“How so?”
“I can barely move. My muscles are screaming.” That sounds a bit melodramatic, but who am I to judge?
“Okay. When do we have to check out?”
“Whenever. The guy said he doesn’t have anyone coming in behind us so we can take as much time as we want. I don’t think it’s a bad idea to stay an extra night if we want. I can push everything a day.”
“We’ll see. Here’s what we’re going to do for now though. You get naked; I’m running you a bath.” I stand on one leg and hold my hand out to pull him up. He studies it for a minute before shrugging and taking it. It takes a few minutes, but between our combined efforts, he finally makes it upright.
“After you get out of the tub, wrap a towel around your waist and lay down on the bed. I have something that will help with the soreness.”
Peter must truly be in a lot of pain because he doesn’t even argue with me. He follows me into the bathroom. Stripping down to his underwear (which takes an act of Congress), he waits while I add Epsom salts to the bath. He stares at the water.
“Do you need help getting in?” I ask.
“I’m good.” He pushes off the wall.
“Okay. Be careful, I made the water pretty hot. But you need to soak for a while. The salt should help draw some of the soreness out.”
“I know what Epsom salts do.”
“Fine, grouch. I’ll be outside.” I close the bathroom door behind me and try not to imagine Peter in all his glory. I’ve seen him plenty of times in nothing more than a swimming suit, but never au naturel. Not that we need to be prancing around naked in front of each other. That would certainly bring a whole new dimension to this road trip.
I hear him groan as he sits in the tub. I need to get out of here. Nothing good can come from hovering outside the bathroom while fantasizing about him in the tub.
Breakfast should keep me occupied for a little while. Hopping into the kitchen, I find cereal and milk. Normally, nothing passes my lips that isn’t either healthy or made by Peter. I’ll just have to make an exception this morning. I don’t think either of us is in any shape to cook. No one would want to eat my cooking anyway.
By the time he rises from the tub, I’m back sitting on the bed. I’ve already dug my bar of muscle rub out of my bag. We’ll both smell like old men shortly.
Peter emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist. I pat the bed next to me and he lays down on his stomach with the towel still covering him.
“You’re not going to beat me with twigs or something else equally ridiculous, are you?” he asks, and I roll my eyes. It’s lost on him though since he’s face down in the pillows.
I don’t deem to answer him. Instead, I carefully straddle his legs. My ankle protests a little, but nothing I can’t handle. His mumbling turns into moans when I begin to work the bar over his neck and shoulders.
When he’s good and greased up, I use my hands to knead the muscles. Every time he winces, I work that area a little more. I make it to the small of his back eventually. There’s not a lot I can do here with the towel. Grabbing it with both hands, I work it out from under him.
“What are you doing?” he complains. “Give me that.” He makes a lunge for the towel. Not easy while lying on your stomach.
“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
“Not mine,” he points out. Managing to snatch the towel back, he throws it over his ass.
“How am I going to get to your glutes?”
“Your hands don’t need to be on my glutes. They’ll just have to work themselves out. They’re fine.”
That’s one thing we can both agree on; they are fine. I’ve admired those glutes hiding under his pants for quite a while now. From the brief glance I got, they did not disappoint. I run my hands under the towel, pressing against his perfect ass. He groans.
“How do you have such a smooth ass?”
“Geneva.”
“What? It’s a legitimate question.” I knead his glutes harder this time. He forgets he should be protesting. I know what it took to carry me down the mountain. They have to be killing him. “I’d sort of like to bite them.”
“Jesus, Geneva.” Pushing up on his forearms, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Just keep your hands out from under the towel.”
“Scared you won’t like it?” Fine, I’m taunting him. It’s fun though.
“I’m scared I would. So, hands off the goods.”
“Can I at least give it a good spanking?”
Peter lets out an exasperated snort and collapses back among the pillows. Does that mean I can? I laugh to myself. He’s good at dishing it out; not so great at taking it.
“What if I let you spank mine first?” I tease.
“Don’t tempt me,” he mumbles.
I laugh again and slide down his legs. I don’t think I’ve ever felt tighter hamstrings. You could bounce a quarter off of these suckers.
“Oww,” he complains.
This time, I do smack his perfect ass. He jerks slightly. But I’m back working on his legs before he can protest.
“Stop whining,” I say. “Or I’ll give you something to whine about.”
“What else could you possibly do that’s worse than getting spanked?” he mumbles around the pillows.
“You’d be surprised.”
He rolls on his back suddenly and sits up. Sadly, he’s very adept at keeping the towel positioned over his crown jewels. That’s fine, I’m more of a hip lady myself, and there’s plenty of it showing around the towel. I would sigh, but he’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. His mouth opens like he wants to ask a question, but he reconsiders before he does.
“Lie down on your back so your head is at this end of the bed. I’ll work on your shoulders and pecs,” I say.
He considers me a moment more before shrugging his shoulders. He winces at the soreness but lies down. Eyes the color of the ocean stare up at me as I rub the ointment bar over his pecs. They slowly close as my hands meet warm skin. I trace over the muscles with my knuckles the way my massage therapist does. His breathing grows shallow.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he growls.
“Just pretend I’m some big sweaty guy working on you.”
“You’ll never be big and sweaty. More like a temptress in spandex.”
My hands freeze on his chest. Looking down at his face, I find he’s watching me again. It would be so easy to kiss him.
“Don’t,” he says like he’s read my mind. “I won’t want to stop.”
“Would it be so bad?” I know what he’s going to say, but I don’t let him get the words out. Will anything hurt as much as having my heart broken by Peter? I know I don’t want to find out. Before he can say anything more, I leave the room. I just take my hands off his chest and flee as fast as I can with a bum ankle.
“Geneva!” he calls after me.
I don’t wait. I hop one leg at a time up the steps to the bedroom with my stuff. We should move on as soon as possible. I’ll pack my stuff and we can go.
“Geneva?” he says, stepping into the room. I do a double take at him in nothing. The only thing providing any privacy is the towel he holds strategically in front of him.
“I think we should head to Zion. There’s no reason to stay here.” My eyes refocus on the bed. I throw my Dopp kit into my duffel.
“Okay.” He stands in the middle of the room, waiting for more. I can’t take a chance on telling him more. There are only two men in this world capable of breaking me. Peter is one. If I don’t let him in, then he can’t touch me.
We’ll get to Austin. He’ll go one way, and I’ll go the other. Soon, I’ll find some pretty boy southern charmer to hook up with. Peter will be nothing more than my business partner. And if you believe that, I have some lovely beachfront property in Arizona you might be interested in.
“I’ll take your bag down,” he says, wrapping the towel around his waist.
He takes the bag from my hand. His strong arms help me back down the stairs. Every moment he touches me is agony. When he leaves me on the couch to dress, I shiver. Not because I’m cold, but because I miss his heat. I can’t really explain it. It just is.
“Let me load the car. I’ll come back for you.” He picks up the bags and disappears outside. I’ve turned this into something awkward. “Ready?” he asks, stepping back inside.
I nod. He picks me up in his arms and carries me to the car. Carefully, he places me in the passenger seat.
“I’ll lock up and be right back.” The door closes with a resounding slam.
He stomps back up the steps to the door. His body language speaks volumes. He’s angry. I stare out the windshield as he slides into the driver’s side. We leave the cabin behind for the next adventure. We drive in silence for half an hour.
“I think we should make some rules,” he says finally. “Just so we keep things on a friendly basis from here on.” This should be good. “So there’s no misunderstandings.”
“Go on,” I say. Crossing my legs, I turn to glare at him. He used to shrink from my glares. Now, I think he enjoys them. I can’t wait to hear what rules he thinks I’m going to abide by.
“First, no partial nudity. No walking around in towels or underwear. That’s my fault.” He glances at me. “Absolutely no body massages going forward. I do feel much better though. Thank you. But I’ll just be sore next time.”
“Is that it?”
“No sexual innuendos. That’s also on me. It’s not appropriate when we’re alone. Also, no more surveys or articles about sex. Just leave Cosmo in the back seat from here on.”
“So no talking, touching, or reading?” I ask. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“You know what I’m saying. Nothing that hints at us having sex or thinking about having sex. No friends with benefits or fuck buddies or whatever you want to call it.”
“Damn, you sure have sex on the brain, Peter,” I tease.
He cuts a frustrated look at me. I imagine just talking about us not having sex has him hard. The poor man doesn’t realize he just threw the gauntlet down.
“Hmm,” I say, tapping at my bottom lip with a fingernail. This might be a way to separate my feelings for him from my lust. If I can do that, we’ll both win.
“Geneva,” he warns.
“What?”
“The rules. Don’t you think they’re a good idea? You agree, right?” He glances at me again. There’s worry etched in the space between his eyebrows. He should be worried. I’m debating how badly I’m going to shred those rules into tiny pieces. “Geneva?”
“They’re certainly something.”
“But you agree, right?”
“More or less.”
“Fuck me,” he breathes as his hand runs through his hair.
Yes, Mr. Winsloe, that’s exactly what I was thinking.