Chapter Four
Rachel
It hadn’t been the most productive afternoon in terms of our project, but it had gotten us on the same page.
It had also gotten me thinking about things I shouldn’t have been thinking about.
The weather had been mild, the sun bright, and Brody and I had been getting along. It had been an awesome day.
Until it wasn’t.
Brody fought so hard to hide the pain in his back that I had forgotten about it, just enjoying his company, until suddenly he doubled over.
His hands gripped the trunk of the tree tightly enough that his knuckles turned pale. I knew that the stubborn man wouldn’t want to be doted on, so I rubbed his back until I could feel the muscles ease a little.
“We should head out. We can see the clear cut block another time,” I offered, gently.
“I’m—fuck—I’m fine, Rachel. Just get in the truck.” His voice betrayed how much pain he must have been in.
I almost laughed at that. He could barely stand.
Taking the hand that wasn’t holding onto the tree in mine, I wrapped it around my shoulder before I gently transferred his weight from the tree to me, and we moved slowly towards the truck. The ground was uneven, which didn’t help, but, predictably, Brody didn’t complain.
He did scowl though. I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or my actions. Either way, he let me help him limp to the passenger side of the truck.
That was when we encountered another problem.
“I’m going to have to get your keys from your pocket.”
He grunted in reply.
I took his free hand and placed it on the side mirror so he could bear some of his own weight.
I wasn’t exactly a small person, but he had at least fifty pounds on me.
I slid my hand down from his waist, over his hip, and into his front pocket.
His breathing hitched, and mine did the same.
My blood was pumping a little hotter, aware that my hand was sliding along his thigh, far too close to his cock.
His pockets were deep—women really got screwed when it came to pocket size—but that wasn’t what held my attention.
It was the heat of his body seeping into my palm.
The smell of his skin, so close to mine.
The fact that touching him, holding him, helping him, felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I’d never had that kind of casual intimacy with anyone before.
Finally, my hand closed around the key ring, and I pulled it out before I could dwell too hard on why this all felt so easy. The man was in pain, and I needed to get him somewhere I could help him.
I wrenched the creaky door open. With one hand on his back and one on his hip, I got Brody into the passenger seat. When I reached to buckle him in, apparently that was a step too far.
“I can do it myself,” he grumbled. “Just get in.”
I shut the door, suppressing a small smile, and went around to the driver’s side.
He had managed to get his seat belt on, but he side-eyed me as I got in. “You know how to drive a stick shift? This isn’t some stupid electric, automatic, push-button—”
“I get it, Brody. Just relax.” I put the key in the ignition and started it easily. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I grinned. “You’re not the only one who’s had a driver’s license since the late nineties.”
I shifted into gear. A grating sound filled the truck, and Brody winced, but I got things straightened out and started crawling over the ruts in the road.
“You can go faster. I’m not that fragile,” he said. The expression on his face said otherwise. His cheeks were red, his brow wrinkled, and he was holding himself perfectly still.
“Where do you live?” I asked, ignoring his comment.
“Blackberry Grove.”
I nodded. “My place is closer. I’ll take you there, get your back sorted out, then you can give me a ride to the library to get my car.”
I expected him to complain, but he drew in a sharp breath as we went over a bump, and that was when I knew he was really hurting.
He was quiet for the rest of the drive, only perking up when the gear squeaked as I put the truck into park.
I helped Brody into the house, and again he was quiet. I bit my bottom lip, starting to worry about how bad his back injury was. He clearly wasn’t one to complain, but this level of silence was eerie.
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” I murmured as I helped him limp over the threshold. I took him straight down the hall and into my bedroom.
“Rachel, I just need to rest for a second. You don’t need to put me to bed like a child.”
I ignored him, and shifted his weight onto the mattress. Despite his complaints, he went willingly, falling onto his stomach, his plaid flannel clashing with my floral duvet. Even so, I liked the way he looked there, his long limbs eating up the space, his head sinking into my pillow.
I pulled off his shoes and took them to the front door before grabbing my heating pad and returning to the bedroom.
He hadn’t moved.
Plugging the heating pad in, I sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. “Can I lift up your shirt?”
He nodded into the pillow, docile in a way I hated.
He was usually so spirited and argumentative.
This compliant version of Brody made me want to fix him up just so we could get back to butting heads.
I put my hands on the bottom hem of his flannel and pulled it up to his shoulder blades, leaving him in a thin white T-shirt.
Technically, I could have left it in place, but I wanted to make sure the heating pad did its job. And I really wanted to see more of him.
I took the soft cotton in my hands, my breath catching as I slowly lifted it. Inch after inch of his light-brown skin was revealed, and I swallowed hard. Ignoring my desire to press my lips to the exposed flesh, I put the heating pad on him instead.
His breath caught.
“Is that too hot?”
“No. It’s heaven.” His voice was low and gravelly, and my pulse beat hard between my thighs.
Without thinking too hard about what I was doing, I brought my hands to his sides and gripped him lightly, letting my thumbs rest against his lower back under the heating pad.
“What are you—”
He cut himself off with a groan as I circled my thumbs over the stiff muscles.
The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing.
His skin was smooth and soft under my hands, stretched over a wall of rigid muscle.
The smell of him filled the room. He always smelled a little like a pine forest, with that same hint of cologne I’d noticed earlier.
Every time he exhaled, it blew a stray strand of hair from his face; his braid having started to unravel in the chaos.
His eyes were closed, and I stared unabashedly at the side of his face.
What was I doing?
I was supposed to be furthering my career, demonstrating my research by creating this presentation. This man was making more work for me by questioning my conclusions. Yet as he lay there in my bed, melting under my hands, all I wanted to do was lean over and kiss him.