22. Lana #3
My eyes rounded.
Oh my.
I’d been right about what the sight of those legs would do to me.
Wow.
Muscles rippled under skin several shades lighter than his arms. His thighs were every bit as thick as some of the mature trees in my backyard.
“Stop staring. I know I look ridiculous.”
“What?” I blinked, my gaze returning to his face.
He glowered at me.
It was then the hilarity in his outfit struck me.
On me, the robe was large. On a man who was six-foot-eight and built accordingly, it was—something else.
It hit him several inches above his knees.
The sleeves ended well before his wrists.
He had the sash tied, barely, and I could just see the edges of his black boxer briefs peeking out through the slit.
“Not a word,” he said.
I pressed my lips together very firmly, suppressing the sudden giggle that wanted to slip free.
“Lana.” That single growled word held a note of warning.
A shiver ran down my spine. A good one. How a man in a lavender bathrobe, many sizes too small could look and sound so damn sexy was beyond me.
“I’m not saying anything.” I was saying many things. Internally. None of them had to do with how ridiculous he thought he looked.
I gestured to the clothes clutched in his right hand. “I’ll just take those and get them started.”
He handed them over.
“Forty-five minutes,” I said, taking the clothes and adding them to the washer. “Give or take. Then another forty-five to sixty minutes in the dryer.” I shut the lid and pushed a few buttons to start the machine.
Sighing, he hung his head.
I couldn’t help myself. A little laugh slid free.
His head popped up, dark eyes blazing, but a smile toyed with his lips.
Shaking his head, he executed a quick turn on his crutches, clomping into the kitchen.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked. I was thirsty; the heat from the shower had dried me out.
“Sure.”
“How about some ice cream?” The sweet treat sounded as good as the fluids.
“That would also be acceptable.”
I nodded once. “Go sit. I’ll bring it out.”
As he ambled away, I got out the ice cream. After dishing it up, I tucked two bottles of water into my sweatshirt pocket and made my way to the living room.
“Thanks.” Toren took the bowl I held out to him.
I passed him a water as well, then sat down beside him. He’d turned the TV on, so I propped my feet on the ottoman and turned my attention to it, trying hard not to stare at the hairy thigh now only a foot away. “What are we watching?” I scooped ice cream onto my spoon.
“I don’t know. I just turned it on for noise. I’m tired of silence.” He glanced at me. “I never thought that would be the case, but after being in the bush with Deke and having to stay quiet—” He broke off and shook his head. “I don’t want silence right now.”
I understood that. It also helped quiet the memories that wanted to replay about the whole ordeal.
Through the clothes’ wash cycle, we sat quietly and watched reruns of The Big Bang Theory.
When the chime went off on the washer, I got up and switched things over to the dryer and took our ice cream bowls to the sink.
Returning to the living room, I heard Toren mutter a soft curse. As I rounded the couch, I saw him leaning forward, looking between the couch and the end table.
“What are you doing?”
He glanced up. “I dropped the cap to my water.”
“Oh.” Bending down, I peered beside the couch and spotted the cap. I turned slightly, reaching toward the back of the sofa. It had landed just under the edge near the rear of it. My fingers touched plastic, and I pinched it between them, bringing it out. “Victory.” I held the cap up with a smile.
A smile that died as I realized he was still leaning forward and was only inches away.
There was no smile on his face.
Just an intense, heated look that set his dark eyes ablaze.
You should get up now, my inner voice sing-songed.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
His calloused hand traced the line of my cheek and over the shell of my ear. Every nerve ending on the back of my head fired at once, sending an electric shock down the back of my neck to raise goosebumps all over my torso.
“Toren.” His name came out on a whisper, both a plea for more and a question about what we were doing.
The fingers curving over my ear continued around the back of my head. He grasped my hair and bent his arm, pulling me closer.
The kiss started soft, but it didn’t stay that way. His hand splayed open over the back of my head, and he deepened the kiss as the first tentative touch gave way to a deeper need. My free hand found the lapel of the ridiculous, too-small robe he wore and held on.
His injured hand moved under my arm, and he curled his wrist over the back of my shoulder, urging me up with him as he sat back.
I landed in his lap, one knee on the couch, awkwardly leaning into his chest.
Pushing back, I broke the kiss, chest heaving, as I stared at him. “What are we doing?”
The hand on the back of my head didn’t move. “Losing our minds.”
Before I could reply, he sat up and sealed his mouth to mine again.