Chapter 4 #2
Davis stared at the bowl rotating in the microwave, silence stretching between us.
I bit my lip, tempted to fill the quiet.
Thus far, Davis had tolerated me rather well, but I didn't want to push it.
I was very aware that I was in his space and not necessarily in his good graces.
He was letting me stay as a favor to Jo, and it was best I remember that.
The microwave dinged, and Davis used a towel to carry the chili to the table before gathering bowls and silverware.
He added a tub of sour cream and glasses of water to the table.
I felt like I should apologize for not helping more, but my ankle ached.
The short walk from the barn to the kitchen had been almost more than I could handle.
"Ice?"
Davis's offer shook me from my thoughts.
It took me a moment to understand what he meant.
He seemed to read the pain on my face, pivoting back to the fridge and diving into the freezer, this time emerging with another ice pack.
He bent down at my feet, tracing my ankle.
His soft caress sent a wave of goose bumps radiating up my calves.
I pressed my thighs together, clenching as I imagined his palms stroking higher before letting my thighs fall apart.
He glanced up, eyes dark with something I wanted to label desire but was probably concern, judging from his frown.
Intent on examining my ankle, he had no idea I had thirst aid, not first aid, on the brain.
“What’s the verdict, doc? Am I gonna live?” I pushed the playful words out from a too-tight throat.
Now that the idea of playing doctor had emerged, it was difficult to lock it away again.
“Bee, if anything, you’re going to be the death of me…”
I watched his dark head, willing him to look up so I could get a better read on his meaning.
The rough grumble and his pet name for me made me think maybe…
maybe he was as affected as I was. I assumed he called me “Bee” because of my balloon.
I hoped it wasn’t because he found me annoying or was allergic to me.
The affection in his voice and the throaty growl that accompanied my nickname made it sound like an endearment.
Like I was special to him. And hopefully not just especially irritating.
He hadn’t exactly fallen at my feet, but it was close enough that I could fantasize.
I’d widened my stance to give him room. If he wanted to, pushing my thighs apart to explore wouldn’t be difficult.
Every cell yearned for him to do just that.
Picturing his face buried in my lap might keep me warm well into old age.
His big palm engulfed my ankle firmly, bringing my attention back to his inspection. His grip was not too tight, but it was solid enough that it sparked new ideas. I could think of a multitude of uses for his work-roughened palms. Most, the Hippocratic Oath would absolutely disapprove of.
I squirmed in my seat, restless to my core as he took his sweet time with my ankle.
If he didn’t slap the ice pack on it soon, the scent of my arousal was going to give me away.
I doubted I’d be able to look him in the eye ever again if he caught on to exactly how turned on his doctoring left me. Especially if it left him cold.
The way he lingered over his examination, I could almost believe he was enjoying himself.
“You definitely need ice.” His gruff tone as he slid the ice pack around my ankle disabused me of any hopes I’d been nurturing that his intent was to get me hot and bothered. Gone was the tenderness from earlier.
I sighed, exhaling my disappointment. "Thanks, Davis."
My words felt too weak, but they were the best way to hide that I was a puddle inside. I mustered a smile. "I'll be more help tomorrow," I promised.
Davis ignored my offer, spooning chili into bowls for each of us.
His cool reaction made me wish I could roll in a pile of ice packs instead of having to pretend that everything was fine and dandy between us.
He’d riled me up good and seemed utterly oblivious.
I wanted to hate him for it, but it was hard to fault him for what amounted to kindness.
The rich aroma from my bowl made my stomach growl, and I reached eagerly for my spoon.
Almost immediately, I regretted my decision, opening my mouth as if the influx of air could cool the sudden burn singeing my tastebuds.
I breathed through the pain, eyes watering, bravely chewing and swallowing before grasping my cup of water like a lifeline.
Once I'd downed a few mouthfuls, I wiped my eyes, able to focus on Davis.
"Shirtballs, that's hot."
He didn't even have the grace to look surprised. Maybe I liked it hot. He didn't know. He pushed the sour cream container he'd set on the table toward me.
"Thanks," I said dryly, adding a large dollop to my chili, stirring it until the atomic mixture looked creamier than burn-your-mouth dangerous.
I took another bite, this one blissfully muted.
Davis had already polished off his chili, and he spooned another helping into his bowl, wrinkling his nose when I pushed the sour cream back toward him.
"I'm afraid for your stomach lining," I admitted, wiggling the container at him.
"The heat puts hair on your chest," he mumbled, ignoring my offering.
Whether he'd intended it that way or not, my brain took that as an immediate invitation to ogle his chest. Sadly, it was impossible to determine if it was hairy or smooth. I narrowed my eyes.
There had been that shirtless incident when I flew over last year.
Davis had been upset that one of my passengers snapped an unauthorized pic of him bare-chested.
Now I regretted not seeking out that post. My imagination was no substitute for photographic evidence.
Slowly, my gaze returned to his face. Davis stared back, his blue eyes drilling into me with disapproval.
Busted.
I cleared my throat, smoothing my spoon along the table before meeting his gaze. "I teach my students to verify every claim with evidence," I said piously.
"So instead of stripping me with your eyes, you'd prefer I pull off my shirt to prove my point?" Davis deadpanned.
I leaned my head on my hands, grinning broadly. "I do love a man who's willing to sacrifice for science."
Not flirting with Davis was impossible. He presented too tempting a target.
Part of me desperately wanted him to push back from the table and rip his shirt off, baring that impressive chest for my gaze.
Then I remembered his injury. Guilt washed through me.
Davis had already sacrificed enough for me today.
With a grunt, he pushed back from the table, rinsing his bowl before putting it in the dishwasher.
"I'll clean up," I offered, standing with a wince.
Davis shook his head before pointing to the living room couch. "Go."
I debated arguing, but something about his forbidding expression forestalled me.
My attempts at flirting had fallen flat.
Giving Davis some space was probably my best bet if I wanted to maintain a shred of dignity in my time here.
The man didn't like me. He tolerated me. Big difference. As much as it hurt, being more me wasn’t likely to fix it.
The problem with constantly giving your affection to others was that it became difficult to recognize when your friendship and admiration weren’t returned.
I’d give and give until he sucked me dry if I wasn’t careful.
And it wouldn’t change a darned thing. If anything, he’d just turn further away.
I couldn’t make him like me. It was best I remembered that and treated him like the friend I wanted him to be.
The last thing I needed was for Davis to ban me from the farm and from his life.
Jo might get him to relent, but there'd be nothing more lowering than my friend having to beg her brother to forgive my poor judgment.
Keeping things easy between us was paramount if I was going to fulfill my original pledge: help him during his recovery.
He didn’t ask for my messy feelings, and I wouldn’t let them keep me from atoning. Davis hadn't asked for me to plunge into his life and onto his property. I'd forked that up all on my own.