Until We Touch (Fool's Gold #15)

“She’ll be released later today. That’s good. I mean the purpose was to provide her with a place to stay and you did that.”


He’d done nothing but provide housing, but if she wanted to make him a hero, he was willing to go with it.

Once Wendy and her escorts had driven away, he closed the front door, then walked into the living room. All the furniture had been pushed to the outside walls. The tarps on the floors had protected the flooring from Wendy’s need to spit up bones and fur.

Jack went to the largest sofa and reached down to shift it back into place. It moved easily, but as he shifted positions, he felt a familiar burning in his right shoulder. The one that told him all the scar tissue was tight and that it was going to be a very long night.

The cause was simple—too much football and not enough healing. He couldn’t change the reality of either problem. He’d made his choice to play the game and he didn’t regret one second of his time in the sport. As for the healing, well, there was only so much any one body could do.

While Larissa pushed the smaller chairs into place, he tackled the second sofa. They walked to the big, square coffee table at the same time.

“It’s too heavy for you,” he told her.

“I’m tough. Besides, I’m not the one who’s hurting.”

He wasn’t surprised she’d noticed. Larissa knew his body as well as he did. Usually that wasn’t a problem. Her familiarity with his aches and pains meant that when she worked him over, he was good for a couple of days. But lately he’d been avoiding her. Or rather her massages. Time on the table had become uncomfortable and it had nothing to do with his destroyed right shoulder.

They carried the coffee table into place. A couple of lamps later, the room was back to normal. She headed for the kitchen.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “You know you need this.”

He hesitated only a second, then trailed after her. While she went to the half bath to get a bottle of lotion, he unbuttoned his cuffs, then moved to the front of the shirt. By the time he sat down in the kitchen chair she’d pulled out, he had his shirt in his hands. She took it from him and tossed it onto the table. She moved to his right side and pressed her fingers into his shoulder.

The relief was nearly as powerful as the ache. She knew exactly how hard to press and where the scar tissue thickened. She was able to dig deeper, to find the places that bothered him the most, and release the buildup of acid and pain. Massages with her weren’t gentle and they weren’t pleasant, but when she was done, he was healed. At least for a couple of days.

He relaxed into the familiar burning, knowing he would sleep better because of it. At the same time, he half expected her to yell at him for avoiding their sessions. Or at least ask why he had. Only what was he supposed to say to that? The truth was impossible. No way he could admit he was terrified he would get turned on again. Talk about humiliating.

Twenty minutes later, she stepped back. “Better?”

“Much. Thanks.” He reached for his shirt and shrugged it on. “Want to get lunch?”

“Sure. What do you have in the refrigerator?”

He had no idea. She was forever putting stuff in there, then later, throwing it out if he didn’t eat it. As he watched, she crossed the hardwood floor and opened the refrigerator.

“There’s plenty. We’ll have a bit of everything. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

He rotated his arm, testing his shoulder. The ache had faded to a manageable level. When he went back to the office, he would spend some time in the steam room and be practically like new.

At her instruction, he collected plates and bowls, along with forks, knives and napkins. She heated containers in the microwave, then put food on the table.

There was an eclectic collection of leftover Chinese and Italian, a salad from a bag and couple of microwaveable burritos. He grabbed a diet cola for her and a bottle of water for himself, then joined her at the table.

“Quite the feast,” he said as he sat across from her.

She grinned. “I really wanted to add Cheetos, but that seemed too much.”

“There’s always room for Cheetos.”

“There is.”

She took a serving spoonful of spicy cashew chicken and passed him the carton.

“I’m worried about Percy,” she said as she licked her fingers.

Jack found himself more interested in what she was doing with her mouth than anything she might say. A dangerous state of affairs, he reminded himself, and forced his attention back to the topic at hand.

“Why?”