Page 127 of Pretty Little Scars

“Can I watch?”

I grin, excited at the idea of Tucker watching me be crafty, and nod eagerly. “Sure. I might even put you to work.”

“I’m all yours.”

His smile is sexy, and it makes my stomach tighten. He hasn’t touched me sexually since last week when I got hurt. He’s still incredibly affectionate, and isn’t afraid to put his hands on me, but sex has been off the table, and I need it back.

I need it backbad.

Even though I’ve had access to him, more than usual, I miss the intimacy of sex with this man. And given that, before him, I was never with someone more than once, well, it’s new. And I don’t hate it.

“What are you going to do with this cabin in the long term?” I ask Tucker as we walk inside, and I grab my apron and loop it over my head before tying it behind my back.

“I haven’t decided,” he says. “Maybe it’s your new salve workshop.”

I laugh and grab my beeswax and the pot I’ll use to melt it in. I get it all set up on a burner so the wax will melt and I can mix it with the oil I already have steeping with herbs.

“It feels like a waste of space to only use it a few times a year.”

“I don’t really have a use for it right now. Maybe Zack will start staying out here more often when he visits.”

“You could use it as a vacation rental.”

Tucker winces. “I don’t want strangers out here with you and my animals. I wouldn’t risk you like that.”

My heart stutters and I turn to him. He’s sitting on the other side of the counter, out of the way, so he can watch my movements.

“Why would I be at risk?”

“People I don’t know don’t get to camp out on my property and have access to you, Duchess. It’s not about me being controlling or an asshole, it’s because we’re in the middle of nowhere, and you’re here alone quite often. I may have cameras around the house and barn now, but I can’t hear you if you scream when I’m out with the herd. I don’t trust people to respect what’s mine.”

His green gaze holds my own, and I feel my heart trip over itself.

“And is that what I am?”

His brow furrows. “Have I not made that abundantly clear?”

Shrugging a shoulder, I check the wax, and when I see that it’s ready, I start mixing in the other ingredients. I work fast because it’ll start to harden as it cools, and I need to get it poured into little pots.

I fill the one I reuse for myself first. It’s the biggest, and this will last me about three months. Then I pour into the smaller ones that I’ll share with my sisters and friends.

“This is my scar salve,” I tell him and glance up to find him watching me closely. “It’s calendula, comfrey, plantain, and I add some shea butter, too, so it’s extra soft. I also add frankincense for the scent because I like it. I need to put it on your scars too. I planted some calendula in the garden, so I won’t have to buy it next time.”

He’s listening and watching me with patient green eyes, but there’s something humming under the surface that I can’t put my finger on.

Once all the vessels are filled, I clean the pot I just used and start to get ready for my arnica salve, using the flowers I pickedfrom this ranch several weeks ago. They’ve also been steeping in oil, and they’re ready for processing.

But before I can start that batch, I see that my tub of scar salve is hardened, and I whip my shirt off, making Tucker growl.

“Can you help me with this?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

TUCKER

She holds the tub out to me, her eyes wide and innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about this.

And I fucking love it.