Page 12 of Awakened By the Guardian

He didn’t move for at least thirty seconds, so long that she began to worry he’d gone back to sleep. Then he took a deep breath and shoved his arms down, levering himself into a seated position with his knees popping sideways as he pulled himself cross-legged, a loose-limbed fold that would have showed her all his junk if the blanket hadn’t pooled at his groin.

Wait a minute…

“God, I’m dizzy,” Gary groaned. Then his nose twitched. “And hungry.”

Margaret didn’t move. She just stood there staring, her mind replaying the action as he’d levered himself upright. She’d seen him do it a thousand times. It was how he got up from a prone position: shove himself up and then grab something to haul his body into his wheelchair. But never once had his legs moved. Not to bend into a loose cross-legged position. Not. Once. And had he felt it when she poked him in the leg? And…

“Um, how do your feet feel now? Still cold?”

He dropped his head into both hands. “A little, but warming up. Why?”

Her heart raced, and she clenched her mug of coffee until her knuckles went white.

Gary dropped his hand and frowned at her. “Margaret? You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. But how do you feel?”

“Like shit. Why?”

“How do your feet feel?”

He stared at her then abruptly down at his lower body. “They feel cold, Margaret. They feel cold!” He ripped the blanket off in one excited move, and there he was in all his naked glory. But the focus was on his feet.

“Can you move them?” she asked.

“I’m trying,” he said.

Nothing was happening.

“But you did a moment ago. I didn’t realize it at first, but you did. Your foot twitched.”

“Are you sure? I mean⁠—”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She hadn’t imagined that, right? “Don’t think about this. Just do it.”

His expression said everything. How could he not think about it?

“I know, I know,” she admitted. “That was dumb.”

He blew out a breath. “No, it wasn’t.” He looked at her. “I’m going to think of something else entirely. I’m going to look at your beautiful face and your sweet smile.”

“Don’t look at me,” she said, though his words warmed her. “I’m a mess.”

“Never. Not even with your rat’s-nest hair, those wide eyes, that kissable mouth, and those breasts I’ve wanted to⁠—”

“You moved! Your toe moved!” She focused on his feet rather than what he was saying. One problem at a time.

“I didn’t feel anything. Are you sure?” he asked.

No, not one hundred percent. “But you said your feet were cold, right?” She squatted down and wrapped her hand around his foot. “Can you feel that?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Poke it or something. Don’t let me see.”

Hm. So he couldn’t feel her hand on his foot? She released him and stabbed her finger into the arch of his left foot, then waited, her gaze on his face.

No reaction.

The disappointment was crushing, but she didn’t give up. She took her nail and ran it up the sole of his foot. She’d barely gone halfway from heel to toe when he was twitching away.