Page 12 of A Veteran’s Second Chance

She shakes her head, but there’s a hint of a smile. “You can’t call me that anymore.”

I hold my hands up. “You’re right. Sorry, doc.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not a doctor. Savanna will do. Now please lie on the massage table, and I’ll do some deep tissue work.”

“Do you want my shirt off?”

Her gaze darts to my chest, and I don’t miss the bob in her throat as she swallows. She may hate me, but she’s still attracted to me. And I’m prepared to fight dirty to get her back.

Without waiting for an answer, I hook my thumbs under my t-shirt and slowly drag it up my chest. Savanna’s gaze fixes on my body, and her eyes go wide like a kid in a candy store. She’s still staring as I pull it over my head and drop it on the chair. I’ll be turning forty this year, but I work out regularly. It’s part of the job to keep strong, and now I’m glad for the hard muscles across my chest and my thick biceps.

Savanna never was good at hiding her emotions, and the heat in her eyes as she takes in my body is a reminder of what I’ve been missing. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman, and far too long since I’ve been with this one. We fooled around a lot, but I was aware of how young she was, and I didn’t want to take her virginity knowing I would eventually have to leave.

Now, under Savanna’s gaze, my dick springs to life, eager to find out what it’s been missing. Savanna’s gaze travels downward, and her mouth pops open when she sees my length pressing against my gray sweatpants.

“Oh!”

She spins around, embarrassed, but the full-length mirror can’t hide her blush. She covers her eyes and points to the massage table.

“Lie face down.” She peeks at me through her fingers. “If that’s, um, not too uncomfortable for you.”

“You need another hole in the table.”

She’s facing her computer, not looking at me, and I wonder if she’s as turned on as I am right now. I hope she is. Otherwise, I’m a creepy asshole getting turned on by a female therapist.

“Maybe we should skip the deep tissue work,” I suggest. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Because I’m the asshole who got a boner in her treatment room.

“No.” She turns around and keeps her eyes fixed on my face. “You’re here for treatment, and I’m going to treat you.”

She smooths her hair back and moves to the other side of the bed. “Sit on the edge of the bed. I can reach you from here.”

I sit down, and she opens a tub, filling the room with the scent of muscle relaxant. She scoops out a chunk and rubs her hands together, and a moment later her warm fingers are on my shoulder.

I close my eyes at her touch. It shouldn’t be intimate. Hell, I’ve seen many physios over the years, and none of them have given me a hard-on. But Savanna’s hands on me stir up too many memories. Her strong fingers get into my muscles, finding the pain points, then smoothing them out with practiced efficiency.

She kneels on the bed behind me, and her warm breath tickles my neck. I close my eyes and imagine we’re somewhere else, somewhere private, and that she’s mine to touch back.

“Is this pressure okay?”

“Hmm.” I’m putty in her hands, and it’s healing me in more ways than one. I relax for the first time since I was injured. It was during an ex-fil. We were under fire, and the helicopter jerked as I was dangling from the rope. I’ve been in the same situation a hundred times, but my body has had twenty years in service, and eleven of them as a special operator doing extreme shit like clinging to a rope dangling from a helicopter at a hundred feet off the ground while coming under enemy fire.

I hate to admit it, but I don’t heal as quickly as I did ten years ago. My body has taken too many hits, and this time it’s had enough.

And as I sit here with Savanna’s hands on me, I wonder if that’s a bad thing. I gave a lot to the military, and giving up Savanna was the biggest sacrifice. Whether this injury ends my career or not, I want Savanna in my life if I can win her back.

“Let’s see if that’s made a difference.”

Savanna retracts her hands, and the warmth lingers. When I open my eyes, she’s standing before me. Her cheeks are flushed, and I wonder if she felt it too—the electric connection between us from her touch.

“Raise your arm.”

I do as she asks, and my arm moves higher than it did before the deep tissue work.

She puts her palm on my wrist. “Push up.”

I push against her wrist, and it hurts a little less. But I’m distracted by the heat coming from her. She’s inches away from me, and I can’t contain my need to reach for her. My hand flips around, and I capture her wrist in my hand.