Page 31 of The House on Haven Way

“Want to find a different doctor?” I ask, one hand slowly moving from my lap to around her shoulders. I start tenderly kneading the back of her neck, and the instant, deep, satisfied moan that pours past her lips turns off ninety percent of my brain. The ten percent that’s left runs on lust.

“He’s a good doctor—and he’s not really mean. He’s just making me work harder than the other therapists did. In New York, and then in Boston, I was one of hundreds of patients in a huge practice. I never saw the same person more than twice. Here, my recovery is personal to him. I like that.”

“I like that, too. Except I’m jealous. The way you talk about him makes me feel like I’ve gotta get your attention,” I almost growl as I move behind her on the bed, both hands working now, owning those pretty muscles, sliding under her loose sweatshirt that barely clings to one shoulder. Amber’s head drops, and she pants as I work her shoulders, stroke down her spine. My fingers deliberately take a little longer over her bra hooks before sliding down further. Bare skin to ghost skin. Shoulders to waist. Letting her know I can go longer. Farther. Deeper.

Just give me a chance.

“He’s married. His wife is a swim instructor and lifeguard at the gym. I met her. They have—ohhhh, Oh, Johnny, right there.”

I press my thumbs in circles, every widening, working from her spine out. Widening, like I want her hips to spread, to go wide around me.

“They have a what?”

“A little girl. I’m not interested in him, anyway.”

“No? Someone else?” My mind is in dirty places—remembering the slow, sensuous voice of the woman guiding the massage instructions on the video I watched over and over. Remembering how the man’s hands slid firmly up the woman’s legs, from ankles to calves to thighs, and then one hand disappeared between them.

“Women hold years of tension and locked emotions inside their intimate areas. Through trust and a strong bond, a patient, skilled partner can help her relax and heal.”

I want to heal. I want to heal her. We could heal each other.

“You know who.” Amber slowly tips her head back, looking up at me with the warmest brown eyes and that perfect mouth.

It’d be a mortal sin not to kiss it, and I’m already fast-tracked to purgatory. Don’t want to make it worse.

I bend. Float. Capture her mouth with ease, feeling currents of tingling pleasure zipping through me. Her tongue tentatively strokes mine, and her hands reach for my head. I flip, twist, and now I’m in front of her, kissing her properly. Harder.

My hands don’t stop working, though. I have a mission. A task to do. They slide and glide down her ribs, across her back, always scrunching out knots and searching for sore muscles.

“Legs,” I whisper one word, and Amber flops back, sprawling with her amber curls flying into a halo around her head and her sweatshirt showing off her smooth middle.

“Would this work better without pants?” she asks.

“Yes.” I grab each foot in turn and push her sneakers off, heel first, then over her toes. She’s got such cute little feet in white socks. All of her radiates cute, confident, sexy, smart.

I hate that even as Amber’s looking me in the eyes, seduction in her gaze as she wriggles her pants off, I’m thinking of Nancy.

Nancy’s attributes. Sweet, pretty, ready. Here. Good company. Definitely not shy. No prude.

Those would be great qualities in a wife, if a wife were a thing you own, like a good, solid car. Clean engine. Good tires. Sparks firing.

Amber’s not some good, solid investment.

Amber is wildly inconvenient, endearingly close, and fucking gorgeous.

Amber isn’t a nice little house in the country. Amber is a palace you make up in your head, and if you ever find it, you can’t believe how lucky you are that you see your dream in real life.

I’m the make-believe creature, but she’s the dream girl.

Amber’s legs unfold on either side of mine, smooth, glistening brown, thicker up top, and all muscle and curve at the bottom.

“Good God,” I whisper reverently. “He made you the whole package, didn’t he? Brains, bravery, and body?” I marvel.

I don’t think I ever marveled at Nancy. I thought about how lucky I was to find a nice girl like her, especially when I was basically a grease monkey who couldn’t dance. How fortunate I was that it was all falling into place so easily.

Damn, there’s nothing been easy between Amber and me. For one thing, I had to be dead and frozen in time to even meet her.

“I’m probably gross and sweaty. It’s hard building up stamina when you barely walked for a year,” she confesses.