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“Allow me.”
She freezes as I lean closer.
“What are you doing?” Her hand shoots up to stop me.
“Offering you a message.”
Her nostrils flare in annoyance as she studies me. So much mistrust and confusion swirling in her eyes, tugging at my heartstrings. I stay still, letting my heat seep into her skin, hoping she won’t refuse me.
“You’re obviously in so much discomfort. Let me help.”
“Mark, this is a bad idea.”
A sharp warning’s in her piercing gaze, and I find it hard to catch a breath being this close to her. But I made up my mind.
“We have no idea how long we’re going to be here.” My voice sounds thick to my ears as I fight my inner instinct to pull her in my arms. “I can’t allow you to suffer,” I admit. “It isn’t just muscle soreness, is it?” I try to let her know I grasp the extent of her injuries, recalling the mangled car they were both pulled out of. I still feel the aftershocks.
She blinks away the tears and nods as if my sympathy's something she isn’t used to.
“It doesn’t matter,” she rasps, biting her lip.
“It matters to me.”
After another long pause, she pushes backward, resting her back against the wall.
“Okay, if you insist.” She exhales, getting more comfortable.
Relieved she agreed, I start massaging her calves, using pressure points to relax sore muscles. It’s hard to ignore how simply touching her makes me feel. Her red hair is splayed around her shoulders like a halo of fire, lips parted like an offering, driving my imagination astray.
A little moan of relief escapes her lips, sending blood straight to my hardening cock. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done this. This is a dangerous line I’m skirting. But I can’t bear the thought of her in pain. My heart won’t settle watching her suffer.
“How did you know?” she probes me, and I arch an eyebrow at her. “Not many would have thought about my injuries.”
She’s right. Not many would have considered her traumas. Especially when everything about her conveys a different message. Power. Wealth. Strength. Beauty. But I can recognize a suffering person when I see one. I know what it's like to be in pain, walk and breathe with broken bones. Someone did unimaginable things to me when I was a kid. I learned so much about pain and how to live with it. So did she. I can’t ignore it.
“It’s easy to forget you survived a car accident. You look flawless, healthy, and strong. But I know no one comes back from the wreckage unscathed or without painful reminders,” I tell her, watching her cheeks glow.
What Cassandra doesn’t realize is that this emergency lighting exposes her scars to me. Lines of artwork, carved into her perfect skin, tell about this woman’s heart-breaking story the media speculated about over the years. I trace the scars with my eyes while she’s entirely unaware her secrets are revealed to me.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
I raise an eyebrow at her demand to get more personal as if she’s trying to steer me clear from her devastating past to find mine.
“You seem already acquainted with my legs. I think we crossed the lines of propriety already.” The corners of her lips curl in a teasing smirk and her eyes sparkle like a pale blue diamond, waiting for my retort. But I also see the apprehension in there too. She isn’t comfortable with this; I shouldn’t have touched her.
“What do you want to know, Mrs. Cade?” this time I use her name to remind her who we are, but she ignores it.
“Does your family live in the UK?”
Irritation filters through me, fierce and biting. Cassandra groans, jolting her leg in my arms as I find an achy spot. I still her in place so I can work on the leg muscles again.
“I don’t have one,” I grumble m
y answer, casting a glance at her confused face.
“No parents or siblings?”
I shake my head, and she lurches forward, grasping my wrist as I press down with relentless pressure to increase blood flow. And make her forget about this.
