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“Sure.”
Five minutes later, we walk together to the living room. I’m carrying the glasses of wine, Daniel the ice and a kitchen towel. When we both slump on the couch, he wraps the ice cubes in the towel
“It’s more comfortable for the skin if it’s wrapped in something.”
“You’re a pro at icing, I see.”
He smiles ruefully. “We get the odd ankle sprain or minor injury on our tours. Learned a few tricks.”
Sitting at the opposite edge of the couch, he takes my foot into his lap. It feels like heaven when he sets the towel-wrapped ice on my ankle.
“You’ve got a nice place here.”
“Thanks. I love it. Can walk to work too, which is a plus. Why aren’t you putting ice on your head too?”
“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.”
I raise a brow because I remember smacking him pretty hard.
He shakes his head, concentrating on my ankle. Men. For the love of God! Do they think their balls will fall off or something if they admit to feeling pain?
I scoot closer until my ass is almost brushing his thigh, touch the spot where I hit him. “This is swollen.”
He winces, and I immediately take the ice from his hands and my ankle, then bring it to his head.
“I can hold this,” he argues.
“I’ll do it. Let me take care of you.” In a softer tone, I add, “That’s the right I want back.”
His gaze snaps up to me, searching my face in surprise, as if he can’t believe what I’m saying. If I’m honest, I can’t believe I’m saying it either.
“Better?”
Eyes shut, he nods, relaxing even more, a smile playing on his lips. Suddenly, I become aware of how close we are. My foot is still on his lap, my knee and leg propped against his stomach. My other leg is bent at an odd angle between my crotch and his thigh. Awkwardly I try to shimmy around, stand up a bit, but I only manage to make it more awkward. Great, now I look like I’m straddling him. Just as I’m about to pull away, he cuffs my ankle in one hand, blinking his eyes open.
“Stay. It feels good. It feels right. Let’s talk about us.”
I forgot how direct he can be. I wish he’d have eased us into the conversation, give me time to warm up a little. On second thought, if I warm up more, I might end up on fire.
“Caroline, I want a second chance for us. I’ve wanted this for years.”
“Oh, Dan, I want it too.” My hands are shaking slightly, and I grip the ice tighter in one, resting the other on my belly. “I just don’t know if we should.”
“I never said it would be easy.” He pulls me flush against him, knocking the breath out of my lungs. Our bodies aligned, I can feel the ridge of his obliques pushing against my pelvis. Or maybe that’s just my dirty imagination at work. Jesus, I’m going down fast. Daniel seems to be thinking along the same lines.
“Look at you. You’re blushing and panting.”
I don’t miss a beat. “Because you’re warm and I nearly lost my balance when you pulled me.”
Daniel chuckles, but then the sound fades as he brings my hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, then my palm.
“Caroline, I miss you. Us. This is our chance.”
A soft thumping starts in my ears, intensifying by the second. My right knee weakens, then the left. Worst case of swooning if I ever had one.
“I miss all of it too,” I murmur. He straightens up, looking directly at me. His eyes are full of their usual smolder (which adds a healthy dose of desire to the swooning), but also tenderness and emotion (which doesn’t help the swooning in the slightest).
This man, I swear! He thinks he can just waltz back in my life, take over like this. I wish I could say his delicious promise or the heat in his eyes doesn’t sway me, but why pretend? I’m hanging on to his every word, but I need to make something clear.
