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Brody bows. “Yes, my queen. Would thy grace be so kind as to lend an able hand? Your peasant boy would be most grateful.” Out of the corner of his eye, he catches me smiling. He winks and we gaze at each other. His eyes are a sexy, mesmerizing blue, and a distinguished nose compliments his square features.
“No,” Amber says, cutting into our moment, her voice a hard break right before the beat drop. “You’re a behemoth. Carry it your damn self.”
I stand up.
“No, Paige. Do not help him,” Amber pleads, stepping in front of me.
Brody grins. “Yes, Paige. Do come help me. I’m fucking tired.”
I glance between them. Siblings are fun. I wish I had a sibling. I tap my phone.
Brody stares at my phone with furrowed brows. Maybe he wants to ask about it. Instead, his gaze shifts behind me to the window above the kitchen sink.
Amber’s eyes are heavy with worry. “I know you like to help. Just take it easy, okay? You should be resting. You’re still healing.” She stands on the sidelines, arms crossed and mouth tense as I position myself on the end opposite Brody.
I wave a hand at her for reassurance. My stomach aches, but everything is stitched tight and I’m feeling better. I’ll be careful.
“Thank you, Paige,” Brody says, “for being a decent human being.”
Amber sticks out her tongue.
On the count of three, we lift, or I try to. The mattress slides from my weak fingers. I should learn to play the guitar. No, the piano. That will strengthen these puny hands.
“You push. I’ll pull,” Brody offers.
So that’s what I do. When we get to the room, he sighs and starts shoving equipment to one side—a weight bench, some ropes, a stand of free weights, a treadmill. He crams as much as he can at one end of the room and then moves or drags the rest to his office, filling all the available space. The equipment is so smooshed together that it’s barely usable.
I clutch my stomach, back pressed against the wall next to a small window. I am disrupting everything. My presence is making him rearrange his whole setup, and I can see how important working out is to him.
He leans on the door frame, wiping more sweat, his words tight. “It’s fine.” He moves toward me and raises his hand.
The movement is too fast, too sudden, too familiar, so I flinch and duck my head, lifting my arm to shield the impact. His entire body stiffens as he watches me. With careful movements, he completes the action he started—reaching next to me to open the blinds. Staring at my eye, he puts distance between us again.
“Really,” he says, clearing his throat so his words are softer. “It’s okay. I needed to clean anyway, so this is good motivation.” After a pause, he adds, “You’re safe here.”
Safe. Safe. Safe safe safe safe. Safe. Sah-ay-f.
Safe.
That’s what Amber told me. Safe. Now there are two people telling me that. I can’t tell if it reassures me or puts me more on edge. People lie and deceive. No. Amber is my friend and she’s earned my trust. I trust her, so I’ll trust Brody.
As the moment of adrenaline passes and my heartbeat returns to normal, Brody jabs a thumb toward the mattress. “Help me flip it?”
I stare as he positions himself next to the mattress, muscles flexing, pecs plump and straining beneath his black tank top. He’s so sweaty that the musty scent fills the air. It’s also tropical. Coconut? Sweat and coconut. I don’t mind. I wish he had more things to move so I could watch.
That wonderful warm sensation spreads from my stomach to my legs, pooling in my groin. The more I think about Brody—pulling off his top, unbuckling his belt, showing me each naked muscle—the more I ache. An ache that will never go away—an empty sensation, a yearning, a terrible wall I can’t breach no matter how many times I try. And I’ve tried by myself a lot.
I want to be connected fully to my sexuality, to feel like a complete woman, but that wall is adamantium, and no one can break adamantium. Maybe the Hulk, but that’s an ongoing debate.
Brody is so attractive and fit that I bet he has a lot of experience with women. Would he be willing to help me?
He cocks an eyebrow as I’m lost in thought and staring.
Right. Mattress. I scramble to the other end, and we position the mattress in the empty half of the room. As we twist to lay it flat on the floor, the bandage on my side rips. I groan. Thick, warm liquid slides down my skin. Hurrying to the tile hallway so I don’t stain the carpet, I press my palm against my side, unable to mask my pained expression.
Brody rushes over just in time for Amber to smack his arm. “See what you did?” she growls, urging me to the bathroom.
He follows close behind, silent.
