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“Are you all right?” I ask after a minute.
“Y-yeah.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re all right. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Did I make your back worse?”
“Of course not.” He sounds more like himself now. Clever and faintly wry. I certainly don’t expect him to admit, “I’m in a condition that’s going to make you uncomfortable, so you might want to leave before I get up.”
I’m flustered, so I don’t immediately understand what he means. Then... “Oh.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
It feels like a big deal. He’s aroused. He has to be. Turned on. By my back rub. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He sits up with a groan. Straightens up on the edge of the bed, then pulls me over so I’m facing him. “You didn’t do anything, Scarlett.”
My eyes dart down to his lap. He’s definitely turned on. I can see the shape of his erection beneath the thin cotton of his pants.
“You didn’t do that. You were being kind and generous. It’s not your fault I got turned on. The state of my body is my responsibility. Not yours. And don’t ever let a man tell you differently.”
I swallow hard, my skin hot but my heart fluttering wildly.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips. “Was it just... being touched? Or was it... Was it...?”
“It was being touched by you,” he admits, sober and gentle. “But I don’t want you to stress about it. You have enough to deal with right now with losing your memory. You don’t also need to be burdened with the weight of all my needs. I’m not going to let you be dragged down by that.”
“I don’t... I don’t feel dragged down.”
If anything, I feel like I want to fly.
“Okay. Good.” He glances down at himself. “So don’t worry about this. Thank you for the back rub. It really did help.”
“Okay. Good.” I realize I’m repeating what he said. I can’t seem to think of new words.
I want him to kiss me. To take me in his arms. To murmur out all kinds of stern, hot commands and encouragements. To fuck me with that erection.
But things aren’t like that between us. He’s made it very clear—no matter what his body feels—the rest of him isn’t going to do that.
So I can’t push. He’s probably right. I might not be in a fit state to judge what I want. There’s too much confusion in my mind. I can’t even sort out what’s a dream and what’s not.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs. His hands are still on my hips as I stand between his parted legs.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Good. I need some time alone, but I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” I don’t want to leave him, but he’s making it clear it’s not a rejection.
“Thank you, baby.”
“You’re welcome.” I turn to leave, smiling to myself at the endearment. He called me baby twice this afternoon.
I knew I wasn’t imagining it last week when he carried me up to bed.
