With a deep sigh, he sat back, rubbing his shoulder. “I was helping tear down a kitchen this morning. I had two crew members call in sick, so I had to step in and lend a hand. The sink and counter fought back.” He rolled his neck. “They won.” At my worried gaze, he waved off my concern. “It will settle, Liv. I took some pills. It takes longer sometimes than others.”
I studied him and stood. I hurried to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of lotion I had seen earlier. When I returned to the living room, I sat in one of the large chairs and tossed a cushion on the floor. I opened my legs and indicated the cushion. “Take off your shirt and sit here.”
“Um…”
“Don’t argue, Van. Just do it.”
His eyebrows rose slowly. “Okay, Ms. Bossy.” He stood and tugged his Henley over his head in the effortless way only guys could do. It was sexy and slow, but I hated seeing the glimmer of pain cross his face at the action. He lowered himself to the floor, squeezing between my legs. I could feel his tension as he eased back, wrapping his arms around my calves.
For the first time, I fully saw his scars. I had felt them before and even glimpsed them, but this was the first time I had actually seen them up close. Deep and long, they ran down his shoulder and back, a crisscross of pain he carried with him at all times. Gently, I ran my fingers over the grooves. He stiffened at my touch.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Your touch never hurts.” He drew in a long breath. “They’re ugly, though.”
I leaned down and feathered kisses along the marred skin. I traced each line with my mouth, making sure to touch every one. He shuddered in long spasms that raced down his spine.
I pressed my mouth to his ear. “Nothing about you is ugly, Van. Your scars are a part of you—a part of your past that makes you who you are.”
“Who am I?” he asked, his voice so low, I had to strain to hear him.
“Mine,” I replied. “You’re mine.”
He turned his head fast, capturing my mouth and kissing me hard. He buried his hand in my hair, holding my face close as he ravished my mouth. When we broke apart, my breathing was erratic, and his eyes were intense and wild. “I am yours, Liv. Completely.”
I could only nod.
“And you’re mine.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged.
“Let me take you upstairs.”
“Once I get rid of your pain.”
“Liv…”
“Please?” I asked. “Let me do this.”
He captured my hand and kissed it. “Okay, baby. Go ahead and try.”
Van
I’d had massages in the past. Therapeutic, deep tissue, hot stone, every kind there was, in order to try to alleviate some of the discomfort at times. A few proved somewhat effective; some were a total waste of time.
Liv put them all to shame. Her touch was different. Her surprisingly strong fingers found knots and spasms and worked to ease them. She stroked and soothed. Pulled and released. Dug in and opened pathways that took away some of the pain. The whole time she worked, she hummed, the sound low and pleasant.
“I like that.” I informed her. “You have a great tone.”
She laughed quietly. “Sammy likes it when I sing to her.”
“Me too.”
She dropped a kiss to my neck. “Good.”
I let my head fall forward, totally relaxed as she worked. Normally, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t relax under the hands of a masseuse. But Liv was different. Her touch was different. I was able to allow myself to only feel. I basked in her touch. In her words that kept echoing in my head.
“Nothing about you is ugly, Van. Your scars are a part of you—a part of your past that makes you who you are.”
“Mine. You’re mine.”
I was hers. There was no doubt in my mind. I belonged to her, and she to me. The same with Sammy. She had crept into my heart as well, and I needed them both in my life.
Liv tilted my head, her fingers digging into the juncture of my neck. It was a constant stress point for me, and I groaned as she found the nerve that always seemed to be inflamed.
“Too much?” she asked.
“No,” I replied. “Keep going.”
“I need closer,” she murmured and shifted, draping her leg around my chest. I wrapped my arms around her calf and lowered my head. As she worked, the pain morphed into relief, the constant ache dissipating. My body felt loose, at ease for the first time in a long while. My shoulders sagged as the pressure released, my arms going slack, unable to hold her anymore.
“Can you lie down on the couch? On your stomach please.”
I knew I should protest. Tell her she’d done enough. But her touch was addictive, and I wanted more of it, so I did as she asked. She settled on my thighs, working my lower back.
She continued to work and hum. The world seemed to recede, quiet settling into my brain. I felt adrift and at ease. I shut my eyes, unable to keep them open anymore.
Slowly, free from pain and surrounded by my Liv, I slipped into sleep.
I woke up, my eyes slowly focusing. The room was dim and quiet. In front of me, sitting on the floor, was Liv, her Kindle light faint in the dark. Her head was resting against the sofa cushion, her legs drawn up to her chest. Reflections of flames from the fireplace flickered on her face as she read, seemingly absorbed in her book.
Briefly, I was confused. The last thing I remembered was Liv working on my back with her magical fingers. I realized I had fallen asleep, leaving Liv on her own.
Great.
“Liv,” I groaned out her name.
Her head turned, a gentle expression on her face. “Hey.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I am so sorry.”
She frowned, confused. “Why are you sorry?”
I sat up and stretched. I noted the usual twinge that always followed my movement was absent. I peered down at her. “For falling asleep on you. Some romantic evening you’ve had.”
She lifted a shoulder, dismissing my words. She snapped her Kindle closed. “Frankly, Van, it’s been one of the nicest evenings I’ve had in a long time.”
“You prefer my company when I’m unconscious?”
She laughed. “I’m thrilled I was able to give you enough relief from your pain so you were able to sleep a little.”
“Leaving you bored and alone.”
“Nope. Leaving me pleased and with time on my hands—a rare occurrence for me. I helped myself to another glass of wine, turned on your fireplace, and read. I can’t remember the last time I was able to do that for more than five minutes. Usually by the time I get Sammy settled, get ready for the next day, finish whatever work is waiting, and go to bed, I’m too tired to read. And it’s one of my favorite things to do.”
“Why didn’t you at least sit on a chair? Why are you on the floor?”
Her smile was shy. “I liked sitting beside you and reading. Being close. But I would love to curl up in one of those chairs one day and enjoy this lovely room.”
Bending low, I captured her mouth with mine. I kissed her sweetly—long and slow. It was a kiss of thanks, for what she did for me, her words, and for being her.