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“I’m taking a shower.” Oh, God. She was killing him. Making him want to laugh out loud. Where had his sense of self-preservation gone? He didn’t feel emotion— that was far too dangerous. He shivered beneath the blankets, suddenly afraid for her. For himself. “You’re still cold. I should have thought to rub you down with some warm oil. Lexi makes it and I use it sometimes when I come in from a dive. It warms you up fast. Can you roll over, because I’m not rubbing your front.” “Why not?” “If you want a massage, turn over.” — Christine Feehan
I’m taking a shower.”
Oh, God. She was killing him. Making him want to laugh out loud. Where had his sense of self-preservation gone? He didn’t feel emotion— that was far too dangerous. He shivered beneath the blankets, suddenly afraid for her. For himself.
“You’re still cold. I should have thought to rub you down with some warm oil. Lexi makes it and I use it sometimes when I come in from a dive. It warms you up fast. Can you roll over, because I’m not rubbing your front.”
“Why not?”
“If you want a massage, turn over.