Isabel
With slow, steady steps, I reach my car for the rest of my supplies. I’m hoping the snowflakes falling on my face will cool my fevered skin.
Viktor Prinz.
Sweet baby Jesus. The man is…hot. Holy moly is he hot!
Sure there have been some great looking patients before him, but there is something about the man inside that house. Something that scares me. It’s not the words that come out of his mouth, those I’m used to. Every amputee patient I’ve helped is grieving the loss of their limb in their own way. It brings an onslaught of emotions that no one person should have to experience in such a surge.
No, but something about this moment makes me feel like the tides are changing. My attraction to him was instantaneous. Friends, if I had any, would argue that I’m only drowning in pheromones thanks to spending time with a nearly naked man.
Naked man.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man. Too long since I’ve experienced the pleasure of an orgasm at another’s hands, mouth, or yes, dick.
I think back to Viktor’s erection and press my thighs together as an image of him disappearing into my wet core pops into my mind. “Shit.” I groan. I need to get myself under control. I inhale deeply and the cold air burns all the way down.
When I step inside the house, I note the barely lived in bachelor pad. Viktor isn’t in sight, and I assume he went to dress like I asked. God, I hope he put on some clothes to cover up that sexy body. If he hasn’t, I’m going to have a hell of a time concentrating.
Pushing my less-than-professional thoughts aside, I take in the space and debate where the best room to set up for these next few weeks will be. I spot the open bottle of Jack on the table and wish it surprised me. It needs to go.
I hear Viktor come out of a room down the hall as I step into the open kitchen. I look at the higher cabinets and smile to myself. Rolling to my tiptoes, I stretch my body and place the bottle on the highest shelf I can reach.
“What the hell are you doing?” he barks.
I erase the smile from my face and turn to face him. “I’m here to help you get stronger.”
“No.”
“No?” I ask and stare him down.
“No. This is my fucking house. You don’t get to go through my shit. You don’t get to hide my Jack.”
The vein in his neck swells and pounds erratically. I take another fortifying breath and give him a small smile. “Viktor. I’m here to help you, to make you better, to make you stronger. I’m sorry, but I don’t have an assistant, so Jack has to go.”
“You’re absolutely correct. You’ve been hired to make me stronger. Not to act as my mother. And seeing as though I buried her yesterday, and I’m not looking for a replacement, you can lower that bottle.” Hurt, anger, and pain flash across his face. Thankfully, Mabel Potts already notified me of Viktor’s loss before sending me in today.
“No.” Leaning against the counter, I hope I look calm and collected. The complete opposite of how this man makes me feel, because right now I want to wrap my arms around this man I don’t even know.
“No?” He rolls himself into the kitchen, stopping inches from me. Viktor shoots me a fierce stare meant to intimidate me. “Give me the bottle, Ms. Marchant.”
“Call me Isabel, and no. Let’s—”
A beast-like growl tears from him, and the muscles in his arms ripple as he grips the handles to the wheelchair. He pushes himself up to balance on his left leg, and beads of sweat begin to form across his brow. I’m impressed by his stubborn motivation. Standing, he’s nearly a foot taller than me. Waves of his anger crash against me, but I can’t help but feel my nipples tighten at the power before me.
His arm raises, and I force myself not to react as he leans over my shoulder to reach the cabinet. The skin between his eyes creases, and his skin pales. My concern for the man trumps the sexual charge running along my skin at having him in my space.
“Viktor?”
A grunt escapes his parted lips, and I see a flash of pain as his body trembles. My arms dart out to help him back down into his chair. His breaths are shallow from his exertion, and he refuses to make eye contact with me.
Turning from him, I open cabinet after cabinet until I find a glass. “Okay, first things first. You need to do your part, Viktor.” After filling the glass with water, I hand it to him. “I need you hydrated. I don’t mean with Jack or any other alcohol. Whether you like it or not, you’ve been given a second chance. You will hate me and fight me every step of the way, but I promise you, in the end, you will thank me.”
Viktor grunts as he holds the glass filled to the brim. Temptation to admire his features tickles my senses. What is wrong with me? My throat is dry from the desire and confusion tumbling around inside me. I grab another glass and fill it for myself, even though I don’t think it’s going to help.
Between sips of water, I force myself to concentrate on the man sitting in quiet contemplation. “Drink up so we can get started.”
His lips part but no words come out. A moment passes and as he tips the glass, I watch the cords of muscle in his neck bob up and down as he guzzles the fluid.
“Fill it up and come to the living room.”
A smile tightens my face as I walk away and he does as I ask without a fight. I kneel and sift through my supplies, finally removing a thick mat and a foam roller. From my suitcase I remove a set of adjustable weights. I hear the soft roll of wheels on his carpet as he approaches me.
The odd connection I feel to this stranger is confusing the crap out of me. The desire to not only feel his body over, under, and in mine but to know the Viktor living in him—before the anger and pain coated him. I shake my head, scattering my crazy thoughts.
Our eyes meet, and his eyes focus on mine in a way that scares me. They search mine and widen a fraction. They move over my face and down my body in a caress. My body lights up, and my breath catches at the intimacy of it.
I clear my throat. “Okay, um, let’s get started.” At his slight nod, I continue. “I’m sure some of this stuff will be familiar to you. First, we both need you to take care of yourself. You need to stay hydrated, eat healthy, shower, and make sure your limb’s skin is clean, and at its best. I’m going to help you strengthen not only your residual leg, but we also need to make sure your left leg is at its strongest. We are going to work on your balance and upper body strength. You’ll be sore, but I need you to tell me if there is any pain at all. Okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, and his lips pull into a thin line.
“Before we start, I need to see your leg and make sure everything looks good.”
He chuckles. “Trying to get in my pants already.”
I swallow my own laughter at the way his brows raise suggestively. “You’re wearing shorts, Viktor.”
His fingers lift and push on the material to the stump shrinker, and it rolls off what is left of his calf. Kneeling before him, I look at the puckered flesh where the sutures brought his skin together. I lift my hand and press my fingers along the skin and muscles of his stump.
Viktor hisses as his leg jerks under my touch, and our gazes collide. “Does this hurt?”
His eyes darken. “No,” he grits out.
“Viktor, in order for me to help you get stronger, you need to talk to me.” Tilting my head, I study his expression. I rub the tissue and note the visual level of discomfort before his leg retreats. The muscle in his jaw tenses, and his lips pull back tight. “Okay, go ahead and put it back on.” I nod at the material in his lap.
I watch him slip the shrinker back into place and lean back with his hands over his stomach. For sitting in a wheelchair, he looks comfortable. Viktor watches me, and his attention makes me dizzy. It’s so intense that I need to force myself to break the connection.
Over the course of the next hour, I stretch the muscles in his legs and back. Teaching him along the way so he can use each motion on his own to ease any pain. Viktor listens to my words, nodding and speaking only when absolutely necessary.
None of it surprises me. Viktor is like so many of my previous patients. The path to recovery is much more than strengthening my client’s bodies. Their minds, hearts, and muscles need to heal and learn to cope with their new bodies. My ultimate goal is to help Viktor realize that his injury doesn’t have to hold him back.
“Go ahead and lie back. I need to grab something.” I reach in my bag for some instant ice I keep on hand and return to where he’s lying with his eyes closed. I take a moment to check him out without embarrassment.
He’s absolutely beautiful. Both of his arms are covered in tattoos, one design woven into the next. The T-shirt he put on earlier now covers the upper half of his body, but from his nearly naked welcome, I know his tattoos continue all the way up. A few disappear over his traps and onto his back. Stories in picture form cover him, on display for all to see. Some are in bright vivid colors, and others pop in black and white.
I observe his face and notice his full, soft, kissable lips twitch under my stare.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare?”
My gaze flies to his. Dark brown eyes almost pitch-black stare into my own. Curiosity and amusement flit across them, and I clear my throat. “Sorry, I thought you were asleep.” I lie, because the truth is not only embarrassing but completely unethical.
Viktor is my patient, I remind myself.
After kneeling at his side, I slide the foam roller under his knees. Looking around me, I spot my massage oil and lean forward to grab it.
“Well hello,” his voice, now husky, teases.
Instantly I realize my error, as the new position presses my belly to his. I can feel his muscles ripple through our shirts. Desire shoots through my body and lands between my thighs. I gasp and push back with the bottle of oil in my hand.
This man has me completely off-kilter. I’m behaving like a student rather than the professional I am.
“Sorry about that,” I say to his stomach and clear my throat. It doesn’t help at all that I’ve seen what his body looks like under that shirt. My imagination would have never done him any kind of justice.
For a man who’s been relatively immobile for the last few months, he’s maintained a pretty damn great physique. This leaves me wondering how good he looked prior to his injury. Holy hell. I don’t think I would have survived seeing however many packs of abs he had then. His six-pack probably had a few six-packs. As it already is, the man still has a firm body.
I force myself to look at his face. “I’m going to remove the shrinker. After this last hour, the tissue could use a massage, and then we’ll ice it to help with any swelling.”
My fingers touch his thigh, and the hair tickles my hands. The muscle under my hand flexes as I slowly pull off the material. I rub a few drops of oil into my palm and begin massaging the stressed tissue.
At first Viktor is tense, which only makes my task more difficult. I take peeks up at his face, looking for any signs of pain. After a few minutes, he finally relaxes into my touch and his eyes close.
“I’m sorry about your mom…” The words fly out of my mouth with no warning. I hadn’t even been thinking about it.
“Me too…” Viktor’s eyes flick over my face and close again. “Thank you.”
“I never met my mother,” I confess. God, what is wrong with me? It’s like a case of verbal diarrhea.
“Why not?” he asks.
I shrug and rub the tissue, hoping my touch is soothing it. “I’m not sure. My father never really told me what happened to her.”
“Are you an only child?” Interest in my story brings a lightness to his eyes. Open curiosity and a touch of sadness for the girl who never met her mother. My heart squeezes.
I laugh. “No. I’m the baby of the family. I have three brothers and two sisters.” Although with all their selfish ways, I would have been better off as an only child.
“Wow! Your parents were awfully busy. I can’t imagine feeding that many people.”
“It wasn’t always easy. Papa did his best,” I say fondly of my father. “My siblings weren’t always the easiest.” Easy was not a synonym that could ever be used to describe them.
When the tissue under my fingers becomes pliant, I grab the ice and activate it. “This should help alleviate any swelling and help with the soreness from today.” Once he’s settled I begin to put away my things, so I can leave after I know he’s doing okay.
I spot the wheelchair where we parked it and look around the room. “Do you have the crutches they gave you at the hospital?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“I want you to use them more than the wheelchair. I know it’s a pain, but we want you to get stronger.” I zip one of my bags as he grunts, acknowledging he heard me.
Keeping my head down, I work around him. I force myself not to stop and stare. When everything but what he is using is in its place, my gaze lands on him. There’s nothing else for me to do. Nothing else to keep my shaky hands occupied. Nothing else to keep my mind from wanting to know more about him.
The air around us crackles. It doesn’t matter that this attraction is forbidden. Viktor calls to me like no other man has. It scares me to be honest. The sizzling chemistry struck me hard when the door had opened, revealing the surly, sexy man in only black boxer briefs.
“You’re staring again,” he mumbles, startling me.
A blush creeps up my face. “I’m going to go pack the car, just relax.”
The multiple trips in the cold help me keep my head. I inhale the air and let it shock my system, hoping it will dispel Viktor’s scent. In my twelve years as a physical therapist, I’ve been hit on by my clients on multiple occasions. Never has one made me want to throw caution to the wind.
Never.
Hell, he hasn’t even hit on me in the few hours we’ve now known each other. And yet here I am standing in the snow, looking up at his house and daydreaming about the feel of his large paw-like hands running up my body. These next few weeks are going to be the hardest so far in my career. Luckily, I’m sure his fit body will bounce back from this bump in the road.
“Ah! Get your shit together, Isabel!” I snap and draw in fresh air.