Fighting Love (Love to the Extreme) (19 page)

relationship. The idea of losing Tommy completely scared the absolute crap out of her.

“I ran you a bath.”

She glanced up to find Tommy standing in the doorway. She let her gaze travel over the tight shirt

encasing the breadth of his chest and down to the jeans riding low on his hips. When her eyes slid to his

bare feet, a small smile tilted her lips. “That sounds great.”

As she pushed the blanket aside, he came over to help her, but she didn’t need his help. Other than

some lingering soreness, which she blamed more on lack of movement than she did the injury, she was

better. She wouldn’t even hesitate to take on one of the bigger animals at the clinic right now. At least she

wouldn’t miss any work over this.

She made it down the hall to the bathroom, opened the door, and halted in surprise. It took a moment

for her to realize what she was seeing.

“Oh. Tommy.”

“You like?”

“I love.”

A pleased smile quirked his lips as she stepped inside. He hadn’t just run her a bath; he’d orchestrated a

whole relaxing atmosphere. All the overhead lights had been turned off. In their place was the soft, orangey

glow from a dozen votive candles he’d placed around the room. A wicker stool had been pulled up next to

the deep Jacuzzi tub she’d splurged on a year ago, the jets set on low and peacefully rippling the water. On

the stool was a folded towel, a glass of iced sweet tea, and her favorite book. She spotted a neat pile of

clothes sitting on the counter.

“It’s wonderful, thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said as he gently closed the door.

After she stripped off her PJs, she sank into the tub, letting the jets soothe the remaining soreness from

her muscles.

She groaned softly. What she really could go for was another of his massages, but this time for her arms

and legs.

She could ask for one… Tommy would give her another massage in a heartbeat.

But no. As tempting as it was, the torture of having his hands on her again wouldn’t be worth it.

Better, instead, to let the jets dissolve as much of the tension as they could. She reached for her book to

read while they worked their magic. She’d gotten about twenty minutes in when the bathroom door opened.

She froze as Tommy stepped in without a second’s hesitation, crowding the small area with his massive

body, overwhelming the space with his mere presence.

And making her extremely aware that she was naked under the rippling water and bubbles. “Hey! W-

What are you doing in here?” She floated her arms to strategic positions over herself.

He held up a pink bucket—the bucket from the bathroom cabinet, full of her pedicure stuff. “Thought

your feet would like to be pampered, too.”

A sweet thought, but probably still a bit much for her to try and do right now—she’d have to bend over

to reach her toes.

“Oh. Sure. Thanks.” After a brief hesitation, she lifted a hand from the water, expecting him to pass the

bucket to her.

He hiked a brow, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t think I’m letting you do it yourself, do you?”

She dropped her hand while his meaning sank in. “What?”

He perched on the side of the tub and casually dipped his hand into the water, as if testing the

temperature. His palm slipped between her legs, high on her inner thigh.

Jerking away, she let out a shuddered gasp. “Hey!”

“Oops. Sorry about that.”

Her mouth parted.

He didn’t look the least bit sorry! If anything, he seemed to be enjoying the hell out of himself. What in

the world was he doing?

All her thoughts scattered as his hand slid down her thigh, past her knee, over her calf to encircle her

ankle, leaving a blazing trail from his touch.

Pivoting his body around to face her feet, he lifted one out of the water and cradled it in both hands,

massaging his thumbs across the top, then kneading deep into her arch with his fingers. Closing her eyes,

she relaxed a little, and softly moaned. God, it felt good.

“That’s right. Enjoy my touch.”

Her eyes opened and she stared at the white cotton T-shirt straining against the muscles of his back. Had

he really said that? The words had been whispered, barely audible, but she swore that was what he’d said.

He rubbed deep again, pulling another appreciative moan from her. This time, she definitely did hear a

growled,
“Fuck,”
under his breath.

A raging ache formed between her legs at the graphic word as her nipples instantly hardened into tight

peaks. A very naughty side reared up. Watching him closely, she deliberately moaned this time, making the

sound more breathless…and sexual. All massaging stopped on her foot as his spine stiffened. Then he

worked his head back and forth, rolled his shoulders, and continued kneading into her arch.

He
was
trying to turn her on.

And there wasn’t another man in sight. No one he needed to put on a fake show for. The same desire

she’d seen in him this morning had been as ripe in that growled “Fuck” as it had been in his eyes earlier

today. Desire for
her
.

He
did
want her.

She didn’t need any damn kiss to confirm that. Didn’t need a moment of jealousy that pushed him to

take her into his arms. There was absolutely no doubt that all she had to do was give him the go-ahead and

Tommy would ravish her body the way she had dreamed about.

With the confirmation, emotions bombarded her from every direction. Fear, excitement…rampant

uncertainty. But the one that stood out the most was how incredibly much she wanted this man. No matter

what the consequences would be.

And that terrified her more than anything.

He switched to the other foot, giving that one the same treatment, coaxing more sounds from her—

genuine sounds—as easily as he coaxed the tension from her muscles. And coaxed her to surrender to him

and forget everything else.

Didn’t he always say she didn’t play enough? That she needed to let go?

Well, here was her big chance.

No other man had ever made her body come alive the way Tommy did without even touching her.

What if no other man ever did?

She studied her best friend, the tremors now quaking his shoulders. And she knew he was fighting

himself, struggling not to ravish
her
.

No matter how hard either of them fought this attraction, and even if they succeeded, their relationship

had changed forever.

The only question was…would they still be together in the end? Or would they both spend forever

apart…and alone?

…

She was fucking killing him.

Tommy scrubbed pumice stone over the bottom of Julie’s foot. His cock was hard as steel and wedged

at an awkward angle in his jeans. Highly uncomfortable. But other than standing and grabbing the front of

his pants to reposition himself, thus bringing Julie’s focus to that very stiff part of him, he was just going to

have to deal.

He was almost done with the pedi, and then he was getting the ever-loving hell out of here.

This had been a superbly dumb idea. Her first soft moan should have been a clue. Her second, a red flag

waving in his face. He’d never wanted to be on top of a woman faster, or more urgently. Inhaling deeply,

he finally lowered her foot into the water. “All right. You’re done. Get dressed and meet me in the living

room.”

Where he had another colossal mistake waiting.

As he left, he didn’t look at her. Once he had the door closed, he reached down and rearranged his

aching cock, groaning. God, he was so turned on. The little mewls she’d made from him touching her were

some insanely dangerous shit. And he found himself teetering on the brink of blind lust—just from the

noises she made. And he hadn’t even been doing anything erotic to her, just rubbing her damn feet.

What the hell would happen when he started rubbing other places—his favorite places? What kind of

noises would she make then? Could he make the soft moans louder? The languid moans more frantic? The

contented moans more desperate? Lust shot through him at the mere thought of trying.

Shit!
He needed to calm down or he was going to do something he regretted. Fucking Julie Rogers was

not
an option. He refused to let the friendship he treasured with that woman be ruined by treating her like

every other meaningless encounter he’d had.

If he were going to be with her, it
would
be special. He would be slow and thorough…a true lover. He

would
not
fuck her brains out and leave.

Not, not, not
.

Calmed by the inner pep talk, he went to his room to change into a pair of black silk pajama bottoms,

needing to get out the restrictive jeans or he risked permanent damage. As tempted as he was to go shirtless,

that was begging for disaster, so he tossed on a black wife-beater, then went back into the kitchen. When

she walked into the living room wearing one of his oversized amateur MMA shirts from years ago, his gut

twisted. There was something massively arousing about her wearing his shirt, and as far as he was

concerned, that could be all she wore for the rest of her life and he’d never tire of seeing it.

As he’d been sifting through her drawer earlier and found it, male satisfaction had gripped him, and he

wondered how many nights she’d slept in it, and if she thought of him every time she put it on. After that,

his search for the perfect outfit had been over. He had to have her in it…see her in it.

The hem reached mid-thigh, making him think of the bright pink satin panties he’d chosen to go with it.

Going through her underwear drawer had been an eye-opening experience. He’d never considered what she

wore under her clothes, but the drawer full of colorful lace, satin, and silk had both shocked and pleased

him. Picking out the one he wanted her to wear, to know she it on right now, was so damn hot. Everything

about that woman made him hot.

It was like his body had stored up twenty-three years of lust and was bombarding him with it all at the

same time.

“How are you feeling?” he asked to distract himself.

“Fantastic. That bath worked out the rest of the soreness.”

“To be on the safe side, lie down on the couch, and I’ll rub more ointment on your back.”

He was surprised when she didn’t argue. When she pretty much flopped belly-first onto the couch

without hesitation, he knew she wasn’t lying about feeling better. After he raised her top, he exhaled slowly

at the smooth skin he’d give anything to place his lips against right now. Instead, he squirted a liberal

amount of the medicated gel into his palm, then rubbed it onto her lower back. His gaze kept drifting down

to the swell of her ass.

Oh, God, he needed to touch her there.
Had
to touch her there.

Being just a
little
bad wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

Slipping his hand under the waistband of her PJ bottoms, he massaged low onto one round cheek,

biting back a groan as the flesh filled his palm perfectly, as he’d known it would. One day he had to have

his hands on both of these luscious cheeks while she rode him.

Realizing his mind was going into dangerous territory, and fast, he jerked his hand out. “Okay, you’re

good.”

She rolled over onto her back, and he helped her sit so she was propped against the arms of the couch.

“That okay?” he asked.

“I told you, I’m feeling fine.”

“Can I sit with you?”

When she nodded, he lifted her legs and slid in beside her, pulled her thighs across his lap, then slung

his arms across the back of the sofa. It was intimate. A couple’s position.

He liked it.

Picking up a strand of her hair, he ran it absently through his fingers, enjoying the scent of the lavender

bath oil lingering on her skin. “The night is yours. What would you like to do?”

When a moment passed and she hadn’t said anything, he glanced up from the lock of dark hair and met

her eyes. A wallop hit him hard in the chest and he couldn’t drag his gaze away. He hadn’t wanted to kiss

her tonight, had just wanted to spend time with her, pamper her, make her feel special—let her know his

intentions, get used to seeing him this way. Prove to himself he was capable of taking pleasure from simply

holding a woman instead of from how many times he’d made her come.

But this was
the
moment—he felt it to his very core.

Their faces were inches apart. Tension crackled in the air. As he gave in, leaning toward her to close the

distance, he knew this kiss would be different from any he’d ever given in the past. Gently pressing his lips

to hers, he kept the kiss soft and coaxing, sweet and lingering, as their lips became acquainted. Needing

more, he shifted his body toward hers and angled his head as he cupped her face between his hands.

The silkiness of her mouth was intoxicating, keeping him coming back for more. He yearned to take her

mouth the way he wanted to take her body—hard and fast and screamingly thorough—but he forced

himself to keep it slow and easy. When he flicked his tongue across the seam of her lips and she parted for