Read Online Slow Fever by Cait London - Free Book Online Page A

window air conditioner and then Koby lifted too many bags of concrete mix and—”
    Michael took a long, slow breath as if calming his nerves. He rolled his shoulder and grimaced. His groan was barely audible.
    “What’s wrong?” Kylie asked, instantly alert to those needing her.
    “Nothing.”
    When he moved painfully, grimacing again, she scrambled out of her sleeping bag. “I think better when my hands are busy. You need a massage to relax. Take off as many clothes as you can so that I can get to you.”
    “‘Get to me,”’ he repeated darkly. “It’s cold up here. Is freezing my backside off revenge for putting you off when you were fourteen?”
    “Sissy. I just wanted to see if steam really came out of a girl’s ears when you breathed into them. I’d heard your breathing and tongue could melt bones. I’d even scrubbed my ears five times for the occasion…. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing once I work on you.”
    “I’d be dead not to,” he said flatly, looking at her in that quiet burning way. There was that odd tingling at her nape again as Michael studied her across the campfire, as if he understood what leaped between them and was considering his next move.
    “I’ll only try to relax you. We won’t talk. I don’t have my scented oils or music, but it’s a peaceful night on the mountain. We’ll go with that.”
    Michael stood slowly, towering over her, the firelight on his face making it seem even more dangerous. His hand rested on his jeans belt, then he tore open the buckle. “Is that what you did with the others? Oil them?”
    “Sure,” she said, hurriedly turning her back to him as he undressed. A man on a massage table and Michael taking off his clothes were very separate items. “I skipped the tranquillity music and aromatherapy, but Ray had a real sinus thing going and he was glad for the relief.”
    “I’ll bet,” Michael muttered darkly. “Ready.”

Four
    A soft touch and gentle words ease most of what life gives us. The giving eases our own cares.
    —Anna Bennett’s Journal
    “Michael, you’re too tense. You’ve got to give yourself to me,” Kylie spoke softly, as Michael lay facedown on his sleeping bag. Her hands gently stroked the taut cords at his neck and shoulders, never leaving his body. Instead of the soothing effect she had explained they would give, her hands skimming his body launched the heavy thrust of his desire. She spoke in cool, professional tones, as though placing herself at a distance from him. “Trust me, Michael. Let the bad energy flow from you. Your back muscles are too tight—too much tension like that can cause a nasty headache. I know we’re not in perfect circumstances, but try to relax. Your body is acting defensive. I can’t communicate with it. If you’d turn over, I could massage your face.”
    “No.” Wearing only his shorts, his arms at his sides, Michael shivered. Cold mountain night air wasn’t his immediate problem—it was giving himself to Kylie. Lying on his stomach, his body was warm and tense, particularly in the area of his upper thighs. “Is this what you did for the other ones, York and the rest?”
    “No. We managed to use park benches or some arrangement at their houses. Heart or any other kind of problems?”
    “None.” But one very large and painful one, Michael decided.
    “Good. I’m going to ask a few questions as we go along, but tell me what you want, what you are feeling. Let me converse with your body.” When Michael inhaled abruptly and tensed against the undefined anger curling around him, Kylie said, “Relax, Michael. Think of pleasant things.”
    Her fingertips smoothed an old scar. “You can tell about these. If they were deep, or there was muscle or tissue damage. I need to know about your body, Michael. There are several round scars. What caused them?”
    Michael was silent as Kylie’s firm hands gently worked down his legs. Bullet wounds were common in his previous lifestyle, and he