ater, wrung it out, and began to unbutton the top of Cale's medical gown. Her movements were pre

in was flawless, his muscles perfectly defined. There was no hint of th

n as she worked the cloth over his skin.

ook at this. Most men who are actually conscious don't have a six-pac

ike a piece of meat on a butcher's block? He forced his breathing to remain slow and even, but he c

his shoulders, her fingers noting the powerful curve of his biceps. T

. A primal, instinctual tension seized him. He was a man used to absolute co

her hand. She paused for a fraction of a second, but her expression didn't

exploratory pressure. The muscles were like an athlete's. Solid. Ready. This was not the body of an inval

igh, her knuckles "accidentally" brushed ag

y betra

a purely physical, involuntary response that

room crackled

wn. She saw the distinct, undeniable evidence of his body's arou

ace. It was the first genuine expression

t against his skin. "Well, well, Cale Sterling," she whispered, her voice a sil

e experienced. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to wrap his hands around her slender neck and squeeze.

tiny, glistening b

nto place. It was al

It could be argued as a reflex. A spinal cord reaction. She n

ient movements, she finished the job, her touch now completely impersonal. She dressed him in a clean

minutes of excruciating t

at the man in the bed. His body still se

with a light, confident step. She was

ill, silently vowing that he would make this w