Home > Stealing Home(13)

Stealing Home(13)
Author: Nicole Williams

From the low notes in his voice, I knew exactly what he meant. “The plan is to calm the tear. Not further aggravate it.”

“Okay. I can work with that.” When I exhaled, he added, “I’ve got ideas.”

“Ideas that involve what you have in mind and not using your groin muscles?” My gaze wandered back to that part of his anatomy. Right before moving onto a different part of it. Holy shit. Something about knowing he wanted me and wasn’t concerned with hiding that desire made me dizzy. “Good luck with that.”

Archer watched me as I disappeared into the bathroom to turn off the water filling the tub. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of a desperate man.”

After testing the temperature of the bath, I grabbed one more bag of ice and dumped it in. I’d arranged to have four new bags arrive every few hours through the night so I could mitigate the damage Archer’s pulled groin muscle would have on his season.

The team doctor had done an exam in the locker room and assured Coach Beckett that with aggressive care these first twenty-four hours, Archer should be able to play the game in New Orleans three days from now.

From my own exam, I knew the doctor was giving Coach a serious case of lip service. The only way Archer would be able to play the Shock’s next game was if we injected him with every illegal substance in this sport and on the market in general. It was a class two pull—no amount of walking off would fix this in a couple days’ time.

“Are you hungry, Doc?” Archer called from the other room.

“That depends on the context of that question.”

His laugh carried into the bathroom. “You know me too well. However, in this instance, I’m referring to hunger as in for food. The room service type specifically. I can order something for us so we can eat once you’re done cryogenically freezing my gonads.”

Wandering back into his room, I dried off my hands with a towel. “Hey, this isn’t my fault—I warned you to take it easy.”

I ceremoniously waved my arms toward the bathroom, feeling nervous. I’d given so many ice baths I could have filled an entire ocean with them, but this one was different. It was for Luke Archer. In his hotel room instead of the locker room. Plus, back there, the entire coaching and medical staff had been present, pow-wowing a plan of treatment. No one else was here now though.

Just me. Just him. And a locked door.

Shepherd had crapped a brick when Archer requested that I attend to him through the night, right before the suspicious look that shadowed his face insinuated the very thing I was trying to avoid. If someone on the team was already suspicious that something was going on between Archer and me and we hadn’t even done anything, what chance did we have of no one finding out when and if we actually did?

“Dinner?” Archer waved the room service menu at me.

“I’ll order it for us. We need to get you in the tub before you get any more swollen.”

Archer’s gaze swept down his body, landing on the very part of him I was trying not to inspect. “I can think of something to help with the ‘swelling.’”

Crossing my arms, I gave him an unfazed look. “I’m here to see to your leg. Not your dick.”

“I think that by taking care of one, you’ll be taking care of the other.”

“True. Ice baths are up to the task of tending to torn muscles and swollen dicks. So let’s get started.”

Archer lay stretched out in bed for another minute, calling my bluff, but when I made no move to throw myself at him, he sighed. “The ice bath it is.”

“Good choice.” Rushing to him when he started to climb off the bed, I positioned myself under his arm to keep him from putting any weight on the injured leg.

Archer’s arm wound snuggly around me, holding me close as we slowly made our way into the bathroom. “I could get used to this. My arm around you. You spending the night in my room. Getting my needs tended to by you. I might just try to injure myself again once I’m healed up from this one.”

“Can’t wait to run that plan by Coach,” I muttered as we came to a stop at the edge of the tub. When he didn’t step in right away, I lifted my eyebrows. “Afraid of a little ice bath?”

“Please. I’ve had just as many of these over the past five years as I have showers. I’m immune to them.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

His eyes lowered. “I don’t know what you’re into, Doc, but I don’t typically bathe with my clothes on.”

“Those aren’t clothes.”

“I don’t bathe with my underwear on. That better?”

Before I could say anything else, his free hand tugged the waistband down over his hips. Then said underwear were in a heap at his feet.

“There. Much better.” When he glanced over, he didn’t miss my crestfallen expression. “Sorry? Did you want to help with that?”

My eyes lifted to the ceiling. Mostly just to keep them from exploring Archer’s exposed body. “Get in the bath already.”

I kept my gaze up as I helped him step into the tub, but even then, it was hard not to notice him in my peripheral vision. Even stepping into a thirty degree tub of water and ice, probably in serious pain from the muscle tear, he was still hard.

The muscles south of my navel contracted.

He didn’t wince when his other foot stepped inside, the water skimming just below his knees. His skin didn’t even erupt in goose bumps. Maybe he was immune to the discomfort of it all.

   
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