Page 54 of Chasing Lynda

Lynda ducks under my arm, supporting my weight and helping me down the stairs.

“Thank you,” I say, wrapping one arm around her thin waist. “But let me know if it’s too much. I know I’m not exactly light as a feather.”

She looks up at me and smiles, helping me weave through the throng of bodies dancing to the techno music the DJ has on right now.

Neither of us says anything as we get into the elevator for a short ride down to the penthouse suite I share with the guys.

The only thing crossing my mind is that Lynda smells good. Something floral and delicate and it doesn’t smell artificial like perfume, I think it’s her skin combined with whatever body wash she must use.

“Do you have a key?”she asks as we stop at the penthouse door.

“In my pocket,” I inform her, stepping away from her to retrieve it.

As we cross the large living room, she makes a beeline for the mini-fridge by the bar area. “Shit, there’s no ice here.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, we must’ve used it all earlier. The guys and I had a couple of pre-game drinks. We could call room service to ask for some more or there might be some in my bedroom. Each room has its own mini bar.”

Lynda nods. “Let’s see. Which one is your room?”

I head toward the master bedroom of the suite, lowering myself on the two-seater couch of the living area at the front of the room.

Lynda rummages around the mini bar and joins me a second later with some ice wrapped in a tea-towel and a tube of whatever pain cream Zane must’ve put in the fridge.

She’s standing in front of me and I extend my hand to get the items from her but she shakes her head. “Let me help you with the cream. Just in case you have trouble reaching where it needs to be applied.”

Her dark hair looks so soft that I fight the urge to touch it. “Thank you,” I drawl, noticing the intense blue of her eyes and how long her eyelashes are. “It’s my rotator cuff though, so I probably can manage by myself.”

I don’t know why I fucking say that. I immediately regret turning down her offer. I’ve been thinking about getting closer to Lynda since she kissed me earlier on the beach. Truth be told, I’d been wondering if she was ok after we got her out of trouble with those guys the other night on the beach.

She lowers herself on the couch by my side, placing the makeshift ice pack on the other side of me. “Let me help you, Dodge. I seriously don’t mind. Plus, I feel responsible.”

I let go of my aching shoulder, the pain now less sharp but somehow worse. “How would you be responsible? I fucked up my shoulder playing football last year. Way before I ever met you. Unless you’re related to the two guys from the other team that tackled me and landed on it?”

She smiles at my attempt at self-deprecation. “I’m an only child and my only two cousins are actually women. So I’m not responsible for you fucking up your shoulder initially; but tonight? You hurt yourself to help me.”

I can’t help but smile back. “You got it. That asshole put his hands on you. And it was all Monroe’s fault who was my employee anyway. So if anything, I’m responsible for what happened to you in my club.”

Lynda seems to consider my words for a second. “It’s not your fault that Monroe is a lowlife.” She sets the tube of cream down on the couch, pushing herself to sit up on her knees. “Ok, fuck. Maybe you were a little misguided in hiring him, but—”

I correct her wrong assumption as my eyes rake over her body, wrapped in the skintight, white dress. She’s gorgeous but she looks like she could stand to gain a few pounds. Not that I feel like it’s my job to judge her; she looks sexy either way. “I never hired Monroe. I actually ‘inherited’ him, but fuck knows I’m glad to be rid of his sleazy ass.”

I explain how the resort was a graduation gift from my father and how Monroe was already working here when the guys and I took over. “I just didn’t want to be that boss that fires everyone once he acquires a business, but in Monroe’s case, I had a feeling that he was trouble from the moment I met him.”

She shudders, her blue eyes darkening for a second. “Yeah, I agree. I only met Monroe this morning, but I instantly disliked him. He was trying to take advantage of the wet t-shirt contest to grope the hopefuls; even the ones he didn’t select. I know a few creeps like him, they’re fucking bad news.”

I’m about to ask her what she means, but she scoots closer, beginning to unbutton my shirt.

“What are you—”

She smiles again. “I can’t put the cream on your shirt now, can I?”

I swallow slowly, catching a whiff of that subtle scent of hers as she leans closer.

The ends of her dark hair are brushing against my forearm; it’s as soft and silky as I suspected and I hold my breath because my body is reacting to her nearness in the most predictable way possible.

She lowers the shirt off my shoulders. “Stay still.”

I don’t move a muscle as she squeezes some of the cream on her palm and begins to massage it all over my shoulder.

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