Page 67 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

My throat closes with the sudden dryness, and I try to swallow through it, willing my cock to stay down at the thought of her hands on me. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

The corner of her lips twitches slightly. “I didn’t think you spending all this time and energy helping me on the homestead was a good idea, either. You ignored me, and look where it got you.”

Fuck is she quick and smart.

“Touché.”

She pushes from the counter. “This is my opportunity to make up for it, for all the pain you must have been going through for the last several months while you were helping us.”

“Camille…”

She’s so close to me that I can smell that faint orange blossom scent that haunts my dreams.

Her shampoo?

Her lotion?

Or maybe it’s justher.

I lean even closer, knowing full well I shouldn’t, given the tension permeating the room and the fact that my cock was hard for her less than half an hour ago. “You don’t owe me anything.”

When she looks up, I can see the determination in her gaze and know I’ve lost. “I do, though—whether you want it or not. And I’m far from a massage therapist, but Dave used to have some issues in his back and shoulder, so I know how much I can help, if you’ll let me.”

Shit.

Denying her the opportunity to do something like this for me is just as selfish as allowing it.

She doesn’t justwantto help. Sheneedsto.

I draw in a long, slow breath and release it, gathering the strength I know I’m going to need to handle what’s about to happen. “Okay.”

One thing I learned quickly about the woman standing beside me is that she doesn’t back down easily, and she also clings to her guilt like an old friend. Unfortunately, I’m more than familiar with that sentiment.

If helping me withthiswill help ease some ofthatfor her, I can’t say no.

I slowly walk to my room, keeping my right hand against the wall to steady myself rather than risk collapsing onto the floorboards. Things may be better, but I don’t trust my legs not to give out on me again at any moment the way they did out in the barn earlier.

Camille stays at my side and slightly behind me, like she’s waiting to catch me if I should lose my balance—or worse.

But she doesn’t touch me.

She lets me do it on my own.

And Christ, do I appreciate that about her.

By the time I finally lie down on the bed, I release a relieved groan at the almost instant release of pressure.

Thank fucking God…

Camille steps in and pushes the door closed behind her as she eyes me spread out on top of the quilt. “Are you okay to lie on your stomach?”

I nod.

Maybe that will make this easier.

Not having to look at her.

Not having to see her perfect, soft, pink lips or the way her blue eyes roam over me like they do now, taking in every inch of my exposed skin like she’s taking stock.

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