Page 6 of Craving

He stood up suddenly, and then he was in front of her, looming in all his muscle-bound glory. Camilla leaned back, gripping the arm of the sofa with one hand. “Um. I. Uh…”

Marlon dropped to his knees and picked up one of Camilla’s feet. His touch was gentle on her calf as he glowered at her injuries, his other hand cupping her heel so he could turn her foot for a better look. Warm, calloused hands supported her limb in a firm, gentle hold. A jolt went through Camilla, and heat began to flood her cheeks.

“You were bleeding all day today? Is that why you winced when you stood up from the table?”

She tried to pull her leg away, but he held tight. “It’s nothing, Marlon. I get blisters all the time. No big deal.”

“To you, maybe,” he mumbled, then glared at her. “Stay here.”

She was still leaning back on the sofa, gripping the arm with one hand. Her body was in shock. She had felt the warmth of his skin against hers, felt the fingers of his other hand pressed into her calf. She hadn’t known her calves were an erogenous zone before.

Head spinning, Camilla tried to gather her thoughts. Marlon had disappeared again, and she hadn’t even succeeded in finding out what she could do to contribute to the household. If he didn’t want her to cook, fine. She could bring him baked goods from her shop or bake some fresh before he got up in the morning. She could clean—all these rooms were beautiful, but they needed a good dusting and polishing. When Marlon came back, she’d make it clear that she wouldn’t be staying here without—

He reappeared carrying a large bucket of water with a first-aid kit dangling from his pinky finger. A fluffy towel was slung over his arm.

Camilla started. “Marlon, they’re just blisters. You don’t need to go to all this trouble.”

He set the bucket down without spilling a drop, then gave her a dark, sullen look. “You were bleeding, Camilla.”

She looked at the tiny scab just below her big toe, where the shoe had dug in and split her skin. “I mean, barely.”

He huffed, like that was a ridiculous thing to say, then grabbed her foot and pushed her sweatpants up to her knee. Her first thought was, Thank goodness I shaved my legs this morning. Her second thought was, I hope he keeps touching my leg forever.

Then, with his bare hands on her bare skin, he lowered her foot into the water. After the initial sting of the water against the blister on her heel and the wound on top of her foot, it felt warm and lovely. Despite herself, Camilla felt herself relax. The other leg got the same treatment, and Marlon set the first-aid kit on the coffee table to start sorting through its contents.

“Rubbing alcohol is bad for wounds, so we’re just going to clean your feet, dry them, and bandage them up. I’ll put some ointment on them to speed the healing.” He grabbed her mug and handed it to her without looking, his gaze still on his first-aid supplies.

Camilla took the proffered drink and drank a swallow of hot peppermint tea. She felt like she’d fallen into an alternate universe, where big, gorgeous, grumpy men doted on her in their beautiful homes. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. She hadn’t been this pampered in all her life.

“Feet on the towel,” Marlon ordered.

Okay, maybe “pampered” was the wrong word. Grumpy pampered? Grumpered?

She lifted her feet from the bucket to the waiting towel and tried to bend over to pat them dry herself. Marlon flicked her hands away and gave her another harsh glare.

Okay, then. She’d let him play doctor. It had been a while since someone else tended to her. And by “a while,” of course, she meant “never.”

“So,” she said in the lingering silence as Marlon patted her feet dry and inspected her wounds. “I’m going to clean, and if you ever want me to cook for you, just say the word. Are there any house rules?”

“Dishes go in the dishwasher. Garbage is every Thursday. That’s about it. You got anything to add?” Marlon dabbed ointment onto the wound on top of her foot, then wiped his fingers and grabbed a bandage.

Camilla sank down in the sofa, thinking. Her fingers drummed on the edge of the cushion as she thought. “Well, I have a bit of a strange schedule because of the bakery,” she started. “I’ve hired a bread baker so I don’t have to go in at three o’clock in the morning anymore, but I’m still up around five and in bed around eight on weekdays. So if I’m in my room between those hours, I’m probably sleeping. I’d appreciate it if you could keep it quiet or at least let me know ahead of time if you’re having guests over. But like I said, it’ll only be a week or two, so…”

He grunted in acknowledgment, struggling with a finicky backing on the adhesive back of a bandage. He was cute when he focused like that. Cute in a big-scary-man kind of way.

Camilla smiled, her hand tracing the edge of the couch cushion. Marlon’s fingers were surprisingly deft, but he had short fingernails and was struggling to get the last bandage unpeeled. She was about to offer to help when he finally got it unstuck, then smoothed it over her wound. He moved on to the next one—and Camilla felt something with the tips of her fingers.

She glanced down between the two cushions, frowning. The couch was a dull brown color, and she saw a flash of neon pink.

A flash of something lacy and neon pink.

With the very tips of her thumb and forefinger, Camilla reached down between the couch cushions and pulled out a woman’s thong, crumpled and forgotten.

A strangled noise escaped her lips. Marlon glanced up, saw the underwear, and paused. Something like confusion flitted across his face. Or was it embarrassment? Camilla glanced away from his face and back to the thong.

“Okay,” Camilla said, struggling to sound calm, “new house rule. No sex on pieces of furniture that I might have to touch.”

Marlon snatched the thong from her hand and tossed it toward the living room entrance. “Understood. That’s… that’s a friend’s. I don’t know how that got there.” He grabbed another bandage, spilling the contents of the first-aid kit onto the table. His face was flushed.

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