He frowned. “You need something strong for these abrasions.”
She waited with her hands outthrust. “Trust me, this is strong.”
If he told her to scoot closer to him, the movement might undo her towel, so he crooked one knee onto the bed beside her.
But he kept one foot on the floor behind him.
He scooped the satiny-smooth salve onto two fingers. Gingerly, he took her hand in his and rubbed the salve around one wrist. God, her skin was so softer. Not a single rough spot of hard work on her hands, and her wrists were as delicate as a newborn foal’s fetlock, slender tendons sliding under his thumb.
“Who hurt you?” He tried to keep his voice as gentle as his touch though a fury tightened his throat.
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me.” He raised his gaze to hers. “No man should treat you like this.”
“What makes you think it was a man?” When he paused in his gentle massage, she gave him a half-quirk of a smile. “So tell me, Josh, how would you treat me?”
She rotated her hands under his to wrap her fingers around his wrists in loose manacles. Though she left no marks like the scorched lines around her wrists, her touch heated his skin, and despite her delicate build, he did not think he could break her hold. Not that he wanted to be freed.
With the barest tug, she pulled him forward so both his knees were on the bed. As his foot left the floor, he felt like he was falling, not onto the sunny bed but somewhere deeper, darker.
His fingers tingled from the salve, and he wondered what was in it. That tingle was spreading all through his body.
When he opened his mouth to answer—though he wasn’t sure what answer he would have given—she reached up to settle her forefinger over his bottom lip. The scent of wildflowers made his head spin. His mouth heated at the touch of her skin and the sweet salve.
“Don’t tell me,” she murmured. “Show me.”