Page 8 of My Craving

“There is fine,” Duncan says, as calm as if standing half naked in front of an employee is an everyday occurrence.

I park the cart where he indicated and notice a tube of muscle rub near the edge of his desk. Duncan has some smeared across his fingertips and is trying to work it into the muscle along the top of his back. Well, that explains the lack of a shirt. He works the muscle rub over the top of his shoulder, but every time he reaches farther back, his face tightens.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” He tries again and still can’t reach the spot beneath his shoulder blade.

I step closer before I can talk myself out of it. “It looks like you could use some help. Did you pull a muscle?”

His hand stops, and those impossible green eyes settle on me. I’m close enough now to smell soap beneath the sharp menthol of the muscle rub, and offering to put my hands on Duncan Murphy suddenly feels like a much bigger deal than it did when the words left my mouth.

Chapter 4 Duncan

Nash’s tongue slips across his lips after he offers to help with my shoulder, drawing my attention to his mouth. I’ve spent months looking at him without doing anything about it, but having him standing this close while making no attempt to hide his interest makes keeping my hands to myself a hell of a lot harder. I want to touch him and find out what happens when all that attention is focused entirely on me.

“You’re my last stop, and I’m on break anyway.” He gestures toward the tube of muscle rub. “Why don’t you let me help you out?”

I raise an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth curls.

“Honestly, I don’t mind. I know what it’s like to have a stiff muscle you just can’t quite reach.” His smile grows. “I meant your shoulder.”

“I assumed as much.”

“So… is that a yes? You want me to help you out?”

The little bastard is doing it on purpose. I hold out the tube of muscle cream instead of answering, and after a moment, he takes it.

His smile changes when he realizes I’m actually letting him do this. I’ve seen Nash smile plenty of times, usually while talking to someone in the hall, but this one is directed at me.

“Sit on the coffee table. I can’t reach you properly with you standing.”

The order slips out of him so naturally that one corner of my mouth threatens to move. Nash has spent months calling me Mr. Murphy while handing me my lunch, and apparently getting me half naked has made him comfortable. I walk to the coffee table and sit instead of reminding him who signs his paycheck.

The cold gel touches my shoulder, and I hiss at the sudden chill. Nash chuckles behind me.

“Sorry about that. Don’t worry. I’ll have you heated up in no time.”

His fingers work the ointment into the strained muscle with surprising confidence, the pressure firm without being painful.

“I’ve done this before. Yoga leaves you with plenty of sore muscles.”

His thumbs work into a knot near my shoulder blade, easing some of the pain. I don’t normally invite people outside my family into my personal space, much less let them put their hands on me, but nothing about Nash touching me makes me want to move away. If anything, I want more.

His hands spread across my upper back as he works deeper into the strained muscle, and somewhere between one pass of his thumbs and the next, I stop paying attention to my shoulder. The warmth of his palms against my skin has my cock beginning to thicken, an uncomplicated physical response that leaves very little room for denial. I’ve shared beds with women. I was married to one. Neither changes the fact that I want the man standing behind me.

Nash grips my traps and gives them a gentle squeeze. “How does that feel?”

“Better.”

His thumbs return to the knot beneath my shoulder blade, and I lower my head slightly as the tight muscle finally begins to release. He knows exactly what he’s doing, but judging by the way his fingers occasionally drift farther than necessary before returning to my shoulder, easing the pain isn’t the only thing he’s enjoying.

Nash gives my shoulder one last pass before stepping away. “That should help. If it tightens up again, let me know.” He glances at his watch and grimaces. “I need to get back before Caroline starts looking for me.”

He wipes the ointment from his hands, tosses the tissue into the trash, and heads for the door. The pain in my shoulder is gone, but my cock is still hard as I grab my shirt and pull it on. Fucking hell. I wanted him before today. Now I’ve had his hands on me.

I return to my desk and start on my lunch, but concentrating is a fucking lost cause. I keep going back over the same work, and by two o’clock, I’m irritated enough with myself to call it.

“Ifreann agus mallacht.” Frustration has always had a way of bringing out my Irish, and Nash Campbell is managing it without even being in the fucking room.