Teamwork by Lily Harlem Page A

to shake him to wanting to lick him all over. I felt quite delirious, quite dizzy with the turnaround.
    “Lie on the bed,” I said, “on your stomach.”
    “Yes ma’am.” He shut the door and sauntered in, his presence instantly changing the vibe of the room to one of sexy masculinity.
    “And strip down to your briefs.”
    He shucked his pants off as he walked, revealing snug black Armanis. He lay down on the bed, carefully resting his arms down by his sides and turning his face on the pillow.
    My iPod was ready to go on a series of mellow classical tracks, so I hit play then dropped my robe to the floor.
    His attention was on me as I went to the side of the bed and reached for the oil.
    “It smells good in here,” he said, dropping his gaze down my body.
    “It’s the candles, they’re vanilla.”
    “You look good too,” he said, starting to shift toward me.
    “No, stay still. We need to do this first.” I held up my palm.
    “You’re such a stickler for the rules.”
    “My rules are making you feeling better though, right?”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    “Good, now close your eyes and let me do my job.”
    Touching him is my job. Boy, am I a lucky girl.
    His mouth tightened and for a moment I was sure he was going to disobey me. But then he shut his eyes and sighed.
    Straddling his upper thighs, my legs folded and my crotch just below the bottom rise of his buttocks, I rubbed my hands together to warm them. Though it probably wasn’t necessary, I was feeling pretty damn hot. Having two hundred pounds of hard hockey-player muscle between my legs was clearly good for my circulation.
    “You ready for the oil?” I asked.
    Grunt.
    Carefully I dripped the clear liquid down the length of his spine. The little puddles pooled and sparkled in the candlelight.
    “I’m going to touch you now,” I whispered, tipping forward and resting my palms on his scapula.
    I felt a long, low breath leave his lungs before they refilled deeply. I began to sweep and spread the oil over his acres of perfect skin. Careful of his shoulder and being sure not to put any undue weight on the joint, but at the same time, smoothing the oil into every horse, wolf and bird on his tattoo.
    His breathing remained steady as I worked my way down his spine, the calming effect of the oil settling my nerves too, as I inhaled its sweet scent.
    When I reached his legs, I shuffled to the side of him. Paid attention to his left leg and then his right. It was when I touched the back of his right that I noticed his spinal column tense.
    “This where it bothers you?” I asked quietly.
    “Yeah,” he muttered, not opening his eyes. “But not all the time, just when I twist.”
    “How come you didn’t say anything to your medics or coaches?” I was busy feeling the tendons and muscles. There was possibly some inflammation laterally but nothing major.
    “Because it’s pathetic. It should be better by now.”
    “People heal at different rates. You’ve got some strapping big muscles down here and when your cruciate tore, it ripped against itself. Stands to reason it was a worse injury than someone with puny muscles.”
    I noticed his fists relax. “I knew you’d understand.”
    “You did?”
    “Yeah, when I first met you, back in Cardiff. It was just the way you were, professional and calm and nonjudgmental.”
    “Why would I judge a sport injury that’s taking its time to recover?”
    “Because it’s me, Raven Starr, best damn defenseman in the league. I had to prove that I still was and that meant getting back on the ice damn quick and doing my stuff quicker and better than everyone else.”
    “Mmm, well, it didn’t do you any favors, keeping quiet like that. But I think this oil will help and the hydrotherapy exercises definitely will. They’ll build the muscle back up to the strength it was before the repair if you stick with them.” His legs were so thick and solid, long too. The oil had slicked his body hair down and made his