Physical Distraction: A Sinful Suspense Novel by Tess Oliver

way Jem Wolfe said darlin’ caused a little piece of me to melt. Even with Everly’s persistent warnings, I was having a hell of a time staying immune to his charm. And his physical presence wasn’t helping matters. His muscular, bare back stretched between impossibly wide shoulders. Even the way his hair curled up at the base of his neck was appealing. And the tattered scar on his jaw gave him another layer, a dimension that evoked a hardship endured, and I’d more than once had the urge to run my fingers over it.
    I’d volunteered to help him. I took a deep breath to gain focus. Up close the wound was far more than a scratch. I reached into the metal box and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic to pour on the gauze. “I think you left a little more flesh out there than you realize. This passed the scratch stage several layers of skin ago.”
    “Don’t even remember it happening.” He was completely relaxed. I was anything but.
    He’d just come from an ice cold pond, but heat was radiating off every inch of his skin. Badly, I wanted to smooth my palms over the layers of muscle in his shoulders and arms. I pulled in a steadying breath, doused the gauze with antiseptic and pressed it over the cut. His shoulders tensed some as I wiped the medicine across the wound.
    “Am I hurting you?” I asked.
    His back vibrated with a low laugh. “Not exactly. But if I sit between your long legs much longer with your sweet warm breath tickling my neck, I will be hurting.”
    “I don’t know whether to be flattered or completely disturbed by your suggestive remarks.”
    His hard body shook with another silent laugh. “Well, since you haven’t hopped off this bench and stormed out of here, first aid kit in hand, I think we can skip disturbed.”
    There was no way to deny that sitting this close to a half naked Jem Wolfe was stirring up just about every physical reaction possible. I needed to finish the first aid and get back to work.
    I cleaned the skin around the gash. “It’s not perfect, but at least it’s free of pond residue. I can tape some gauze over it so your shirt won’t stick to it.”
    “Nah, it’s fine.” He leaned down, and I watched with complete and ridiculous fascination as his arm, shoulder and back muscles contracted and stretched in the simple act of pulling on his shirt. He lowered the t-shirt slowly over the cut and swung his leg over the bench. I was still straddling it and facing his profile. It, too, was chiseled perfection.
    I shook my head to snap myself out of my reverie where I seemed to be cataloguing all the man’s hard to resist qualities. Everly would not have warned me away from him if she didn’t have good reason. But I was still looking for that good reason.
    He reached under the bench for his boots.
    “But your feet will be wet.”
    He smiled as he untied them. “I work on the pond. They are always wet.”
    “Oh, right. Stupid me.” I swung my leg over the bench and returned the unused supplies to the first aid kit.
    “Where are you staying, Woodstock?” The nickname should have irritated the heck out of me. But, just like darlin’, the way he said it made me hope that everything Everly had said about him was wrong.
    “I’m staying with a girl I met on the road. Her name is Everly.”
    He looked up from tying his boot. “Landon’s niece?”
    “Yes, that’s her. She’s been really great. Even made me lunch today.”
    He nodded and returned to his second boot. “Everly’s had it tough, and her uncle—well—I guess they’ve already filled your head with horrible Wolfe stories.”
    “You mean like Red Riding Hood?” I said with a laugh, but his mouth was pulled in a grim line as he finished tying his boots.
    I decided it was my cue to get back to the office. “Well, my Florence Nightingale impersonation is over, and now it’s back to the file disaster.”
    He straightened. Bringing up Everly and her uncle had changed his mood abruptly. Just like on the road, when