Wise Moves by Mary Burton

gurgle and spit. Cambia’s presence dominated the room, which now seemed too small.
    “I don’t have milk or sugar.” More luxuries that she’d decided she could live without.
    “Black’s fine.”
    Having him wait on her felt awkward so she rose and from the cabinet, got down two white mugs that said Yoga Studio on them. Stretching made her wince.
    “So you are hurt,” Cambia said.
    She set the mugs down, breathing through the pain. “Just a little sore.”
    He stepped toward her. “I’m taking you to the doctor.”
    “I don’t like doctors.”
    “You could have broken ribs.” He nodded toward her loose-fitting yoga blouse. “Let me see your ribs.”
    “Not likely, Cambia.” The idea of his hands touching her made her more nervous than she thought possible.
    He lifted a brow. “It’s either me or the doctor.”
    Kristen didn’t want to press him. She had no doubt he’d drag her to the doctor if need be. Again, she’d end up in somebody’s computer system. “No doctors.” She faced him. “Okay, check.”
    He pressed his large hands to her rib cage under her loose top. Her pulse quickened. But she didn’t dare move for fear his hands would touch the underside of her breasts.
    His hands stretched wide, nearly reaching around the circumferance of her chest. However, his movements were all business and very gentle.
    She winced as he squeezed softly. “That hurts.”
    “Yes.” His chin grazed the top of her head. She was very aware of his scent, a mixture of soap and his own aroma.
    His thumb brushed the underside of her breast and a thousand tiny bolts of energy shot through her body. She tried to step back but bumped into the counter.
    “Stop squirming,” he said.
    Unwanted desire warmed her body. “Look, I’m fine.”
    He held on to her a second longer, then released her. “I don’t think anything’s broken but you’re going to be sore for a couple of weeks. Bruises can take longer to heal than breaks.”
    Her breathing had grown shallow. It had been almost a year since she’d been with a man. Carlos, her fiancé, had been the only man she’d ever bedded. After he’d died, she hadn’t had the desire or the energy for another man. While she’d been on the run, there’d been opportunities for sex, but she hadn’t trusted anyone enough to take the risk.
    Now, however, she was very aware of her enforced celibacy. She moistened her lips.
    Cambia’s eyes darkened as he stared down at her lips.
    Slowly, as if she were a skittish colt, he raised his hand to her elbow. His callused hands felt rough against her skin. Gently, he traced circles on her forearm with his thumb.
    Her mouth felt dry and her heart started to pound against her ribs. All she had to do was lean forward an inch or two and her breasts would rub against the faded blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest.
    So dangerous. So very dangerous.
    Yet, the pull was more than she could deny. She’d been alone for so long and she wanted to feel connected to someone, if only for a short while.
    Sensing the first move would have to be hers, she rose up on her tiptoes and gently kissed his lips. At first, he stood as rigid as a statue, staring down at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
    She kissed his lips a second time, fearing she’d misjudged him and she was offering something that he didn’t want.
    However, the second kiss was all the encouragement he needed. He banded his arm around her and gently pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. His tongue parted her lips and began to explore.
    She relaxed into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Pain forgotten, her body started to hum and her nerves danced. Raw need pulsed in her veins. She’d known this man less than a day. He was a stranger. A very dangerous stranger.
    Yet, emotion and desire overruled reason. Kristen needed to feel like a woman who enjoyed her sexuality. She was so tired of being the hunted, frightened creature.
    Cambia’s hand slid down