He shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. “I’ll check.” He took a step toward the sliding glass door but then turned back to her. “The bathroom. It has fresh towels, but if you need—”

“I’ll call you,” Taylor said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. One thing she had not counted on was Jamar Dixon being outrageously adorable when flustered.

She stood and, using one of the crutches—even though she was pretty sure she didn’t need them anymore—started for the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Jamar asked.

“To get a glass of water.”

“I can do that for you.”

“I can get my own water, Jamar.” But by the time she traversed the half dozen or so yards to the kitchen, he was already filling a glass from the refrigerator’s dispenser. He held it out to her.

Setting the crutch to the side, Taylor grabbed the glass from him and took a sip.

“You do realize that I will have to do some things for myself, right? I can’t call on you for every little thing.”

“Except that you can. I told you to call me if you need anything.”

She rendered a slow, deliberate perusal from the top of his head to his feet. In a warning voice, she said, “You need to be careful about the offers you make.”

Despite the twirling ceiling fan, the temperature in the room seemed to rise by a dozen degrees. Jamar took a step toward her, a spark of heat flashing in his eyes.

“When I say anything, I mean…anything.”

There was no mistaking the meaning behind his words.

They stood there staring at each other, a silent, seductive ribbon of awareness wrapping around them. Her gaze dropped to his chest, then came up to his full lower lip. He pulled it between his teeth and her heart started to beat triple time.

“What do you need, Taylor?” There was a hint of challenge in his voice.

She set the glass down and grabbed hold of his shoulders, drawing him to her. Without another word, she crushed her lips to his, taking what she needed.

She warned herself to slow down, but then completely ignored her own advice. She didn’t want slow. She wanted them naked and sweating as quickly as possible.

Jamar pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, causing her braids to cascade down her back. Capturing the back of her head in his palm, he held her steady as his tongue pushed past the seam of her lips with a possessiveness that made her nipples grow tight.

Taylor splayed her fingers wide over his muscles, marveling at the topography of his chiseled chest. The man was a work of art. Every curve and contour felt as if it were carved out of stone.

“Taylor,” he rasped against her lips. “What are we doing?”

“I’m not explaining it to you, young buck.”