Unable to keep from touching, she flattened her palm against steely pectoral muscles, started to sit up—and winced as her back pulled.

His dark brows drew together. “You’re hurt.”

“No, not really.”

“Frankie.” His voice was a low rumble of warning.

“Fine, my back is a little sore. New York streets aren’t a good preparation for hiking and falling off Alaskan cliffs.”

Even his low chuckle was sexy? “I daresay not. Roll over, sweetheart, onto your belly.”

Ignoring her whine of complaint, he moved her. The cushions were plush against her bare breasts and abdomen, making her very aware that all she wore were her small briefs.

“Stay right there.” He rose. When he returned, the cushion dipped as he sat beside her hip. A second later, his callused palms stroked up on each side of her spine. A sweet scent like tropical fruit wafted through the air, and a second later, heat spread over her skin.

“That feels wonderful.”

“Mmm, the stuff has a warming agent in it.” He pressed gently, at first, easing her muscles, then his powerful hands squeezed the knots, tightening to the point of pain, then releasing.

She moaned as each painful spot relaxed. Slowly, he worked his way down her back, avoiding the bruises.

“You’re great at this,” she murmured.

His laugh was a dark rumbling sound. “When I was a sex-driven young man, Caz said giving a massage was a wonderful way to get a woman’s clothes off and please her as well, and he gave me lessons so I wouldn’t break anyone.”

She snorted because he easily could. Yet his strength and gentleness combined was incredibly arousing. So was his generosity. Despite already being on the way to having sex, he’d put his own desires on hold to make her feel better.

It would be easier if he were ugly.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, che palle, did I say that out loud?”

“’Fraid so.” He was laughing as his hands glided over her skin. “Do you normally have sex with ugly men?””

There was no way to answer that.

When she stayed silent, he rolled her to her back and massaged the front of her shoulders. His dark gaze met hers as he waited for her answer.

“Bull, I don’t…” She sighed. “I don’t really trust good-looking men.”

He blinked, then his eyes sharpened. “Because of your ex who’s a model and undoubtedly handsome?”

“He’s one. There were more.” Just the thought of them made her tense. “One cheated on me. Another stole money. Another man—besides my ex—wanted my influence to get ahead in the business. I know you’re not them, but it’s difficult to fight the feeling that pretty men are all about themselves and no one else.”

She turned her head. As the memories of the betrayals surfaced again, they hurt even more. Her emotions were already scraped raw from the day.