Katrina straightened. But just as she was debating whether to hop her way back to her discarded sock and sneaker or get her bare foot dirty, Reed returned with a dark green horse blanket over one arm.

He spread it across the hay bales, then unceremoniously lifted her to place her on the thick blanket.

“Better?” he asked, tone flat.

“I only have thin tights on,” she protested, gesturing to the contrast of his sturdy jeans. “The hay pokes right through them.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You think I’m a princess,” she huffed.

“You are a princess.” He crouched down in front of her, lifting her foot to his knee again.

“I have delicate skin and thin clothing.”

His strong thumb began to massage again, working its way in circles up the tight muscles of her calf. “Am I hurting you now?”

“No.”

“Good. Lean back. Try to relax. We’ll talk about your clothes later.”

She leaned back against the hay. “They’re nice clothes.”

“For Manhattan.”

“For anywhere.”

“Shut up,” he said gently.

She did. Not because he’d told her to, but because his hands were doing incredible things to her calf. She found herself marveling that such an intense, powerful, no-nonsense man could have such a sensitive touch.

He took his time, releasing the tension from her muscles, gently working his way toward the injured tendon. By the time he got there, the surrounding muscles were so relaxed that it felt merely sore, not the burning pain she’d been experiencing for the past two weeks.

He moved away from her ankle, back up her calf, leaving bliss in his wake. Then, to her surprise, he started on the sole of her foot. She wanted to protest, but it felt too good as his fingers dug into the ball of her foot and the base of her heel. And when he switched to the other foot, she was beyond speech. Her sympathetic nervous system fully engaged, and her brain went to autopilot.