player for music and a light scent she sprayed on the bedding, floral for women, spice for men. “You know the routine. As many clothes off as you’re comfortable with, under the sheet on your stomach. If you need help getting on the table, yell and I’ll come in.”
“Right.”
She smiled and left the room, waiting outside the door, knowing he wouldn’t call even if he was in agony. Honestly. What an ego. Risking serious injury to avoid asking for help? Crazy. But he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. She’d gotten used to people’s peculiarities. Women who hated being touched, men who liked it way too much …
“Ready,” he called. Sooner than she’d expected.
She waited three beats and went in. Colin lay with the sheet down to his waist, shoulders as broad as the table, looking like a sexual invitation—or he would if his body wasn’t stiff with pain. She eased a cushion under his hips to relieve pressure on his back, opened her heated cabinet and took out a blanket, pulled the sheet up to his neck and draped the warm cover over him. She was glad to hide him from view while she collected herself, cranky that this difficult man provoked such a strong reaction and that she couldn’t seem to control it.
Heading for the hand sanitizer she abruptly rechanneled her brain when she found herself wondering how much Colin was still wearing under the sheet. “How have you been?”
“Fabulous,” he growled.
Ah. Still Mr. Sunshine. Okay, then. She’d stick with his physical problems today, give him some relief and worry about the rest of him another time if he gave her that chance. “Can you describe your pain? Any particular location?”
“Down my right leg. Neck. Shoulders. Back.”
“Doesn’t leave much, does it.” She suppressed a very tempting told-you-so and turned on her CD player, which filled the room with a bland but relaxing tune she’d heard so many times it barely registered. “The leg pain is from nerves pinched by the disc bulging in your spine. The rest is sympathetic reaction from other muscles, which—”
“I know where the pain comes from.”
Grrr. Demi sent him a poisoned glance he couldn’t see. Lovely, lovely man. Just as well. If he had an appealing personality to go with those looks and that body, he’d be much too dangerous to have around. Not fair for one person to have that much going for him, anyway. “I’ll see what I can do today about loosening you up.”
“That would be good.” His voice was softer.
Well. Not exactly charming, but better. Demi pulled her bottle of peppermint-scented oil from its warming stand and poured some onto her hands, concentrating on the familiar routine. “I’ll start with a light massage, then we’ll go deeper. You let me know when it’s too much.”
As if he would. She could probably light matches and stick them under his fingernails and he’d pretend not to notice.
“Okay.” His voice was strained now.
Hands oiled, she had no further excuse to avoid touching him.
So.
This was about his back. Just a back. She’d seen many beautiful backs before, athletic and otherwise. This was nothing different.
Demi laid her hands on him gently, started light sweeping motions following the muscles, encouraging blood flow and warmth, forcing her mind to register only the muscular system beneath her fingers. Trapezius. Latissimus dorsi. Deltoid. Teres major and minor.
So far so good, but she was keeping her movements brisk and mechanical, something she generally avoided. Slow stroking did a lot to bring comfort and pleasure to people in pain. Colin was a client like any other, and Demi wanted to bring him that pleasure.
Uh. She should not have phrased it that way.
Lips determinedly tight, she slowed her movements, traced his muscles more sensually. Colin needed as much TLC as anyone, maybe more, since the macho guys seldom knew they needed it and even fewer knew how to ask for it.
Her fingers relaxed into the slow pace of the music. She dipped them again in the peppermint-scented oil and moved up into his neck, appalled at the tension. This guy was suffering.
Back and neck warmed up, she moved downward to his gluteal muscles, blocking out the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything but skin under the sheet, blocking out any picture in her brain but those suitable for an anatomy class, because otherwise her thoughts would go down an entirely different path.
They did anyway. Colin let out a groan of pleasure, and Demi had the absurd urge to lean down and press her lips to the small of his back, let her hair sweep over his—
For heaven’s sake.
Gluteus maximus. Largest of the butt muscles, supporting the pelvis, vital in maintaining an erect—
Torso, Demi. Torso.
Moving on, probably sooner than she should have, she swept over the long muscles in the backs of his thighs, the biceps femoris. He seemed to be lying easier now, already more relaxed.
“Better?” She moved up toward his back again. “I’m going to go deeper now, put strong pressure on the spasming muscles. It won’t feel good while I’m doing it, but you’ll heal faster in the long run.”
“I can take it.”
Demi rolled her eyes. Of course he could. She could drop an anvil on his head and he’d insist it was a mild bruise. Guys like him reminded her of the scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, one of Wesley’s favorite movies, in which a battling knight with amputated limbs insisted he was suffering only a flesh wound.
The next part would be a lot easier on her nerves. Neuromuscular therapy was substantially less sensual than the stroking involved in Swedish, and she had hard work to do, going for the most problematic muscles with fingers, fist or elbow, holding strong pressure until they relaxed and gave. Slowly, carefully, she worked on him, finding the process deeply satisfying. Time flew, and she managed to keep her thoughts strictly G-rated.
Well … maybe PG. One PG-13 when she was working on his butt the second time.
“Okay.” She trailed light fingers over his back, then laid a firm hand between his shoulder blades before she lifted it off. Done. It was over. She’d survived. “You’ll be sore tomorrow, maybe the next day, but after that you should start feeling looser.”
He lifted his head, turned it experimentally, pushed cautiously up onto his elbows. She covered his body immediately with the sheet and blanket. “Feels better already.”
“Good.” Ooh, he’d said nearly a whole sentence. “We’ll do this again, then get you to where you can start on some exercises.”
“Gee, really?” He rolled cautiously onto his side. “Ten whole minutes on a stationary bike? Two or three sets of leg lifts?”
Grrr. “Gotta start somewhere, Colin.”
“I know, I know.” He lowered his head back down to the table. “Sorry.”
The word came out as if it hurt worse than his
