sighed. ‘What else did you do, George?’
‘Tried it on land. Not very far,’ he added swiftly.
‘But it hurt.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘A bit,’ he admitted.
‘I’d say it’s your quads, by the way you walked in.’ She shook her head. ‘What am I going to do with you, George?’
‘I used to hear that a lot. At school as well as at home,’ he said.
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you mind if I take a closer look and check that you haven’t done any real damage?’
‘Sure.’ He paused. ‘Does this mean taking off my clothes?’
‘Well, it’s a bit tricky to judge muscles through a layer of material.’ She gave him an amused smile. ‘Let me know when you’re ready.’
He still felt slightly self-conscious about stripping in front of her. Which was totally ridiculous. Apart from the fact that Serena James was his physiotherapist and this wasn’t his first session with her, George had stripped in enough bedrooms—and other places—not to feel in the slightest bit awkward at taking his clothes off in front of a woman. Especially as this wasn’t even a full strip; he’d still be wearing underpants and a T-shirt.
But he appreciated the fact that Serena had turned her back while he removed the hated tracksuit bottoms, leaving him a little bit of dignity. He’d already put up with more than enough during his recuperation. He’d hated feeling so dependent. And he was so, so ready to have his life back again.
If that meant he had to take this last phase just a little bit more slowly, then he’d have to learn to be patient. Even though taking things slowly felt as if it was killing him. He really loathed living life at a snail’s pace. For him, it wasn’t living, it was existing. And there was a huge difference between the two.
‘Ready now,’ he said, and she turned to face him.
Her hands were gentle as she probed his leg and felt the muscles. And although Serena’s movements were completely asexual, a physiotherapist’s touch rather than a lover’s, as she moved her head George caught the scent of her shampoo. Like sun-warmed, ripened strawberries. And all the blood in his head rushed south.
Oh, hell. He’d better start thinking of something else—such as how much repairing the roof at Somers Hall was going to cost this year and all the regulations that they’d have to comply with—or he was going to embarrass both of them.
Or was he? Did Serena feel this weird connection between them, too? And, if so, what would she want to do about it?
He glanced at her left hand. No ring. OK, so the lack of a ring didn’t mean that she wasn’t in a committed relationship, but he had the feeling that Serena James was the kind of woman who believed in marriage and would want that gold band on her finger. Which in turn meant that he was completely the wrong kind of man for her. He didn’t do commitment. Ever. If his mother’s behaviour hadn’t cured him of that idea, Rebecca certainly had.
‘There’s some tightness in your muscles here and here.’ Serena demonstrated by touch. ‘I can give you some different exercises to work on these, and that will help.’
‘Thanks. And I promise I’ll do the exercises every day, for as many reps as you tell me to.’
‘And you’ll also promise me that you won’t overdo it,’ she said firmly, folding her arms and looking him straight in the eye.
He smiled. ‘Would I overdo it?’
‘Considering that you ended up this way in the first place because you had a fight with a cliff and lost, my vote would be for yes.’
He loved the teasing glint in her green eyes. And he liked Serena James. Either she didn’t know he was heir to Somers Hall and the barony, or she didn’t care, because she treated him as if he were just an ordinary patient. George appreciated her being so down-to-earth and practical with him.
She turned away again to give him time to replace his tracksuit bottoms. This was the kind of clothing he never wore outside a sports field, preferring designer denims or made-to-measure suit trousers; the accident had done a fair bit of damage to his sartorial style, too, because jeans still didn’t feel comfortable on his broken leg. Dressing properly again was another thing he was looking forward to.
‘OK, I’m decent again,’ he said with a smirk.
‘So why do you do it?’ she asked as she turned back to him.
‘Do what?’
‘All the dangerous sports.’
He shrugged. ‘My brother says I’m an adrenalin junkie.’
‘Is he right?’
‘I enjoy the rush of extreme sports,’ he admitted. ‘I guess it’s just a way of getting rid of tension.’ And it meant he didn’t have time to let himself think too deeply about anything.
‘And you can’t think of a safer way of getting rid of tension?’
At this very moment, he could. Not that he was going to embarrass her by telling her exactly what was in his head. Or the fact that it involved her. ‘Powered paragliding isn’t unsafe,’ he parried instead.
‘Says the man with a broken femur and two broken wrists.’
‘Which are almost healed,’ he reminded her. ‘I was wearing a helmet, and I’d done all the training. I just happened to be thinking about something else at the same time as a gust of wind caught me, and by the time I realised what was happening it was too late to avoid the cliff.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘It must’ve been quite something on your mind to distract you that much.’
It really was. As in whether he was really his father’s son. For a normal family, it might not have been so much of an issue, but for the Somers family it had had a lot of legal ramifications. Such as who was the real heir to the barony, and what would happen to the estate and the entailment. Absolutely life-changing things.
Luckily the DNA tests had proved that his mother had been completely wrong in her beliefs, and that George and his younger brother Ed were indeed David Somers’s legitimate sons. But, before they’d done the tests, their mother’s diaries and letters had given George some seriously bad moments, worrying about what was going to happen to his family.
And it had brought him low enough to wonder about whether he’d still be part of them, if it turned out that he was actually the by-blow of one of his mother’s many lovers instead of his father’s son. Which again was ridiculous; he knew that his father, stepmother, brother and sisters loved him as much as he loved them.
But that was because they were his family. That meant they were practically obliged to love him. And they did.
Except for one person.
Zara Somers had been able to walk away from him and Ed without a second thought when George was six years old, and she’d acted as if her sons didn’t exist from that moment on until the day she died.
