Feels So Right. Isabel Sharpe
of physical power and endurance had dominated his life. He’d been something of a missionary about the miracle of fitness, becoming a personal trainer to help others find the same high of good health and solid self-esteem he’d been able to achieve through working his body.
Now what he could reclaim of his old life rested in the talented hands of a woman he’d sworn never to cross paths with again.
2
DEMI GLANCED AT the clock on the wall of her office, embarrassed to be so jittery. Two more minutes until Colin arrived. Stay cool, girlfriend. He was just another client, a man in pain, one of the many she’d treated, one she’d be able to help. For today she’d ignore her whole-client philosophy and concentrate on seeing his body as a collection of muscles, tendons and bones. There would be time for worrying about his brain later—if he stuck with the therapy.
Mysterious, this upset to her system. Demi knew what kind of guy attracted her, and the überjock was definitely not it. Besides, Colin had a serious girlfriend. Sharon or Tiffany or something. A marathoner. Not that he’d look at a woman like Demi twice anyway, especially after she’d pissed him off so badly last time by gently trying to get him to face the truth about his recovery—or lack thereof.
Another glance at the clock. One more minute. Would he be out in her waiting area already? Her studio space, originally a two-bedroom apartment, had been renovated into a waiting room, office, one small room for examination and massage and a larger one for exercising, with a gym mat, treadmill, stationary bike, and the free weights, balls and other tools of her trade.
The minute hand of the clock joined the hour hand at twelve. She gave up her rather lame attempt at updating her previous client’s file and stood. Ready, set, go. Reminding herself of Colin’s anger and poorly hidden contempt at their last meeting, she lifted her chin and opened the door to the waiting room.
Her body went on an immediate adrenaline fizz.
Yeah, he was there. And he was still gorgeous.
At least she’d prepared herself. The first time she’d opened this same door to him back in August, she’d been so flustered by the intensity of his brown eyes and the sheer beautiful size and shape of him, she’d blushed, dropped her gaze and mumbled like a complete geekazoid.
“Colin, hi, come on in.” She smiled and gestured toward her massage room, this time blushless, in control and professional.
He nodded and stood slowly, hitches in the motion indicating muscles lashing out at him.
“Uh-oh.” Demi’s smile faded when she saw what the movement cost him. “You don’t look so good. Bad pain?”
“It’s—” His response was cut short by what must have been a killer spasm. “Not the greatest.”
Translation for a normal human: nearly unbearable. When it came to pain, elite athletes spoke a different language.
“I’ll work on that today—should be able to give you some relief.” She followed him into the small room where she did her massages. Decorwise, she’d worked to achieve a balance between clinical and luxurious. Half examining room, half spa, with softer lighting than one would expect from a medical office, and nice touches like fresh flowers courtesy of Bonnie Blooms, a CD 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