Chapter Seven
Max
I try to push myself off the floor, but it feels like my neck’s about to snap in half from the weight of my head. I brace it with a hand, but the weird pain continues to shoot along the side of my neck and shoulder.
Ow, ow, ow!
How can this happen? When Mom and I went camping, we slept in sleeping bags and I was fine! It’s just the floor of a five-star hotel in Tokyo. It can’t be inferior to the campground dirt!
“Good morning. Just so you’re aware, the hotel does provide laundry bags. You know, in case you need someplace to put your dirty underwear after showering.”
What? I start to look up. Searing agony races along my shoulder and neck. I groan, slapping my palm over the spot on my shoulder where the pain is. In my peripheral vision, Rhys is holding my thong up, waving it like a red flag before a bull to get my attention.
Horror and mortification tear into me. Why didn’t my alarm go off?
I set it to five thirty so I could get up before him and put on the underwear I handwashed last night!
What makes it worse is he’s already dressed in a three-piece navy suit with a perfectly knotted burgundy tie, his hair slicked back.
Something is different, though. After squinting up at him for a moment, I realize he isn’t wearing glasses.
Without them, his eyes seem more intensely blue and roguish.
My chest tingles at the lack of air, while my head screams at my lack of sense.
Why am I noticing how hot he is when I’m in pain and totally embarrassed?
He’s more radiant than usual. And the room doesn’t smell like coffee. What did he sacrifice to get that glow? A virgin hippo?
Meanwhile, I’m in my pajamas, hair covering half my face. I feel like shit, and probably look worse. “It’s clean,” I manage between gritted teeth, doing my best to push myself up and failing.
“Oh.” He tosses the thong on the bed. “Need help?”
“With what?” I gasp, unable to decide which pressing matter I need help with the most.
“Your pain. It appears the floor won out over your lack of seniority.”
Petty bastard. “Are you calling me weak?”
“Of course not. I’d never say such a cruel, heartless thing.”
“Just…help me up, please,” I grit out, trying not to curse my useless body.
Chuckling softly, he takes my arm. The warmth from his palm feels so good, soothing the ache in my elbow. This close, he smells hotly masculine, with a hint of woodsy aftershave and soap.
Stop noticing things about him!
I don’t want to, but it’s impossible not to absorb every detail. I’ve never seen him like this, slightly more relaxed than in the office. Despite the suit, he hasn’t put up his invisible shield that says STAY AWAY in all caps.
He supports me and helps me sit up, with such patience and care that confusion—almost shock—clouds my head. He isn’t known for either. The man wants what he wants, when he wants it, and it better be up to his standards or else.
My spine pops loudly as I attempt to move my torso. “Agh…”
He winces. “What have you done?”
“Nothing. Just sleep.” I gingerly straighten my back, biting back a whimper. “I can’t move my neck.”
“Here.” He slips behind me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, full of suspicion.
He kneads the tense knots at the base of my neck and shoulders…and I actually relax a little. His fingers are magical—just strong enough to work the kinks out without hurting. The sensation sends a lovely warmth through me.
“Link your fingers behind your head,” he says.
The suspicion returns in full force. “Why?”
“So I can work the kink in your back. Can’t have my assistant walking like a grandmother all day.”
I do as he asks. He wraps his arms around mine, his warm hands holding my forearms. He tilts me back, pressing my tight muscles against his knees. “Breathe,” he says. “Nice and easy.”
I don’t know what magic he possesses, but the knee-pressing helps. He changes the angle of my spine a few times, applying smooth pressure to my arms, and the pain recedes a bit, although my neck is still stiff.
Just as I’m beginning to really relax, he says, “I’ve always wanted to try cracking somebody’s neck.”
Is he joking? I try to turn my head, except I can’t. I try to duck, but that doesn’t work either because he’s already got me locked in. “No!”
“I’ll be good at it. Trust me.” He places a taut, muscular thigh against me.
“Damn it, Rhys, you’re not a chiropractor—!”
He twists his arms and torso in an arc. Ack, I’m going to die of a broken neck!
My spine contorts, letting out a series of pops that starts from the bottom and travels all the way to the top.
“One more time. Relax,” he says, a grin in his voice.
Before I can utter a single word, he switches the leg and does it again, but in the opposite direction. My spine sounds like someone opening a bag of potato chips.
“There. How do you feel?”
I open my mouth to tell him I’m permanently damaged, except… I blink. The pain’s gone. I try to swivel my head. My neck’s still a little stiff, but not too bad. I scramble to my feet, turn around and stare. “Who are you?”
Rising to his feet and rolling his shoulders, he snorts. “Your lord and savior, Ms. Little Faith. I told you I could do it.”
“You’ve done this before, right?”
“Nope,” he says, a little too smoothly. Then his eyes drop and instantly darken. The tip of his mouth quirks.
I look down. A silent scream of horror gathers in my throat as I cross my arms, tugging at the straps to rearrange my top. I just flashed my boss. Okay, just one boob, but still! My face flames so hard, my skin might melt off.
“I need to go!” I nearly shout as I snatch the thong off the bed, run to the bathroom, then slam the door shut. I have to get my own room. I don’t care if Tokyo is hosting the Pope himself!