Chapter 11 #2
She switched her weight from one foot to the other, as if steadying herself.
‘Firstly, I don’t enjoy inflicting pain, it’s part of my job.
I endeavour to read people and assess how best to manage the situation, as it can be incredibly challenging.
I assumed …’ her hand went to her throat, ‘… wrongly, as it transpired, that you’d appreciate a more light-hearted approach, rather than sympathy.
Apologies if I’ve inadvertently made you feel uncomfortable. ’
Big of her. He removed his shirt, not caring that he was standing in front of her shirtless. Let her squirm and blush, she was the one playing games, not him.
She glanced at the door, possibly wishing to escape.
He knew the feeling. Her fingers trailed down her neck and it was impossible not to watch as they lowered to her neckline.
Her nails were short and shiny, matching her dark hair.
Her whole appearance was wholesome and clean, with no obvious make-up, and she radiated health—although her current glow was probably caused by the heightened situation rather than exercise.
It took a moment for her flushed gaze to return to him. ‘Secondly, the locked door is purely for privacy, no other reason. My aim is to preserve my patient’s dignity at all times, and allowing someone to walk in during a session would be completely unprofessional.’
He couldn’t argue with that—he wanted to, he just couldn’t.
Her eyes skimmed over his bare chest, before lifting to meet his slightly less annoyed expression.
‘Thirdly, I cannot treat an injury through clothing. Again, I try to deal with this in a jovial way to make it less awkward, particularly when it’s a delicate area of the body.
It certainly wasn’t my intention to embarrass you, and I assure you I’m not playing games. ’
He rummaged for his T-shirt in his bag, mostly to detract from the foolishness he felt.
She waited, her hands clasped in front of her, her head slightly bowed. ‘If you feel I’ve been inappropriate in any way, I’m truly sorry. I take my job very seriously and I’m mortified that you consider my actions to be unprofessional.’
Shit. Why did she have to apologise? He’d expected a fight, not an apology. He wanted someone to take his anger out on, and she seemed like a worthy sparring partner.
More annoyed with himself than her, he shoved his T-shirt over his head. ‘Great. I feel like a right dick now.’
Her chin lifted slightly. ‘You’re entitled to raise concerns about your treatment, and it would be wrong of me to dismiss those concerns, but I hope I’ve reassured you.
As for the office swap, it was a poor attempt at a joke.
It’s clear why you couldn’t agree to that, and I won’t mention the subject again. You have my word.’
He supposed this was the English side of her character she’d spoken about, the demure posture, contrite expression and contained mannerisms. It was certainly a contrast to the Latin side of her, that was for sure.
He wasn’t sure which was more unnerving.
He knew where he stood when she was fighting back, maybe he should be more worried about this side of her—she was eerily calm, like a python poised to strike.
He came around from behind the desk. ‘I overreacted, I’m sorry. You haven’t been unprofessional, it’s my own hang-ups making me defensive.’
‘My only desire is to help. I have no agenda, there’s no game playing, and I truly believe I can ease your discomfort. But maybe you’d feel more at ease with another physiotherapist? I can refer you elsewhere, if you’d prefer.’
‘And go through this again? God, no. You’ll do.’
A wry smile tugged at her shiny lips. ‘I’m touched.’
He rubbed his neck. ‘You know what I mean.’
She unrolled the mat onto the floor and knelt down, glancing up at him, her long eyelashes silhouetted against her eyelids.
‘Are we good?’ When he nodded, she patted the mat.
‘Lie face down, please. I’ve taken a look at your scans and they didn’t reveal any further damage, so we know what we’re dealing with.
Hopefully we can make swift progress.’ She waited until he was in position. ‘Comfortable?’
‘As comfortable as I can be lying on the floor.’
She shuffled closer and he could smell something faintly floral. ‘I’d like to begin with a light massage to warm up the muscles, would that be okay?’
‘Go for it.’ He knew he sounded irritable. He also knew he’d overreacted earlier, and neither admission was helping him relax.
Sighing, he rested his forehead on his arms as she lifted his T-shirt and began working her way down his back.
Her hands were cold to start with, but grew warmer as she worked the muscles in his lower back.
It was a strange sensation. Intrusive, personal, pleasurable.
He could feel the tension in his muscles almost sigh as they relented and softened at her touch.
‘Bad day?’
‘Bad year,’ he answered on reflex, followed by a grimace.
There was something unravelling about being massaged, as though her fingers were dismantling his emotions as well as his muscles.
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I never used to be this sensitive.
I get so agitated these days, I flip between wanting to punch someone and bursting into tears. ’
‘You wouldn’t be the first to do either in my presence,’ she said, her fingers sinking deeper.
He jolted at that. ‘You’ve been punched?’
‘Several times. It’s a reflex reaction to pain. I don’t take it personally, although I have learned to duck.’
He was genuinely shocked—he had no idea physiotherapy was such a precarious profession.
There was no denying the treatment was painful, eye-wateringly so, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
He almost relished the torture, physical pain was easier to manage than emotional pain. ‘I might curse, but I won’t punch you.’
‘Good to know.’ She paused, and he felt something liquid run down his back.
‘At our last session, we established that this change in your emotions coincided with your accident.’ She shifted position and resumed massaging, her fingers digging in so hard he had to bite his hand to stop himself crying out.
‘I mention this, because living with constant pain can affect everything, from how a person moves, sleeps, and socialises. It’s often described as like being stuck inside a room with a low ceiling you can’t escape from and you can never stand up in.
The constant nagging pain acts like a dripping tap, slowly driving a person crazy. ’
She’d described it perfectly, that’s exactly how he felt.
Her hands travelled lower, the oil making her movements more fluid and his pelvis twitch in response. ‘Your over-sensitivity is probably a result of the pain you’re in and your body struggling to process it and allow you to function properly.’
‘Maybe.’ It was hard to focus on logic when he was fighting his body’s reaction to her touch.
There was nothing remotely romantic about the situation, and yet it felt incredibly intimate.
His sexual encounters over the years had been straightforward, short in duration, and basic in their aim—gratification without complication.
He’d never allowed for anything more, no hand-holding, cuddling, candlelit dinners, nothing that would cross the line or cause confusion.
He knew men who would act like they wanted more, a relationship, love, commitment, until they’d got what they wanted and then ghosted the person.
He’d never done that, and he never would.
It seemed deceitful and risked a messy ending.
His interactions were like his business dealings, scheduled, emotionless, and with a fixed conclusion.
So to find himself lying in such a submissive position and allowing a woman, albeit a professional health worker, to wrestle away that control and cause such a physical and emotional reaction, was highly unnerving.
‘Can you roll onto your back for me?’
He clenched his jaw. ‘Not right at this moment.’
‘That’s okay. I’m just going to do some gentle stretches on your hamstrings, okay?’ She sounded perfectly unflustered, and he guessed he wasn’t the first man to react in such a way. She lifted his lower leg and pressed his heel into his buttock. ‘Can I ask a personal question?’
He hoped it wasn’t the obvious one. ‘I can’t promise to answer.’
She held the stretch and he was grateful for the pain, it diverted blood flow elsewhere. He suspected she’d used that technique before. Nice trick. ‘Your brother called you Dad.’
He wondered what else she’d overheard. ‘That’s not a question.’
‘Is that your way of politely shutting me down?’
‘No, but my relationship with Connor is complicated. Biologically he’s my brother, but I’ve raised him since he was five years old. So he views me as both his brother and his parent.’
She switched legs and began to inflict more pain on his other side. ‘You told me your parents had died, but I had no idea you’d raised your brother. How old were you?’
‘Nineteen. I’d only been at university a year, and suddenly I had to juggle childcare with my law studies.’
‘How on earth did you manage it?’ She sounded genuinely interested.
He often wondered himself. ‘I couldn’t have done it without Hugh’s help.
We’ve been best mates since I arrived in the UK.
Most nineteen-year-olds would’ve run a mile, but he saved me.
My parents cut off financial support when I left home, so Hugh’s family took me in and helped me look after Connor. ’
‘Which explains why you’re so close.’
‘Yeah, we’re tight. Hugh is family, always has been.’
‘He’s not your average counsellor, is he?’ She sounded ponderous, and he knew why.