Michael's Discovery - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,9

nervous, do I?”

“Of course you make me nervous,” he retorted. “What man wouldn’t be nervous when an attractive woman he barely knows suddenly announces that she’s going to be massaging him?”

“You’ve known me since I was fourteen,” she reminded him. “And it’s therapy, not seduction.”

“Tell that to my body,” he mumbled under his breath, very aware that the conversation alone was having an extremely interesting effect on certain parts of his anatomy. This was Kelly, dammit. What was wrong with him? Bryan would mop the floor with him—and rightly so—if he heard about Michael’s reaction to his sister.

“What was that?” she inquired, her expression all innocence.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Michael. You were a SEAL. The way I hear it, they’re the bravest of the brave. Are you actually going to fire me before we even get started, just because I’m going to massage you? What would your buddies think of that?”

The challenge hung in the air. The woman was good. Really good. She knew exactly how to play him. He scowled at her. “If I had half a brain, I would.”

She did grin then. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Michael considered his options. He could fire her right now and hire somebody else—preferably some ox of a man—or he could try getting through at least one treatment before calling it quits. He owed Kelly for one session anyway, and something told him she wouldn’t take a cent if he didn’t let her do her job. He weighed fairness against self-preservation, and opted for fairness.

“We’ll see how it goes today,” he said finally.

She gave the slightest little nod of satisfaction. “Okay, then, let me help you out of those pants.”

One fierce look from him stopped her in her tracks. “Or you can get them yourself,” she said.

Wincing at the shooting pain that accompanied every movement, Michael finally managed to shed the pants and heave himself onto her portable massage table. At least he was on his stomach, so he wouldn’t have to see her face when she saw the jagged scars from the surgery. He didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath, though.

He felt a soft splash of warm oil on his injured leg, then the skimming touch of her hands as she smoothed it down the back of his thigh and over his calf. Her touch was gentle rather than provocative, but that didn’t stop the sudden shock of awareness that flowed through him. Michael forced his mind to detach itself from her actions and concentrate on counting backward from a thousand. It was a tactic that had served him well in other situations involving slow torture.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

The simple question dragged her from the periphery of his consciousness right back into his head. “No,” he said tersely, trying to mentally haul himself back to that nice, safe place.

For a few moments, blessed silence fell. Michael made it all the way down to nine hundred and two before she spoke again.

“What happened?” she asked.

He resigned himself to staying in the disconcerting moment. “When?”

“When you were hurt.”

“I walked into a trap,” he said, still filled with self-loathing at the stupidity of it. He should have known what was going on. He should never have trusted the intelligence report that the caves had been cleared of terrorists. He’d always relied on his own surveillance, his own instincts, but this one time he’d gotten anxious, a little careless. It was a bitter lesson that would have served him well in the future…if only he had one.

“Where were you?”

Too many years of keeping silent about his work kept him cautious even now. “I can’t say.”

“But you were a Navy SEAL, right? So I can assume that this had something to do with the war on terrorism?”

“You can assume anything you want to assume.”

Her fingers began to massage a little deeper, working muscles too long unused. Knots of tension in his legs seemed to ease, at least as long as she didn’t venture too close to the scars. That area was still amazingly tender. He yelped the first time she touched the bullet’s exit wound on the back of his thigh.

“Sorry.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I’m sure of that,” she agreed. “But I’ll be more careful around the scars. I can’t ignore them, though, because that skin’s going to need to be stretched.”

“Whatever you say.”

She patted his leg. “That’s it for today, then.”

He glanced up and regarded her with surprise. “You’re finished?”

“It’s been nearly an hour, and I have another appointment across town.”

“At this rate, we’re not