The Healing Touch - Apryl Baker Page 0,38

sofa, groaning.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting? I would have driven.” Becca helped him stretch his legs out and ignored his baleful expression.

“Maybe because I hate feeling like a fucking invalid?”

“Well, acting like some macho idiot and pretending nothing’s wrong when it obviously is doesn’t help things either.”

“I hate this.”

The quiet venom in his tone startled her. She looked up and saw the anger, the desolation, the depression floating in his eyes. Her heart broke just a little for him. “The body heals at its own pace, D. You have to be patient.”

“Have you ever known me to be a patient man?” He quirked a half-smile at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Does it come on suddenly? You seemed okay earlier.”

“Not usually. I’ve missed my physical therapy for three days now. It gets worse when I don’t go.”

“Dimitri Kincaid! You know you can’t miss your PT!”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but since I had to come ferret out a best friend who refused to answer my calls, there was no helping it.”

“Low blow, Dimitri, low blow.” She paused trying to position his legs and looked up at him. “Is there anything you can do yourself that you usually do with your physical therapist?”

“He starts off by massaging the legs, says it helps to stimulate the nerves. Then we go through a series of exercises. If you help me, we might be able to do them.”

She frowned, thinking. “I don’t know. What if I do something wrong and hurt you?”

“Trust me, Becca, there isn’t anything you can do that could hurt worse than this damn burning.”

Becca wasn’t so sure about that, but she’d try if it helped ease his pain. “Which exercise do we do first?”

“The massage comes first.”

She searched his face for any ulterior motives. If he had any, he hid them behind a mask of pain. She was going to have to help him because, in a way, this was her fault. She’d made him miss his PT. Granted, he’d hidden all that from her, but she still felt responsible.

Dimitri watched her struggle with her decision. Sure, he could do the exercises on his own, and he didn’t know if the massages helped or not, but he wanted to feel her hands on his bare flesh. Putting her in this position was wrong on so many levels, but asshole that he was, he didn’t care.

“All right, I’ll do my best.” She sounded so unsure of herself, he almost stopped her, but the thought of her hands on him…it drove him to ignore everything he knew was right.

“Let me change into some shorts.” Getting up, he limped his way to his suitcase and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts and went into the bathroom to change. His legs burned with the effort it took to walk that far then back to the bed. He stretched out on his stomach and called Becca into the bedroom.

She walked in slowly, her eyes wide. Her breathing was a little ragged, and he couldn’t tell if it was a panic attack or simply her reaction to him. “You good?”

“I…” She swallowed and finally nodded.

“If it’s too much, if it’s going to cause a panic attack…” He was an asshole, but not that big of an asshole.

“No.” She came over to the bed. “My panic attacks only happen around crowds or when I think about having to go out into them.”

“You realize we just went to a very crowded restaurant, and you had no hint of one.” He turned his head so he could see her face. “You were even laughing and joking.”

“I know.” She sat down and pushed his legs over so she had room to work. “It’s pretty amazing.”

“I think it’s because you weren’t thinking about it.” Her warm hands trailed up the backs of his legs, and he let out a little hiss.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine. Just do a deep tissue massage.”

“You know, you never asked if I knew how to give a massage.” Her fingers sank a little deeper into the muscles and worked their way up toward his knees.

“You’re doing perfect.” He cleared his throat, thanking God he had the good sense to lie on his stomach. If she could see the response she was arousing, she’d smack him and stomp off. “So, why do you think you’ve had no panic attacks since we’ve been on our trip?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Those magic fingers crept higher up his thighs, and he let out