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I shake my head with another frustrated growl. “I’m not afraid. I have to check the elevator. The last thing we need is Miss Gina getting trapped in it.”
That damn thing is like a wrought-iron cage, and she doesn’t always keep her phone with her.
“Miss Gina isn’t using the elevator, because she knows you haven’t fixed it.” Rachel puts her hand in the crook of my arm. “She asked me to work on your back. She’s worried about you.”
“What?” This is news.
“She knows you’re in pain. In case you haven’t been paying attention, she listens to the sound of our voices. It’s actually very sweet how she monitors our moods.”
“It’s creepy, and I’m still not sure she’s totally blind.”
“She is.” Rachel’s fingers tighten on my arm, and I realize I’m following her as we talk. “She’s also very perceptive. She probably had to be growing up.”
“I didn’t say I would do this.”
“Come on.”
Exhaling a heavy sigh, I reluctantly follow her out to the platform I built. Two tall, overhead heating lamps keep the chill at bay, although I haven’t noticed Rachel use them when she practices yoga.
Not that I watch her exercising, or stretching in those tight little outfits.
“I usually tell people to strip.” She puckers her lips, glancing at my waist. “But you can leave your underwear on if that makes you more comfortable. I can work around it.”
Fuck me. “Rachel…” I rub my forehead. “We’re coworkers, and this feels like crossing a line.”
Especially if I pop a boner while she’s stroking my backside, because lord knows I’m not letting her touch my front.
“A bigger line than kissing?” Green eyes slant up at me, but she shakes her head, quickly adding. “We’re not actually coworkers. We happen to work for the same person, but we don’t work together.” She adopts a professional tone. “Miss Gina asked me to work on your back, so it’s more a situation where I’m your therapist.”
“I didn’t do well in therapy.”
Her lips twist like she’s fighting a smile, like she’s not surprised. “Physicaltherapy. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to get inside your head.”
My stomach is tight, and I study the table. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“Nope.” She grins, putting her small hands on both my biceps.
Her gentle push makes me relent. “I’ll give you a second to take off your clothes. Then lie on your stomach. I’ll peek out to see when you’re ready.”
I’m never going to be ready, but I’ll get this over with so she’ll stop pestering me about it.
She walks away, in the direction of the house, although I’m not sure why. I’m not revealing any skin that wouldn’t be covered by a bathing suit. I slide my arms out of my shirt and shove my jeans down.
My hands are on my hips as I survey the narrow table, then finally with a short exhale, I lie down on my stomach in only my black boxer briefs.
“Okay!” She appears almost at once, and I wonder if she was watching me the whole time. “I’ll just put this sheet over your legs and some music on here.”
Atmospheric ocean sounds begin, and I look around at where she’s going.
“A bit of lavender aromatherapy for relaxation.” Like satellites in space, I’m very aware of her body in relation to mine and the pull of her gravity. “Now we’ll get started.”
Her voice has turned low and soothing. She rubs her hands together and then leans forward, sliding them over my shoulders. They glide easily over my skin, and I notice she’s using some kind of lightly scented oil. Her palms are warm, and she moves them from my shoulders to my neck in long, fluid strokes.
“Is the pressure good?” She leans closer as she asks.
“Yes.”
“Let me know if it’s too much.”
