Page 137 of The Holiday Clause

“Can’t say I have.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. I brought a special oil infused with rosemary and peppermint to help with the swelling in your hands.”

“Is that what I smell?”

Rather than acknowledge his snide tone and unappreciative comment, she asked, “Do your joints hurt?”

“Only for the last thirty years.”

“This will help.” She stood, holding out a lavender eye mask. “Just relax.” She slid his oxygen mask back into place and then covered his eyes. Knowing he couldn’t watch her made it easier to concentrate.

She pulled the chair closer to his bed and cued up her meditation playlist. “I’m going to start with some light reflexology.”

At first touch, he felt stiff and tense, but once she started hitting the pressure points along his palm, he moaned and sighed like the rest of her clients. Slowly, his hands relaxed and he surrendered to her care.

She worked methodically, finding the tender spots where tension had gathered for decades. His hands told the story of a life spent gripping too tightly—to control, to power, to the belief that everything could be managed through sheer force of will. She pressed into the web between his thumb and forefinger, targeting the liver meridian point that helped release anger andfrustration. When she found the heart point on his palm, he released a sound that was almost vulnerable.

“You’re carrying a lot of tension here,” she murmured, working her thumbs in small circles. “This point connects to emotional stress. I’m going to apply steady pressure and let your body release what it’s ready to let go of.”

His breathing deepened under the oxygen mask, becoming less labored as she continued. She moved to his wrists, gently manipulating the joints, then up to his forearms where decades of physical labor had left the muscles knotted and tight.

By the end of the hour, Magnus looked refreshed, his dry skin now moisturized, as he snored like an elderly baby. Her selfless act for the day was complete.

She felt proud and courageous for having faced a man who always intimidated her, glad she was able to share this small moment with him.

As she gathered her things, his eyes fluttered open. For just a moment, without his usual armor of disdain, he looked almost grateful.

Wren left the basket with its contents and quietly backed out of the room. She might not have untangled him from his contracted, stiff ways, but she felt pretty sure she had loosened him up. Men as root-bound as Magnus Hawthorne would require a few more therapeutic shakes.

But maybe, just maybe, she’d planted a seed.

CHAPTER 21

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”

Blankets.Heat. A faint citrus-and-clove smell that didn’t belong to him…

Greyson groaned groggily, confused but too comfortable to spring into action.

His stiff body stretched, and he stilled, realizing he lay on his couch, not in bed. He sensed someone watching him.

He rubbed one eye open, momentarily blinded by the afternoon light spilling through the window. Then he recognized her silhouette, angelically perched across from him on the edge of the coffee table.

Wren.

She clutched a steaming mug in her hands. He smiled, but as his vision cleared and he focused on her beautiful face, he realized she frowned with concern. Or perhaps exasperation?

“Am I in trouble?” he croaked, his voice grating like sandpaper. He cleared his throat and winced as fire scorched his chest.What the hell?

“You’ve slept the day away, Rip Van Plowman. I was starting to worry.”

He grunted, trying to sit up, but immediately regretted it. His head throbbed as if packed with snow, and his throat burned like he’d swallowed a fistful of glowing briquettes. Every muscle in his body ached, and a bone-deep exhaustion weighed him down like lead blankets.

“What time is it?” he painfully rasped.

“It’s almost five. You’ve been out for—what? Twelve hours? Thirteen?” Her hands should have felt warm from the mug, but when she brushed them across his forehead, they felt like ice. “You look like hell, Greyson.”

He sank into the cushion and groaned. “I feel like I got run over by all nine of Santa’s reindeer.”