Page 15 of The VIP Doubles Down

She turned to face him full-on. “On my business card I have a bunch of initials after my name because it takes some expertise to safely administer electrical stimulation.”

Surprise flashed across his face and she thought she’d gone too far. But one corner of his mouth curled up in a self-mocking smile. “Unlike writing a book, which anyone can do.”

“Not me,” she said, relaxing again. “I am firmly in the reader camp.”

“Ah, but I bet you could tell some interesting stories about your clients.”

Was he testing her? “Nope. It’s all confidential.” She fitted a cloth cover over the table’s padded top. “Why don’t you hop up here?”

He braced his hands on the edge and levered himself onto the cushion with fluid grace. “I imagine I need to remove my sweater,” he said, crossing his arms and seizing the hem before he ripped it up over his head.

Her gaze skimmed over the bare chest dusted with dark hair. His muscles were so well defined that she could have used his torso to illustrate a lesson on male anatomy. He might be avoiding the gym now, but he must have been using it regularly not too long ago. She lifted her gaze to find his longish hair mussed as though he’d just gotten out of bed. She winced inwardly at the dangerous image.

“Lie down on your stomach, please, and put your face in the headrest. Let me know if the angle is good.”

Kicking off his well-shined loafers, he spun on the table, settling himself facedown, his arms by his sides, with the ease of someone who’d done it before.

Now that he couldn’t see her, she felt less self-conscious. However, being presented with the broad, muscular—and bare—expanse of his back sent the tentacles of desire snaking through her again. She closed her eyes for a moment to reset her brain.

When she opened them, she mentally overlaid his skin with an anatomy chart, reminding herself to view his body as just a combination of muscles, tendons, and bones. “I’m going to put some mild pressure on your neck and back now, just to see where the tightness is,” she said, rubbing her hands together to warm them before she began to probe the knotted muscles with her fingertips. As she dug into his warm olive skin, she recited each muscle to keep her focus on the medical.Levator scapulae. Trapezius. Rhomboideus. Posterior deltoid. Latissimus dorsi.

Her mind went to work on the problem of how to position the stim pads for maximum effect, and she almost forgot whom she was working on. He flinched once when she hit a sore spot, but mostly he lay quiet and still as she explored his back.

“I’m going to attach the pads now. And then I’ll put a light blanket over you to keep you warm.”

He grunted his understanding. She placed the pads, attached the wires, and covered him with a soft white blanket she found on a shelf beside the massage table. It was ten times nicer than the one in her bag of tricks. Then she turned on the machine, slowly adjusting the current upward.

“That’s good,” he said. “Now there are several herds of ants racing around over my back.”

“Let me know if it begins to bother you. Since the stim will last longer, you may find your reaction to it changes over time.”

It was harder to gauge his body’s response to the stim when the blanket was covering him, but she checked for any restlessness or subtle shifts in his position.

A few minutes passed in silence, and she allowed herself to look around a little more, although she brought her attention back to her patient frequently.Her patient.She sighed in relief as she realized that was how she was thinking of him now.

“So what does one do while the ants tramp around?” His deep voice was slightly muffled by the headrest.

“Some people sleep.”

“Your electric insects are a little too obtrusive for that.”

“Do you have a music system down here? I could turn it on.” In a place like this, there had to be a state-of-the-art sound system. She was about to suggest an audiobook but decided that might hit too close to the source of his problem.

“What sort of music would you choose to listen to?” he asked.

“Me? This is your treatment, so you get to pick.” Her taste ran to country and pop, neither of which a sophisticated writer would find appealing.

“I already know what I would listen to, so that’s not interesting.”

“The point is to listen to it, not talk about it,” Allie said.

“I’d rather listen to you.”

She felt a silly moment of pleasure. “I’m a hillbilly, so I like country.”

“Johnny Cash or Blake Shelton?” he asked.

“Dolly Parton and Carrie Underwood.”