Lily looked at the scar over his L5S1 and L4S2 discs. It was still red and slightly puckered from where his neurosurgeon had operated to decompress the spinal cord but it would eventually fade to white.
She cast her eyes over the rest of him. He had an amazing physique—broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and well-muscled without being over the top. She could have stood there drinking in the sight of him for hours. It was so long since she had looked at a man—properly looked. He was like a sculptor’s model, so beautifully put together it was almost painful to look at him knowing he was unable to walk or stand.
‘I must be a whole lot worse than I thought,’ he drawled. ‘I can’t feel a thing.’
Lily felt a reluctant smile pull at her mouth. ‘I haven’t touched you yet.’
‘What’s taking you so long?’
‘Nothing. I’m just...um...getting to it.’
She drew in a little breath and pumped some oil from the dispenser into her palms to warm it. She put her hands on his feet to begin with—it was an anchoring touch she had used hundreds of times with clients. But never before had she felt such a high voltage surge of electricity from touching someone. It made her palms and fingers tingle as soon as she came into contact with his skin. She felt him flinch as if he had felt the same shock of contact. Then, taking another steadying breath, she moved her hands to his right leg, moving up his calf, working on loosening the tight, stringy muscles there. He flinched again and she heard him smother a curse. ‘You can feel that?’ she asked.
‘Your thumbs feel like corkscrews.’
‘Your muscles feel like concrete.’
He grunted. ‘You should feel it from my side.’
Lily’s mouth curved again. ‘Stop whining and relax.’
She continued working on his legs, going up to his thigh and massaging with long, strong movements. She switched to his other leg and did the same. He was hard, hairy, warm and intensely male. His legs were powerfully made, strongly muscled and yet lean, without an ounce of fat on him anywhere.
She carefully lowered the towel from his buttocks so she could work on his attachment muscles. They were incredibly ropy and tight but after a while she felt them start to give a bit under her touch.
His body seemed to take a deep breath and then release it. She felt him relax into the table; his breathing gradually becoming slow and even.
Lily moved up his spine, careful to leave his damaged discs alone, working instead on the muscles and ligaments that supported them. He was tight in the neck and shoulders as she had observed earlier, but again after a while his muscles seemed to let go. His skin was smooth and warm, scented by the oil she was using and his own particular smell. It was a heady combination that stirred her sleeping senses.
She looked at the thick, black glossy hair on his head as she worked on his shoulders. Her fingers itched to feel it, to comb it, to tidy it. He had a tousled, couldn’t-be-bothered-with-grooming look about him. She could see the traces of a style that was distinctly European—parted in the middle but long enough to sweep back over his forehead if the mood took him, the back long enough to curl beyond his collar.
Without even knowing she was doing it until she was actually doing it, Lily trailed her fingers lightly through the thickness of his hair. It felt springy, silky, soft and smelt like fresh apples.
‘Do I have muscles there?’ His deep voice was muffled from relaxation and from being pressed face down on the table.
Lily was glad he wasn’t face up for he would have seen her fiery blush. ‘No, but your scalp does.’ She moved her fingers over the crown of his head, stroking and kneading to release the tension she could feel residing there. ‘Do you get tension or cluster headaches?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Migraine?’
‘Once or twice.’
‘What do you do to relax?’ she asked.
‘Is that a trick question?’
She felt that little smile tug at her mouth again. ‘I’m serious. What do you do to unwind?’
There was a little silence.
‘If you’d asked me that a month ago, I would have said sex.’
Lily removed her hands from his head and wiped them roughly on a towel. She didn’t know what to say so said nothing. It seemed easier than making a fool of herself.
He turned his head so one eye could fix itself on her. ‘Don’t you find sex relaxing, Miss Archer?’
What could she say? That it was the most unrelaxing thing she could think of? He would no doubt laugh at her, make her feel silly, gauche and unsophisticated.<