“No, you’re not sure, or no, you changed your mind?”
“Go ahead. I’m fine,” he lies, unable to control the hitch in his breath.
“Close your eyes,” she says quietly.
When he does, the first touch of her fingers threading through his hair forces a flinch. It’s silly, but his whole body jerks against his will, and his eyes fly open. The urge to sit up is nearly too much. Embarrassment at his reaction flames hot in his cheeks.
“Breathe.” Her hands pause a moment so he can either get his shit together or get up.
He chooses to close his eyes again and let her continue, though that feels like a terrible plan when her fingers fan out and scrunch against his scalp. Instinct to protect that area has him nearly hyperventilating, and self-preservation forces him to try and sit up and evade contact.
Her palm lands on the middle of his chest, stilling his escape attempt and landing over his most protected scar that resides low enough to remain hidden by his shirt.
In a moment of reflexive stupidity, he covers her hand with his own as if some deep-seated need for comfort clawed its way up from the depths of his subconscious. It’s too late to pretend he didn’t do that, so he doesn’t move. He squeezes his eyes shut rather than look up at her face, where she must be so disgusted by this sudden, ridiculous fear.
“You’re okay. We can stop any time you need to. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’ll take it slow.” There is only sympathy in her voice when she speaks. Not the kind that might rake against his nerves and remind him that he doesn’t want or need sympathy from anyone. No, this time, he’s shown what it can feel like when the intention is rooted in the right place. Soft and soothing, as if shesees him.
It’s all so much kinder than anything she’s said to him since she remembered that damn tabloid article.
“I dunno why I’m having such a hard time. It’s…unexpected.”
“This area is a source of tension for you?”
“Tension. Trauma. All of that and then some.”
“Do you want to keep going?” Her hand still holds gently over his heart.
Theo is certain she can feel every beat scramble itself up into a frenzy. Despite that, he agrees, mourning the loss when she pulls away to focus on the massage again.
“I want you to breathe in for three counts, hold for two, and exhale for three more. Okay? Keep doing that until you stop shivering.”
“I’m fucking shivering? I didn’t notice, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just breathe like I said.” And then both her hands are in his hair again, lightly raking across his scalp in mirrored movements that are slow and gradual.
It’s difficult to relax or breathe without panicking. That in itself is reason to panic because he’s never had such a visceral reaction to being touched before, and it’s throwing him for a damn loop. He must be such a mess. Even worse than he ever realized. Flinching away from anyone touching his head is a reflex so ingrained by now that he hardly registered it before until he thinks back to all the times his ex-fiancé tried and he ducked away from her, quick and nimble, ignoring it like nothing happened.
“You’ve never had a massage? What kind of billionaire are you?” Nora teases lightly, her thumbs taking over more of the pressure to rotate back and forth across his hairline.
“Former billionaire, and I’ve had plenty. They’re usually the deep tissue back and shoulder variety, though.”
“Ah, I see. Do you enjoy having people walk all over your spine, too?”
“That’s a little too deep for me. If someone has to stand on me to get the knots out, then I probably need a doctor and not a massage.”
“Likely true.”
“What um….” he inhales slowly in a way that almost feels like a moan when her hands travel to his forehead, two fingers on each hand criss-crossing each other to blend out his worry lines. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“Years of what-ifs are etched right here,” she says. “This is where they all live.”
“Are you saying I need Botox? Facelift?”
“No. Not even a little bit. Any doctor who would touch this face should get their license revoked.”
He cracks one eye open, comically arching a brow. “Is that a compliment?”
“Is what a compliment? I didn’t say anything. Eyes shut.” Her fingers trace his eyebrows before dramatically fanning herpalms over his eyes to shut them again. “You were going to ask me something before I made you moan.”
