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He touched her damp chin. “Sophie, stop. Look at me,” His voice was quiet, but firm. She obeyed, raising her face to his. He nodded. “Good. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
Sophie’s fingers dug into the muscle above her left knee. She sniffled. “It’s my knee.”
“I gathered that. What’s wrong with it?”
She sighed, shoulders slumping. There was no way out of explaining at least some of it. She couldn’t get up and leave, after all. Her damn knee wouldn’t let her. “Six years ago I was in Thailand for a competition. I had an accident.” She swiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks. “It was a stupid slip and fall and I landed on a sharp steel plate. It should have been nothing. But it ended up costing me my career, and it still isn’t fully healed.” She finally raised her solemn gaze to his. “It’s why I don’t dance anymore.”
“Until I asked you.” It wasn’t a question, but Sophie nodded anyway. Henry wiped some of the tears from her cheek. “And it hurts badly right now?”
She bit her lip, but she could hardly deny it. She’d screamed when she tried to get up. She sighed. “Yes, it hurts badly.” It killed her to admit it to him, but when he asked her a direct question, she didn’t have it in her to lie.
“Stay right here.” He was gone before she could reply. She heard the sound of running water, drawers opening and closing, the clink of glass, and then silence. She frowned, trying to breath through the pain of her knotting muscles, massaging her knee.
She jerked up as the glass door slid open and Henry once more appeared from the terrace, arms laden with various objects. He thrust a glass of wine into her hand. “Here, drink this. It will help you relax.”
“I should probably—”
“Drink the wine.”
She blinked in surprise at his commanding tone and sipped the wine. He set a bottle of aspirin beside her on the end table, near her water bottle. Next to that he set a jar of Tiger Balm. Sophie recognized the distinctive red and gold container. There was one in nearly every room of her apartment.
Henry surprised her again, getting to his knees in front of her. The last item he held was a damp washcloth. He lifted her chin with his left hand, wiping her cheeks with the soft, cool cloth. Sophie sighed at the gentle gesture, and Henry smiled.
“There. Now, let’s have a look at this knee.”
His words sent hot shards of panic into her heart and she clutched her knee with her left hand. “That’s not necessary. Once I have the wine and the aspirin I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Sophie,” he said, his deep voice brooking no argument. “Let me see your knee.”
Sophie took a deep breath and moved her hand. She gulped wine, breathing heavily as he inspected the troublesome joint carefully.
Henry smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she breathed, answering automatically as she stared into the lambent ebony of his eyes. Sophie felt his hand lifting the hem of her pants leg, but didn’t care. Or rather, she cared, but she didn’t mind. His knuckles lightly brushed her calf as he raised the loose material up. He pushed it gently over her knee, fingers grazing her inner thigh as he tucked it out of the way. But his eyes never left hers.
He smoothed the fabric, stroking the curve of her thigh, before lowering his gaze. Sophie tensed, sucking in a sharp breath and squeezing her own eyes closed, anticipating the shuttering of that heated gaze, the blank plasticity of his face as he struggled to contain his disgust. Just like Christian had before he left.
She jumped, whimpering, as she felt him trace his fingertip along the side of her kneecap. The scar there wasn’t nearly as terrible as it had been, thick and twisted, before the cosmetic
surgery. But it was still white and raised. And the flesh of her thigh, just above the knee, was pale and pitted where the infection had eaten away at her. Her leg looked as if a large beast had taken a bite of it. Which was, in fact, how it had felt at the time.
Sophie knew the knotted muscles would be standing out beneath her skin, writhing like serpents. But Henry’s touch was warm and gentle. He cupped the back of her knee, fingers digging cautiously into the locked tendon there. His thumbs gently massaged the twitching muscles above her kneecap, easing the strain. Sophie groaned.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Henry murmured. He kept rubbing, firmly but not too hard, until the cramp let up. Sophie let out a long sigh of relief, the tension easing from her shoulders as the pain lessened. Henry’s hands kept working, warm and dry against her skin.
“Henry—”
“Drink your wine, Sophie.”
She did as he said, draining the last of the wine. He smiled at her. The look tugged in her belly, sexy and dark.
“Good. Now, take some of those aspirin.” He was still rubbing. The warmth that had begun at his firm touch was spreading up her thigh, into her belly. She set the wine glass down and twisted off the cap of the aspirin bottle, shaking two of the small white pills into her palm. She tossed them back, sipping from her water bottle to wash them down.
Sophie moved to draw her leg out of his grasp. “For a businessman, you’re pretty good at first aid.”
His hands remained firm on her knee, not letting her up. “I have many talents. Don’t move. I still have to put the salve on.”
“I’ll do that when I get home. So it doesn’t get on my clothes.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she saw the flare of heat in his eyes and knew he was picturing her naked. She was too, only adding him to the scene. They both inhaled sharply, staring at each other for a long, quiet moment.
