She laughed. “Remember where I grew up. This is heaven. The salt in the air, the amazing view of the ocean that never ends. Long walks on the beach. I doubt I could ever get bored with a place like this. Of course it’s a wee bit out of my price range.”
“You never know. You could end up becoming famous in sports medicine, and having a place like this would be chump change for you.”
“Thank you for that.”
“For what?”
“For thinking I could afford a place like this someday as opposed to thinking I’d marry someone rich who’d buy it for me.”
He laughed. “I’m pretty sure you’re a force to be reckoned with, Alicia. I don’t think you’ll ever need a man to take care of you, financially or otherwise.”
“Thank you again. You’re just full of compliments tonight.”
“Well, I’m full of something.”
Her lips lifted, and then she stared off into the darkness. But when she rolled her wrists and flexed her hands, he frowned.
“Did the massage make your hands hurt?”
She looked down at her hands and laid them in her lap. “No, I’m fine. Just releasing the tension in them. It’s a normal practice.”
He got up and went over to her chair, then kneeled in front of her and took her hands in his. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself working on me.”
She let out a soft laugh that made his balls quiver. “I don’t hurt myself. It’s my job.”
“Your job has to be hard on your hands.” He massaged them, rubbing his thumbs over her wrists.
“Oh, God, that feels good. Now who’s the masseuse?”
He liked making her feel good. It surprised him how much he liked making her feel good. He didn’t want her to hurt in order to fix him. “How hard is therapy on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What you do to me—stretching my muscles or tendons—that takes some power, and you’re not exactly a big person. How hard is that on your body?”
“I’m trained to do it, Garrett. I don’t hurt myself.”
He flexed her wrists. “Yeah, but who gives you a massage at the end of the day?”
“I don’t need one.”
“I’ll bet you get sore working on athletes. I know what our bodies feel like. You’re working on some hard muscles. And after this injury I’ve studied some anatomy—you’re having to work with tendons and capsules and some of that other shit. You have to dig pretty deep—that’s why what you do to me hurts so damn bad, right?”
She studied him. “It’s good that you’re so well-informed. It helps your recovery. But honestly, there’s nothing wrong with my hands.” She pulled them away from him and wriggled her fingers and flexed her wrists. “See? They’re just fine.”
He didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”
She made a move to stand, so he stood to get out of her way. “I’m positive. I haven’t been at this as long as some of the veteran therapists. Now they might have some issues after years and years of practice. But me? I’m fine. I take good care of myself.”
“Turn around.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
“I want to see if you’re as tight as I was.”
“Absolutely not. You don’t get to be my therapist. I’m here to take care of you, remember?”
Ignoring her, he spun her around, and before she could object, he laid his hands on her. He was no expert, but he instantly zeroed in on the rock-hard muscles between her neck and shoulders.
“Just as I thought. Your muscles are tightened up.”
She fought to turn around, but he pinned her between the chair and his body.
“Garrett. You are absolutely not going to rub my shoulders. Do you know how much money your arm is worth?”
“Yeah. My agent broke it down for me by the number of years of my contract. And then by month. She was very thorough.”
“Exactly.”
“And if I want to give a massage, I can.” He was already pressing in on her skin, using his thumbs and fingers to try and release the tension. “Just think of it as more therapy for me.”
“I’m thinking you’re not listening to me.”
“Yeah, whatever. I don’t always take direction well.”
Having her close like this was the worst form of self-torture. His nose was in her hair, and that citrusy smell drove him crazy. Her skin was soft, and with her butt nestled up against his crotch, he was going to have to do some calculations of earned run averages in order to avoid getting hard.
Alicia kept taking deeper breaths, which propelled her body closer to his. And she’d stopped talking—not a good sign. That meant she was concentrating on the movement of his hands. She either really liked the massage, or she had noticed what was going on in his pants. He took a step back, and she cleared her throat, lifted his hands off her shoulders, and turned around.
Big mistake. Because there it was, the erection that couldn’t be avoided. And her focus went right to it, then her gaze shot to his, all wide-eyed and shocked.
“Um, we should go to bed.”
He lifted a brow.