Talking Sense (7 page)

They boarded the plane and she squeezed into the seat next to him. The flight was only an hour, but even before the plane took off, he knew she was uncomfortable. Her face had grown pale, and although she didn’t say anything, the way she shifted frequently proved to him that her back was getting worse.

So he asked the flight attendant for a cushion for her, got her some water, read her a bit from his book to take her mind off it, and tried to make her laugh. And when she dozed off, her head slipping onto his shoulder, he sat as still as he could so she could have fifteen minutes of peace and hopefully relax before their course started.

Unfortunately, though, things only got worse as the day went on. They found their way to the training complex easily enough and she joined him for the seminars, but the chairs were basic and hard, and again he went and found her a couple of cushions, even though she scolded him for fussing around her.

The course packed in a lot of information and the day was long, and by the time they’d finished and made their way to the motel, he could see she was exhausted. He checked in at reception and then carried her bag to her room for her, which was next to his. He opened the door and took her bag inside, and watched as she sank down gingerly onto the mattress.

“I was going to ask if you’d like to join me for some dinner,” he said, “but I’m guessing you’re going straight to bed.”

“I’ll just sit here for a bit,” she said, face still white. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while.”

That did it. The thought of her being in continual pain was too much to bear.

“Right.” He retrieved her handbag and tipped it up, scattering the contents on the bed.

“What the…” She stared at him, incensed, and made a grab for the handbag, but he moved it out of the way. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

He ferreted around amongst the lipsticks, tissues and tampons and found what he’d suspected she’d carried—a tube of painkillers. He read the label, undid the lid, tipped two onto his palm, then took a bottle of water from the fridge.

He held them out to her. “Take them.”

“No,” she snapped. “Fuck off. Who do you think you are?”

“Mia,” he said gently, “you’re breaking my heart. Please. Just for tonight.”

She met his gaze. As quickly as if someone had turned down a dial, her anger faded. Her eyes shone, and then a tear tipped over her lashes and ran down her cheek.

Fighting the urge to hug her, he put the pills and the bottle in her hand and watched her take them. Relieved she’d finally complied, he went into the bathroom and rummaged in her washbag.

“Clearly we have no secrets,” she complained, sniffing as she wiped away her tears.

He pulled out a small bottle of body lotion. That would have to do. “Not today,” he said, returning with the lotion and a towel. “Take off your blouse.”

She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m going to massage your back. I want to help.”

“By getting me naked,” she said flatly.

“That just happens to be an added bonus.” He sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Mia, we’re both grown-ups, and I can restrain myself when I have to. Take off your top and bra and lie on your front.” He turned away, taking the opportunity to remove his watch and toe off his shoes.

“Colm…”

“I trained as a sports physio before I took my history degree. I know what I’m doing.”

“You really think I’m going to strip off and let you rub lotion all over me?”

He turned back, hands on hips. “Stop making it sound sexy. Pain isn’t sexy. Obviously I’d love to get down and dirty with you—I’ve barely thought about anything else since I watched you walk into the staff room at the beginning of the year. But I decided months ago that you deserve more than a fling, and that’s really not what’s on my mind right now.”

It was a half truth—in spite of her pain and her tears she still looked sexy enough to make his heart beat faster than usual at the thought that he was alone with her in a room with a bed. But he really did want to help her feel better. “I’m offering you a massage,” he clarified. “Nothing more.”

She blinked. “You want to get down and dirty? With me?”

He snorted. She doubted that? “Of course I do.”

“Oh.” She looked completely flummoxed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, rather hopeful.

His heart beat even faster. She was interested in him? Of course she’d asked him to kiss her on her birthday so he’d guessed the sight of him didn’t make her want to vomit, but he hadn’t thought she’d be interested in taking it any further.

And neither are you,
he reminded himself.
She’s in pain, remember?
Maybe later. He’d have to wait and see.

He sighed. “But even more than that, I want you to feel better. Just for one night, eh? You can go back to being a martyr tomorrow.” He held her gaze, letting her know he wasn’t happy with her self-flagellation.

She gave a small nod and he turned away.

There was a moment of silence. Then he heard the sounds of clothing being removed and the squeak of the bed as she shifted.

“Are you ready?” he asked when it went quiet again.

“Yes,” she said softly.

He turned to see her lying on her front, her elbows squeezed against her side, face on the pillow as she looked over her shoulder at him with large eyes. She still wore her jeans, but her slender, naked back shone pale in the light from the lamp by the bed. The long scar across her shoulder blades was clearly visible.

He reached out and brushed it gently. “Is it painful to touch?”

“No, not really,” she said quietly. “It was only a scratch. It’s more of a muscular thing. They’ve told me it will get better with time, although I haven’t noticed any improvement yet.”

He took off his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, then climbed onto the bed with the lotion. “Taking anti-inflammatories would help. And massage is good for relaxing the joints and stretching the muscles.” He poured a little lotion onto his hands. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, but tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” She turned her face away from him.

He warmed the lotion, then smoothed it down her back from shoulder blade to hip. Her skin was cool, and he tingled from head to toe at the thought that he finally had his hands on her, but he gave his libido a stern talking-to and concentrated on her muscles.
Trapezius, latissimus dorsi, multifidus spinae
. All linking the bones of her neck, shoulders and spine.

Unsure how much pressure she would be able to bear, he concentrated initially on gentle, soothing strokes to warm the muscles, brushing up over her shoulders and smoothing circular patterns down either side of her back, avoiding her spine.

For the first few minutes she was tense, but as she obviously realised he knew what he was doing, she loosened her shoulders and relaxed into it, bringing her arms up underneath the pillow and exposing the pale skin on either side of the rib cage. He could just see the swell of her breast, soft and creamy white against the dark duvet.

Concentrate, Molony.
He forced his gaze back to her shoulders and gritted his teeth. First he had to take away the pain. Then maybe he could let his mind turn to other things.

As her muscles warmed, he began to work them harder, using pressure to knead away the knots and lumps that had formed and losing himself in the task as his hands moved automatically, massaging, squeezing and manipulating until she felt like warm dough in his hands.

He worked for twenty minutes, and then went back to long, gentle, soothing strokes meant to relax. Finally, he sat back and wiped his hands on the towel.

Mia didn’t move. Her rib cage rose and fell slowly, and her cheeks had a pink flush to them for the first time that day.

She was asleep.

Chapter Nine

When she awoke, the only light came from the lamp beside the bed, which cast the room in a warm, golden glow.

Mia blinked, realised where she was, and went to push herself up onto her elbows. At the last minute, though, she turned her head and saw Colm stretched out beside her, reading.

He looked over as she moved, and smiled. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” She smiled back shyly. He’d covered her over with the duvet, but it didn’t change the fact that she was naked from the waist up. “How long have I been asleep?”

He looked at the clock on the wall. “Just over an hour.”

“I’m sorry. You should have gone back to your own room.”

“I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay when you woke up.”

Holding the duvet to her breasts, she pushed herself to a sitting position and rolled her shoulders. Miraculously, her spine was almost free of pain, and her muscles felt loose and relaxed. “Oh, gosh, that feels good.”

“Magic fingers.” He wiggled them and smiled.

She brought up her knees and clasped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knees as she surveyed him. He’d taken off his glasses to read, and his hair was ruffled as if he’d run his hand through it several times. He’d opened a few buttons at the top of his shirt, and she could see a sprinkling of light brown hair on his chest. He looked good enough to eat, and his sexy smile wasn’t helping matters.

Talking of eating… Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the table in the small kitchenette, on which lay a collection of small boxes. “What’s that?”

“Chinese,” he said. “I nipped out. I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m starving.”

He sat up. “Are you happy to eat together?”

She smiled. “Of course.” She still couldn’t believe he’d massaged her. His touch had been gentle but firm, and he’d clearly known what he was doing.

“Cool. I’ll dish up while you get dressed, if you like.”

He rose and went into the kitchen, and busied himself with dividing the food onto plates. She pulled her bag onto the mattress and took out the large T-shirt she wore in bed. She was past worrying about what to wear in front of him. He made her feel so comfortable and relaxed that things like that didn’t seem to matter.

With surprise she noticed him pouring wine into two glasses.

“Um, I’m not sure I should drink if I’ve had pills,” she said.

“I checked the label and there are no contra-indications with alcohol,” he said. “It’s up to you—I just think at the moment that anything that relaxes you would be good.”

“Orgasms are relaxing.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

To his credit, he just laughed and gave her an amused glance. “Absolutely. We’ll talk about that after dinner.”

A delicious warmth spread through her. She loved men who weren’t put off by women who liked sex, and he seemed to enjoy flirting with her. In many ways that was what she had missed most—the companionship of flirting and talking about intimate things almost as much as doing the intimate things themselves.

Almost.

She eyed him mischievously as he brought her plate over to the bed.
I‘d love to get down and dirty with you
, he’d said. Had he been joking, or had he meant it?

He met her gaze as he leaned across to place her wine on the bedside table and gave her a sexy smile.
Oh ho, he meant it all right.
He absolutely wanted to get her into bed.

How exciting.

He brought over his own plate and glass and sat on the bed next to her, back up against the headboard and legs stretched out. She turned to face him, legs crossed, and they began to eat their dinner.

“Nice shirt,” he said after a few mouthfuls, pointing to it with his chopsticks.

She looked down. The T-shirt was pink with a large picture of a rabbit in a top hat. “It’s comfortable,” she said defensively.

“I wasn’t criticising. It’s pretty.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Colm, for…well, everything.”

He stopped with the chopsticks halfway to his mouth and smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He ate the noodles as he considered her. “You shouldn’t suffer, you know. Nothing is served by suffering.”

“I know.” She pushed a few peas around her plate. “I know I’m being self-indulgent. It’s just…” She cleared her throat and took a bite out of a spring roll. “I wasn’t ready. Maybe I am now. I don’t know. I am trying.”

He picked up his glass and held it out to her. She picked up her own and clinked it against his.

“To moving on,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “To moving on.”

They took a couple of swallows of the wine and carried on eating their dinner.

He started talking about something they’d covered in the course that day and she half listened, but inside her brain was thinking furiously about what to do next. Sleeping with him couldn’t end well when he was moving back to Ireland—could it? She didn’t want things to turn bad between them—after his generous behaviour, she thought that would make her cry. Was it possible to have sex and then go back to being friends?

He put down his plate and ran his hand through his hair before reaching for his glass again, and she couldn’t help but stare as the cotton sleeve stretched across his biceps. Maybe it was the fact that he’d touched her skin with his bare hands, or maybe it was just that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time, but suddenly she yearned to touch him, to kiss him, to have him inside her. She wanted him, badly, and without further ado, she made up her mind.

“What?” he said, and she realised she’d been staring.

She finished off the last mouthful of wine in her glass. The alcohol had started to thread through her veins. Her muscles were soft and pliable, her brain beginning to stop its incessant churning. “I have a pack of cards in my bag,” she said. “Want to play?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Sure.”

“Cool.” She finished off her dinner and got up to take their plates to the sink, stretching and enjoying the freedom of not having the familiar ache between her shoulder blades. After taking out the cards, she brought them back to the bed where he was in the process of pouring out another glass of wine for each of them. She felt pleasantly relaxed and comfortable in his company.

“I like you,” she said, sitting opposite him again.