“I’m a talented guy.”
With a laugh, she sank gratefully onto the cushions.
He stood there a moment, looking down at her. “How you doing?”
When Emma gave him a double thumbs-up, Simon nodded and sat as well, handing her the smoothie. He was quiet while she drank, just letting her be with her thoughts, which she appreciated more than she could say. When she finished, she held up the glass. “What did you hide in here? I’m betting a bunch of icky stuff.”
He took the empty glass and set it on the small coffee table.
“Hello?”
He met her gaze, his eyes amused. “Spinach, kale, and flaxseed.”
She blinked. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
“You tricked me.”
Amusement crossed his face. “Actually, no. I’d never trick you into doing something you didn’t want to do.”
“Are you kidding me? You do it every time I’m at PT.” She lowered her voice to mock his timbre. “‘One more, Emma. Another. Okay, again . . .’” She shook her head. “Until I’ve done exactly however many you wanted.”
“That’s not a trick. I tell you right up front what I expect out of you. Always.”
This was actually true. He set expectations, gave her choices, asked for her input, and then . . . proceeded to do only what he’d promised her he would do, all while waiting patiently for her to do the same, assuming she was as grown up as he was.
Note: she was not. “So you’re saying I just drank spinach.” She couldn’t even say this without grimacing.
“And kale and flaxseed.”
She shuddered.
“You going to throw up?” he asked.
Fair question. In the beginning of their PT sessions all those months ago, there’d been plenty of times when he’d asked her if she was at her breaking point, if she needed a break or to stop altogether.
Pride had always made her reply that she was fine.
And then, almost without fail, she’d end up on her hands and knees throwing up into his trash can. He’d rub her back until she stopped spasming, then had always given her a break to recover.
Then, if she wanted, she could finish their session. Her choice.
The point being that he always, always, assumed she could handle herself and took her at her word. She’d learned a lot from that, actually. One, that there was no need for her to hide things from him regarding her physical being. Once she’d gotten to that point, where she trusted and believed in him fully, her progress had grown by leaps and bounds.
These days she’d progressed enough to cut back PT to once a week. But after all this time, there was still an ease between them, a comfort. They each knew their roles. He was her unbending but trusted enforcer.
All she had to do was let him help her get better.
But suddenly their roles felt blurred, at least in her mind. Because she wanted a hell of a lot more than just his PT touch. “No, I’m not going to throw up.” Emma gave a wry smile. “The smoothie was the way to go. I would’ve grabbed something with caffeine and probably something questionable but fast to eat, like salami and cheese.”
Simon gave a mild grimace. “And how do you feel now?”
She gave that some consideration. Her stomach wasn’t feeling squishy or icky or bloated. In fact, she felt . . . really good. “If I tell you that I feel almost good enough to get up and try the stairs again, you won’t actually make me do it, right?”
“I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to.”
The night was a dark one. No moon. Thick clouds hiding the glow of the stars. Disappointing, but even more so was the fact that she couldn’t see his expression clearly. “Can I get that in writing so I can pull it out at our next session?”
“You don’t need it in writing. And I’m talking in or out of the PT clinic.”
Okay, so he wasn’t feeling playful. She turned to face him on the love seat and found his eyes dark and serious, and damn. Compelling. “So . . . what happens here on the roof, is it like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”
He let a beat go by. “I’m not sure I should answer that.”
Probably smart. Whenever she was with him lately, she felt things she’d almost forgotten about. Hunger. Desire. Need . . . Made all the more shocking because it was centered in only a few select body parts that she hadn’t thought about in a long time.
And then there was her brain. Everything she knew about Simon told her he was a good guy, one of the best. But the last time she’d let a man into her heart, he’d walked when the going got rough.
Okay, so the going had gotten really rough, but Ned hadn’t just turned away. He’d taken her best friend, whom Emma was equally mad at. In fact, she’d be happy to never see either of them ever again. It’d been a painful lesson—her own heart couldn’t be trusted. As for her body . . . well, it had its own ideas. “I’m feeling conflicted,” she finally said.
“Because . . .”
“Because I gave up relationships and commitments.” Plus, she was pretty sure she’d no longer recognize either one if it hit her right in the face. Huh. Maybe she was feeling a little sorry for herself today. She’d work on that. Tomorrow.
Simon was looking at her thoughtfully. “You’re trying to tell me something.”
“Actually, I’m thinking show, not tell.”
He paused. “Normally, I’d agree one hundred percent. But they say that making any sort of big decision after a traumatic event is a bad idea.”
“No doubt ‘they’ are right,” she said, using air quotes.
He gave a small smile. “Your small motor skills are coming back more and more each day. As is your left arm.”
And she hadn’t even realized. Emma stared at her hands. “I feel like I’m moving at a snail’s pace.”
“Nothing wrong with that. The tortoise always won the race, after all.” Simon leaned back to stare up at the sky.
She mirrored his position, looking up, feeling her blood pressure immediately slow and calm. No idea if that was the view or the man next to her. Glad it was dark, she said, “About that no commitment thing . . . it doesn’t mean no sex.” She hesitated. Bit her lip. “Just thought you should know.”
He turned his head and looked at her in a way that had heat moving through her body like hot lava. “You’re in the driver’s seat, Emma. The controls are all yours.”
She stared at him and then huffed out a breath. “Great.”
He smirked. “You can’t control yourself?”
Emma turned back to study the sky again. “I’d rather drink more spinach than answer that question.”
Simon laughed. Laughed. Because they both knew she had zero self-control. In fact, she was this close to crawling up his body to straddle him and ride him like a bronco.
He abruptly stood up.
“You’re leaving?” she asked in disbelief.
He took a slow, purposeful breath, his eyes on her mouth. “I think that’s the best thing I could do right now.”
Not even close. Nope, the best thing he could do right now was her.
Clearly reading her mind, he let out a rough groan. His gaze, hot and dark, met hers and she sucked in a breath, bombarded by waves of sensations.