I frowned at him. “I’m more than that.” I suddenly remembered my own power, what I could do. The glimmer of fear disappeared. “I can help you. But you must promise to do everything I say. Everything. Exercises, healthy diet, lots of sleep—all of it.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Think you can keep up with me?”
His lips parted. “Can you keep up with me? I’ve broken a lot of physiotherapists,” he said dryly. “What makes you think I can’t break you? I...” He suddenly scowled. “What are you smiling at? You should be afraid.”
I was smiling. For the first time in three weeks, I felt a sense of purpose, even anticipation as I shook my head. The high-and-mighty tycoon didn’t know who he was dealing with. Yes, I was a pathetic pushover in my personal life. But to help a patient, I could be as ruthless and unyielding as the most arrogant hedge fund billionaire on earth. “You are the one who should be afraid.”
“Of you?” He snorted. “Why?”
“You asked for all my attention.”
“So?”
My smile widened to a grin. “Now you’re going to get it.”
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU CALL THIS a workout?” Edward demanded the next morning.
I gave him a serene smile. “Those were just tests. Now we’re about to start.”
We were in the former gardener’s cottage, which Edward had recently had converted into a personal rehabilitation gym, complete with exercise equipment, weight benches, yoga mats and a massage table, with big bright windows overlooking the garden. I had him lift his arms slowly over his head, saw the pull in his muscle, saw him flinch.
“Okay.” I squared my shoulders. “Let’s begin.”
Then started the stretches and small weights and balancing and walking and then driving him to the nearest town recreation area so he could swim. I nearly brought him to his knees, literally as well as figuratively. I think I surprised him by pushing him to his limit, until he was covered with sweat.
“Ready to be done?” I said smugly.
Now he surprised me, by shaking his head. “Done? I’m just getting started,” he panted. “When will the real workout begin?”
Leaving me to grit my teeth and come up with exercises that would continue to strengthen him, or at least not cause him injury.
As the afternoon faded into early evening, he never once admitted weakness or exhaustion. It was only by the grip of his fingers and the ashy-pale hue of his skin that I knew.
On the second day, though, I knew he’d be sore. I expected him to plead the demands of business, and spend his day with ice packs on his aching muscles, relaxing in his home office and talking on the phone. But when I told him to meet me in the gardener’s cottage after breakfast, he didn’t complain. And when I went down to set up, I found Edward already at the weight bench, lifting a heavier weight on his shoulder than he should have.
“Linger over your kippers and eggs, did you?” he said smugly. And then the second day went pretty much like the first, except this time it felt like he was a step ahead.
So the third day, determined to regain a sense of control, I had an early breakfast and went down to the gardener’s cottage, at nine. I was able to greet his surprised face when he arrived five minutes later.
The fourth day, he was already there stretching when I arrived at eight forty-five.
We fell into a pattern. Any time Edward wasn’t working in his home office, on his computer or the phone at odd hours talking to London, New York, Hong Kong and Tokyo, he demanded my full attention. And as promised, he got it. Each of us trying to prove we were tougher than the other. A battle of wills, neither of us willing to back down.
And now, almost two months into our working together, it had come down to this.