Sucking in a steeling breath, she stepped up to the dividing wall that she’d come to think of as the Great Wall of Eli, prepared to confront him. This time there’d be no sexy distractions. No high heels, no short skirt, no revealed cleavage. She’d go in, hand him the file, and turn around and leave.
She poked her head around the corner, fist poised to knock. It took her mind a moment to wrap itself around what she was seeing.
Eli, doubled over, one hand grasping the edge of his desk, his lips peeled into a grimace. His other hand was wrapped around one knee, his knuckles white.
“Eli!”
She rushed to him and he spared her a surprised glance—he hadn’t heard her coming—and his eyes radiated so much pain, she swore she felt it herself. She rushed to comfort him, placing a hand on one rock-hard shoulder, the muscles in his arm standing out and strung as tight as cables.
“Get out!” His growl was accompanied by a glare, but the glare melted into a mask of pain when another wave attacked.
“What happened?” Her voice was borderline hysterical when she knelt on the floor and put her hand over his.
“Go!” His voice was low, not as loud, the one word fading as his face contorted again.
She’d read about this.
Phantom pain. Most amputees experienced everything from searing hot spikes to tickling to electrically charged nerve pain in the limb that wasn’t there. Meditation helped. Mirror therapy helped. And so did someone massaging the area that wasn’t actually flesh and bone any longer.
“Is it your knee?” she asked.
He blew out a stuttered breath through his teeth rather than answer.
She grasped his cheeks, her hands brushing against his soft facial hair as she forced him to look at her. “Is it your knee?”
“Foot,” he managed, his blue eyes watering.
She’d bet her bank account he was referring to the foot that wasn’t there. She moved a hand to his knee but this time he didn’t push her away. Then she moved down his prosthesis, which she could feel through the leg of his pants.
“No,” he said on an exhale, but he didn’t physically try to stop her.
“I’m going to help. Do you want to stop hurting or not?” She pegged him with a challenging glare of her own. Eli held her eyes for a few seconds before finally giving a small but reluctant nod of permission.
She kept sliding her hand down. When she reached his tennis shoe and untied the laces, Eli snatched her wrist.
“You have to trust me. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” When he continued frowning, she explained. “The morning you were doing sit-ups?”
“You mean when you couldn’t look at me?” He gritted the words out between his teeth, a sheen of sweat glistening on his temple.
This beautiful idiot. He thought she was what…disgusted by him? Turned off by him? Nothing could have been further from the truth.
She kept her eyes on his when she told him what he’d obviously overlooked. “I couldn’t look at you that day because I was so attracted to you I couldn’t breathe.”
The pain in his eyes receded some as he puzzled out this newfound fact. His fingers once again flinched around her wrist.
“Eli. Let me go so I can help you.”
He released her, jaw working as he watched her untie and slip off his shoe. She returned her attention to his leg, straightening the prosthesis and resting the foot on her thigh. She dug a finger into the arch through his sock. “Here?”
He winced, unable to look at her, or maybe unwilling.
“Here?” She tried again, sliding her fingers down.
“Higher.”
She moved her fingers up and massaged the false foot, watching as the pain melted from his handsome face. He let out a deep breath with a whoosh but didn’t close his eyes. He watched her touch him. He needed to in order to send his brain the memo that the pained area was getting tended to. Despite feeling unsure of herself, she continued massaging his prosthetic foot until Eli’s shoulders visibly unknotted.
When his hand rested gently on her shoulder, she stopped. He pulled his foot from her thigh.