That earned a huff of amusement from her patient and a suspiciously loud throat clearing from the doorway.
“And,” Frida continued, with theatrical loudness, stirring the pot, “Frank sends his regards. He said you were one of his favourites.”
There was a twitch at the corner of Thane’s mouth.
Frida, ever the provocateur, added with a smirk, “Told me you had the cutest pain face, like a kicked kitten.”
Faolan groaned, covering her eyes with her free hand. “I’m going to kill him.”
Thane didn’t say anything, but waves of dissatisfaction seemed to seep out of him.
The little green devil was making an appearance.
“Easy, tiger,” Frida murmured under her breath, smiling. “Looks like someone’s jealous.”
“I am not,” he said flatly from across the room, not bothering to look up.
Frida grinned wide, pulling her patient gently to her feet. “He’s totally jealous. I can taste it.”
“Puerto Rican voodoo?” Faolan asked, amused.
“Instinct,” Frida said. “Also…I know men like him. Control-freaks with intense eyes and stupidly good hair.”
Faolan shook her head, biting back a smile.
When the session ended, and Frida left with a wave and a cheeky, “Try not to wrestle your protector tonight; your ribs aren’t ready,” Thane was still by the door, watching.
After Frida left, she caught her breath and stretched her fingers out, flexing them slowly. Her muscles still ached.
“Lunch?” he asked from the kitchen.
“Yeah.”
There was a beat of awareness between them. He looked like he wanted to say more, but it stayed tucked behind his quiet eyes.
By nightfall, her body had had enough. Everything ached. Her ribs felt splintered. Even the skin beneath the brace stung from the weight of the day. She wanted to stop using the painkillers today, but it was not to be.
“I don’t think I can take a bath tonight,” she mumbled as she sank into the bed.
He nodded wordlessly, then proceeded to strip her with surgical efficiency.
“Thane, I can—”
“No, you can’t,” he said quietly, though not unkindly, already wetting a cloth with warm water and lavender soap. “Just let me.”
She gritted her teeth but said nothing more.
His movements were gentle and impersonal.
The moment he reached her breasts, her spine arched ever so slightly, a quiet, wicked part of her delighting in the way his breath caught.
She glanced down in time to see him squeeze the washcloth hard, his knuckles going white, his jaw clenched, eyes tightly shut as if struggling not to drown in the sight of her. Walking around semi-aroused seemed to have become a way of life for him now.
It lasted only a heartbeat before he seemed to snap back, washing the rest of her quickly while avoiding her gaze, avoiding everything.
She almost smirked when he destroyed yet another T-shirt to get it over her brace.
“You’re ruining your wardrobe,” she muttered as he pulled the soft cotton down her arms.
