Full Contact

“Yes.”

Okay. Well, her knees were a little shaky. Maybe her symptoms were more obvious than she’d thought. And it wasn’t as though he could do anything in the middle of the hall.

Granted the area was in a corner of the medical center. And not one soul had come or gone in the minutes she’d been there. But still, someone could. At any moment one of the other doors could open and someone could walk out.

Ellen sat.

“Shawna tells me you’re suffering from PTSD.”

Ellen had negotiated with Shawna and they had finally settled on her releasing only that information to him. It was all he needed to know to be able to treat her.

Stiff and ready to bolt, Ellen stared at him—as if he were a train wreck. She had to survey the damage. To see the suffering.

“You look too young to have been in the service.”

“I’m twenty-six.” Not young at all.

“Were you in the service?”

“No.”

His gaze made her uncomfortable. Could the man see the quaking inside her? Better that than having him see the dark shadows in her mind.

“The idea here is to teach your body that physical touch is nonthreatening. And to teach your mind that physical touch will bring you pleasure. To get you to the point where your automatic reaction is to welcome touch because you associate it with pleasure. To retrain you to expect it. Does that make sense?”

She wasn’t a moron.

And he wasn’t going to get her in that room.

“I’m going to start out with one hand. I’ll place it lightly where your right shoulder and neck meet. You naturally hold tension there and we want to relieve that tension.”

He was not getting her in that room.

“You ready?”

Ellen glared up at him. “What? Out here?”

“Yes.” He met her gaze head-on.

And the honesty, the understanding she saw there reached through her haze of panic.

“Just one hand?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Only in the one spot?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t move.

She tried to prepare. To imagine his hand on her neck. To brace herself for how that would feel.

“Are you just going to lay your hand there, or what?”

“I’m going to start with three fingers. I’ll take them away then touch again. I’ll repeat that until your body accepts the contact.”

“How will you know that?”

“You’ll let me know.”

She had to do something? The butterflies were swarming fiercely.

“What if I don’t?” Did that mean he’d keep touching her? And claim that she hadn’t told him not to? Because she’d—

“You will. Your muscles will tense up—their way of responding to unwanted contact.”

Oh. Right. As a massage therapist, he knew all about muscles. Was probably trained to “listen” to them in ways Ellen didn’t even know about.

What else would he be able to understand about her if he touched her?

“That’s it then? You touch with three fingers—lightly—and that’s all?”

“Once your body accepts it, if we get to that point, I’ll apply light pressure—something meant to feel really good. I’ll give you plenty of warning before I change a process. That’s how this works. No surprises. And nothing without your explicit agreement. Okay?”

She wanted to date.

She didn’t want to sleep alone for the rest of her life.

She was not going to spend her life—even one aspect of it—hostage to what that bastard had done to her.

Josh needed her to be healthy.

Ellen nodded.

“Look at me please.”

She did.

“Okay?”

She nodded again.

“I need to hear you say it. This is totally your call.”