When she opened them, she mentally overlaid his skin with an anatomy chart, reminding herself to view his body as just a combination of muscles, tendons, and bones. “I’m going to put some mild pressure on your neck and back now, just to see where the tightness is,” she said, rubbing her hands together to warm them before she began to probe the knotted muscles with her fingertips. As she dug into his warm olive skin, she recited each muscle to keep her focus on the medical. Levator scapulae. Trapezius. Rhomboideus. Posterior deltoid. Latissimus dorsi.

Her mind went to work on the problem of how to position the stim pads for maximum effect, and she almost forgot whom she was working on. He flinched once when she hit a sore spot, but mostly he lay quiet and still as she explored his back.

“I’m going to attach the pads now. And then I’ll put a light blanket over you to keep you warm.”

He grunted his understanding. She placed the pads, attached the wires, and covered him with a soft white blanket she found on a shelf beside the massage table. It was ten times nicer than the one in her bag of tricks. Then she turned on the machine, slowly adjusting the current upward.

“That’s good,” he said. “Now there are several herds of ants racing around over my back.”

“Let me know if it begins to bother you. Since the stim will last longer, you may find your reaction to it changes over time.”

It was harder to gauge his body’s response to the stim when the blanket was covering him, but she checked for any restlessness or subtle shifts in his position.

A few minutes passed in silence, and she allowed herself to look around a little more, although she brought her attention back to her patient frequently. Her patient. She sighed in relief as she realized that was how she was thinking of him now.

“So what does one do while the ants tramp around?” His deep voice was slightly muffled by the headrest.

“Some people sleep.”

“Your electric insects are a little too obtrusive for that.”

“Do you have a music system down here? I could turn it on.” In a place like this, there had to be a state-of-the-art sound system. She was about to suggest an audiobook but decided that might hit too close to the source of his problem.

“What sort of music would you choose to listen to?” he asked.

“Me? This is your treatment, so you get to pick.” Her taste ran to country and pop, neither of which a sophisticated writer would find appealing.

“I already know what I would listen to, so that’s not interesting.”

“The point is to listen to it, not talk about it,” Allie said.

“I’d rather listen to you.”

She felt a silly moment of pleasure. “I’m a hillbilly, so I like country.”

“Johnny Cash or Blake Shelton?” he asked.

“Dolly Parton and Carrie Underwood.”

His chuckle was a dark, rich rumble. “I like you. You’ve got attitude.”

Another wash of ridiculous gratification flowed through her. “So what’s your favorite kind of music?”

“I like a good Gregorian chant.”

“You listen to monks singing in Latin? I was expecting you to say Beethoven.” She wanted to bite her tongue when she realized that it was his character Julian Best who listened to classical music. She saw him shift under the blanket. “So what’s the hot new group on the Gregorian chant charts?” she asked to cover her blunder.

“Why did you think I would choose Beethoven?” His tone left no doubt that he expected an honest answer.

She wasn’t going to give him one. “You’re an intellectual New Yorker. They tend to like classical music.”

There was more movement under the blanket as he pushed himself up from the table, turning his head so she could see the anger stiffening his jaw. “You were thinking of Julian Best.”

“Does he like Beethoven? I don’t remember that. Please lie down.”

Gavin turned onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. The blanket hung over his shoulder but didn’t cover his torso with its line of dark hair arrowing down to disappear under his jeans. Allie tried to meet his gaze, but that was worse than being attracted by his body. She moved to the stim unit and pretended to check the dials. “Should I turn the current down?”

“You are not a good liar, Ms. Nichols. You were confusing me with my fictional spy.”

Allie admitted defeat and faced him again. “Don’t writers put their own experiences in their books?”

“And their aspirations. Not to mention their nightmares.” He seemed to be trying to hypnotize her with his eyes. “Julian’s preference in music is only mentioned once.”

She nodded. “In Best Laid Plans.”

“Just how well do you know the Julian Best novels?”

“My mama and I talked about them a lot. They have much more depth than most thrillers.” And she considered Julian her book boyfriend. “We even made up some stories of our own about Julian.”

Gavin swung his legs over the edge of the table and sat upright, the blanket cascading onto the floor behind him. “What is Julian’s favorite food?”

“I can only remember appetizers.” She was trying to keep her mind on the conversation and not on the swell of his biceps. “When he’s with Samantha Dubois, he orders caviar as a starter, but otherwise he always begins with steak tartare.”

“What sport does he watch?”

“Ice hockey. He played when he was in college.”

“What car does he drive?”

“Trick question. Anything with a big engine and good cornering. He doesn’t care about cars.” She smiled. “But when it comes to aircraft, he’s picky. He likes a Citation Encore jet or an AW109 helicopter. You know, you should really lie down. The electrical stim doesn’t work as well if you’re using the muscles it’s working on.”

He didn’t move. “Did Jane know you’re a Julian Best fan before she hired you?”

Gavin’s suspicions lessened as genuine bafflement clouded Allie’s gray eyes.

“No,” the physical therapist said. “How would she find that out?”

“By asking.” He let a little smile twist his mouth. “Jane’s a mastermind. She might have been trying two kinds of therapy.”