Sydney perched on the sofa. “Is your leg okay?”
“Nothing a rest — like the other leg is getting — won’t fix.”
“Here.” Sydney beckoned her leg back onto the sofa.
Beatrice obeyed, then immediately retracted it when she realised Sydney was going to touch it. She hadn’t washed properly in a week, and she shuddered to think of the forest-like growth on her leg.
Sydney put her hand out and stopped her, her eyes meeting her own with reassuring encouragement. “It’s fine. Let me help.”
Beatrice’s leg was already being lifted onto the lap of her assistant; she was going to have to go with the flow on this. Sydney placed the bottom of the draping maxi dress over her leg. It must have been hideous if she couldn’t bear to look at it. A pair of hands disappeared underneath it and she braced herself. Sydney’s hands were soft and warm, bringing about immediate relief as her fingers worked Beatrice’s aching muscles.
The feeling of being touched by another person after a lengthy period without contact was an immensely pleasurable experience. Though she wasn’t one to instigate physical interaction, Beatrice found her body still craved it. She would occasionally receive a hug from Alison when she saw her, which was a rare occurrence of late.
“God, that feels very good.”
Sydney smiled at her.
She groaned internally; she hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
“Alison, my agent, tells me you’re an”—she refrained from using the word ‘aspiring’—“a writer.”
“I guess I am an aspiring writer, yes.”
Ha, her words, not mine.
“I’d like to see some of your work.”
Sydney’s hands paused on her leg, and her forehead twitched as they made eye contact. “Sure. May I ask why?”
She didn’t want Sydney to stop. The massage hurt like hell yet felt so good at the same time. It was a much-needed release of the tension in muscles that had been asked to take extra weight and were twisted and pulled into awkward positions.
“I need help with a project I’m working on. You may be able to provide some assistance. First—”
Beatrice flinched and tensed as Sydney dug her thumb into a sore muscle.
“You’d like to judge—” Sydney began.
“Assess your capabilities.” Beatrice’s voice strained as she quickly finished her sentence, hopeful her answer would result in the clamped thumb retracting.
Sydney ruminated for a moment before finally releasing her thumb. “I’ll email something over.”
“I’ll read it tonight. I could send you something too. I’d like your opinion on it.”
“Okay.”
“Very good. We can exchange thoughts tomorrow.”
Sydney slipped herself from under Beatrice’s leg, placing it back down onto the sofa. She tapped the toes that poked from the cast. “You need to wiggle these toes, and often.”
Beatrice would pay Sydney to sit all day and massage her like that again. If only she didn’t smell, that was; she must have repulsed the woman.
Initial impressions indicated there was no end to Sydney MacKenzie’s talents. Beatrice prayed they reached as far as reworking thousands of soulless words.
CHAPTER10
Sydney rummaged in a drawer full of swimwear. Surfacing some swimsuits she delved further, a hint of red caught her eye. She grabbed at it, relieved to have found a bikini top and bottom.
She exhaled, deflated; she would now have to see Beatrice wearing it. There was sure to be a different-coloured bikini somewhere in there. Her hand hesitated, finally deciding to shut the drawer. She was being ridiculous; she could assist her employer into a bath in a red bikini without having a lady crisis, couldn’t she?