Page 8 of My Turkish Fling
“I also know some good Pilates moves that might help.”
“Pilates?”
“Yes, it’s a kind of floor exercise—”
“I know what it is. I’m just…” I blew a breath, trying to think of a way to politely decline. Me, in tights, trying to twist myself into a pretzel. “I’m not very flexible.”
“No shit.” She giggled, gently drumming the sides of her palms against my shoulder. It felt amazing. “You’re well on your way to becoming a statue. Where do you envision the final work of art? In the town square? In a gallery?”
“Very funny.” She’d earned a laugh, but I couldn’t do it naturally. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. My body must have moved that reflex into long-term storage.
“I’m not joking, though. Pilates is great for improving your mobility. Could save you from surgery later.”
“Surgery? What surgery?”
“When you’re this tight it’s only a matter of time before you pull or dislocate something. I’ve seen it. My ex-husband…” Her voice became strained and petered off.
“I’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” I inserted quickly, to change the topic. “It didn’t use to be this bad. I know I need to do something, but when there are more pressing things with the business and the family—”
“You neglect yourself,” she finished for me. “I know what it’s like. But it’s a mistake. Never again.”
“Never again,” I repeated, with less conviction. I liked how she put it though, so simply. With no anger or resentment. She was on this new path, but I saw no path ahead of me.
“Do you like this?” She tightened her fist in my hair, giving it a gentle tug. “It’s something they taught me when I did the head massage course.”
Her voice sounded a little breathless, with a hint of embarrassment.
“It’s… nice,” I managed.
It was only a massage technique, I argued, but my body had other ideas. The way she tugged my hair, with both hands now, tilting my head back, felt too intimate. I imagined returning the favor—sinking my fingers into that long, blond hair and tugging. Her eyes rolling back and lips parting.
“It’s supposed to increase blood flow,” she explained.
“Sure,” I agreed, because blood was now rushing towards my groin, the image of her face overcome by pleasure lingering behind my eyes. What would she look like or sound like? I groaned, almost involuntarily.
“That’s right,” she encouraged me. “Just relax.”
Her voice was bright and professional, as if to convince us nothing inappropriate was going on. But life has a way of revealing your lies.
Gru barked and the front door clicked, announcing Cem and Aria. I stood up, nearly knocking over my chair. Our gazes locked, I saw a smile spread across Janie’s face. Her cheeks looked pink. I coughed, trying to gather my thoughts. Why was I this embarrassed? Whatwas the big deal with someone massaging you? It wasn’t, obviously. Yet, I didn’t want my brother to find out.
Janie’s mouth twitched and my stomach tightened. Was she going to tell them?
Chapter 4
Janie
I’d never seen anyone rise from a chair that fast. Emir straightened like a string on a bow, released by the archer. I almost corrected my assessment on his mobility, until I saw him wince from pain.
As he turned to his smiling brother, the frown on his face deepened, signaling tightness that ran deeper than muscles and tendons. Something ran under the surface that no amount of massage could loosen.
“The verandah is perfect!” Aria exclaimed, crouching down to pet Gru. “We figured out the set up.” Her cheeks glowed pink as she picked a loose leaf out of her hair.
I smiled at the embarrassed glance they shared, fighting a bout of jealousy. They’d found each other and used every available moment to enjoy that connection. I could barely remember… hadI ever been that in love?
“I hope you behave yourselves at the actual party,” Emir grunted, pointedly picking a dry leaf off Cem’s T-shirt sleeve.
“I’ll keep my pants on.” He winked, not the least bit offended.
