Rowan closed his eyes. He didn't want to relax. He wanted to stay angry. Anger was safe. But her hands were working magic on muscles that had been tight since his father died years ago.
"I am relaxed," he lied, his voice sounding strained. " You are the one annoying me."
"You are as stiff as a board," she whispered near his ear. "Drop your shoulders. Lower."
He exhaled. His shoulders dropped two inches.
"Better," she said.
She removed her hands. The loss of contact made his skin prickle with cold. She walked back to her seat, sat down, and picked up her quill.
She went back to writing. Her quill making those scratching sounds.
Rowan watched her. He felt unsettled. Unraveled.
"What are you writing now?" he demanded. "'Subject has weak shoulders'? 'Subject enjoys neck rubs'?"
Delaney didn't look up. A tiny, wicked smile played on her lips. "'Subject responds well to firm handling'."
Rowan's mouth fell open. He snapped it shut.
"You are impertinent," he accused.
