Chapter 178

Emily Blair clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.
She really didn’t want to go.
But she was still relying on Andrew Lane to stay in this lounge. If she defied him, what if he decided to throw her out?
Left with no choice, Emily stood up and started toward Andrew.
As she drew closer, she finally noticed how pale he looked. Most of the color had drained from his lips, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Andrew leaned back, eyes shut tight, lips slightly parted as a couple of ragged, hoarse groans slipped out.
Emily quickly averted her gaze, fixing her eyes on the deep red carpet beneath her feet.
Whatever was going on with Andrew, it really wasn’t her concern.
Suddenly, Andrew leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and exhaling heavily.
He beckoned her over. “Come here. I need a massage.”
For a moment, Emily couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Then she thought she must have misunderstood.
She lifted her eyes, hesitant. “What did you say?”
Andrew’s brows drew together, his voice rough. “Come give me a massage.”
Emily’s first thought was that he must be out of his mind.
Their relationship was nowhere near the point where she’d be massaging him. If anything, if she did, Andrew would probably suspect she was up to something.
She tried, “Can’t you just do it yourself?”
Andrew didn’t answer.
So she pressed on, “Why don’t you just hold on for a bit? Later, I can give you the name of the massage studio I learned from-maybe you or Isabella can book a class, or just call in a therapist.”
Andrew straightened up, slowly opening his eyes.
His gaze-dark, narrow, and intense-locked onto her. Even though his posture was casual, the force of his presence was unmistakable: threatening, commanding.
Emily froze under his stare.
She frowned. She’d thought she was handling this sensibly, even looking out for him.
What more did Andrew want?
She barely got out, “You”
“Come here.”
Andrew’s eyes were stormy, his voice low and unwavering. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
He flicked his gaze toward the lounge door.
Emily followed his look, and her heart clenched.
At that moment, Grandpa Kevin and a few others were already at the door.
Even with the door closed, she could hear their voices. Then came the knocking. Knock, knock, knock-
“Is Andrew in there?”
Grandpa Kevin’s voice, old and worn, carried clearly through the door, straight to Emily’s ears.
Andrew was threatening her.
Emily bit her lip, walked over, slipped past the sofa, and stood behind Andrew.
Standing there, staring at the back of his head, she felt a strange sense of dislocation, as if she’d stepped into another life.
She raised her hands slowly, hovering them near his temples.
For a moment, her hands hung in the air before finally coming to rest on his skin.
Her fingertips pressed gently against his temples.
She didn’t have to think, didn’t have to remember.
The motions of massaging Andrew came to her as naturally as breathing, as if her body had never forgotten.
Her pale wrists and slender fingers moved in practiced circles, expertly kneading his temples.
Emily glanced down and saw Andrew’s eyes closed, his expression finally relaxing. Some color even returned to his cheeks.