Love with the Proper Stranger by Suzanne Brockmann

she came out of the shower. She smelled like after-sun lotion, sweet and fresh.
    Miller pulled his T-shirt over his head, rolling it into a ball and using it, along with his arms, as a pillow. As he shifted into position, he could feel Mariah’s leg pressed against him. It felt much too good, but she didn’t move away, and he was penned in by the back of the couch. He had nowhere to go.
    But then she touched him, her fingers cool against the back of his neck, and he forgot about trying to move away from her. All he wanted was to move closer. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the sweet sensation.
    “This is supposed to make you relax, not tighten up,” Mariah murmured.
    “Sorry.”
    “Make a fist,” she told him.
    Miller opened his eyes, lifting his head to look back at her. “What?”
    She gently pushed his head back down. “Are you right-or left-handed?”
    “Right-handed.”
    “Make a fist with your right hand,” she said. “Hold it tightly—don’t let go.”
    “Am I allowed to ask why?”
    “Yeah. Sure.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m telling you to. You agreed to do thisexercise, and it won’t work unless you make a fist. So do it.”
    “I never agreed to do anything,” he protested.
    “You gave your unspoken consent when you lay down on this couch. Make a fist, Mills.” She paused. “Or I’ll stop rubbing your back.”
    Miller quickly made a fist. “Now what?”
    “Now relax every other muscle in your body—but keep that fist tight. Start with your toes, then your feet. You’ve surely done that exercise where you relax every muscle, first in your legs and then your arms and then all the way up to your neck?”
    “Yeah, but it doesn’t work,” he said flatly.
    “Yes, it does. I’ll talk you through it. Start with your feet. Flex them, flex your toes, then relax them. Do it a couple of times.”
    She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging the back of his head and even his temples. Christ, it felt heavenly.
    “Okay, now do the same thing with your calves,” she told him. “Tighten, then relax. You know, this is actually an exercise from a Lamaze childbirthing class. The mothers-to-be learn to keep the rest of their bodies relaxed while one muscle is tensed and working hard. Of course they can’t practice with the actual muscle that’s going to be contracting, so they contract something else, like a fist.” Her voice was soft and as soothing as her hands. Despite himself, he felt his tension draining away. He actually felt himself start to relax. “Okay, tighten and relax the rest of your legs. Are you doing it? Are you loose?”
    He felt her reach down with one hand and touch his legs, shaking them slightly.
    “That’s pretty good, John. You’re doing great. Relax your hips and stomach… and your rear end. And don’t forget to breathe—slow it down, take your time. But keep that fist tight.”
    Miller felt as if he were floating.
    “Okay, now relax your shoulders and your arms. Relax your left hand—everything but that right fist. Keep holding that.”
    He could feel her touching him, her hands light against his back, caressing his shoulders and arms.
    “Relax the muscles in your face,” she told him softly. Her husky, musical voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Loosen your jaw. Let it drop open.
    “Okay, now relax your right hand. Open it up as if you’re setting everything free—all of your tension and stress. Just let it go.”
    Let it go.
    Let it go
.
    Miller did as she commanded, and before he could stop himself, he sank into a deep, complete, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR
    M ARIAH WOKE UP , heart pounding, sure she’d been dreaming.
    But then she heard it again. A strangled, anguished cry from the living room. She nearly knocked over the lamp on her bedside table as she lunged for it, using both hands to flip the switch.
    Four fifty-eight. It was 4:58 in the morning.
    And that was Jonathan Mills making those noises out in her living