Commitment (16 page)

“I’m not….”

She cut him off with one arched eyebrow. “You don’t want to talk?”

Tom shucked his jacket and tossed it at the chair in the corner. “This better not hurt.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Got it. No extractions. I’ll leave the giant blackhead on your nose alone.”

He abandoned the button on his cuff and covered his nose with his hand. “Blackhead?”

“Yes. Very attractive. I bet it makes all the girls swoon.”

Without another word, he stripped out of his shirt, tugged his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it onto the chair, and perched on the edge of the table. His head drooped and his muscled shoulders slumped. After about ten seconds, he glanced up with a puzzled frown. “Is this thing heated?”

She smiled and tugged the sheet trapped under him. “You can lose the pants and slide in if you want.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “For some reason, I don’t think you meant that the way it sounded to me,” he said dryly.

The soles of his shiny black shoes slapped tile and Maggie fumbled with the sheet and blanket, attempting to get the perfect forty-five degree fold she usually made so effortlessly. His belt buckle clinked and she looked up. He was staring at her, toeing off his shoes as he unzipped his pants. A hot flash of memory scorched her cheeks. The knowing smirk that lifted one side of his mouth only helped to fuel the fire. She glanced at the table then back at him, meeting his gaze boldly.

“You were so much faster with this the other night.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feigning impatience.

He stripped off his pants and socks, holding them in front of him as he shifted from foot to foot on the cool tile floor. “I was motivated. Tonight, I’m not exactly sure what I’m getting into.”

Again she held the sheet up. “Get into this.”

Tom grumbled a little but added the pants and socks to the growing pile on the chair. He made his way to the table with all of the enthusiasm of a man expecting a lethal injection. Taking advantage, she admired the long, lean lines of muscle that played under taut skin and the way the snug cotton knit of his boxer briefs clung to his ass. By the time he climbed between the sheets, she’d moved past admiration and into ogling, but that was okay. The uncertainty in his usually confident gaze made her feel powerful.

Maggie lowered herself to the rolling stool and pressed her fingertips to his temples, reminding herself that power needed to be tempered with a bit of benevolence. “I won’t hurt you,” she promised in a whisper.

She traced gentle circles, applying just enough pressure to ease the tense muscles in his cheeks and working her way to his jaw. Tom closed his eyes when she slid her fingers into his dark hair. “Feel good?”

“
Mmm
….”

She smiled. The short stands of his bittersweet chocolate hair tickled her palms. She slid her hands under his head, cupping his skull in one hand while kneading the nape of his neck with her knuckles. “Just relax,” she murmured. “This is going to feel so good.” She drew back, preparing to begin the treatment. A frown furrowed his brow. “Are you warm enough?”

“Fine,” he answered, shifting down on the table slightly.

“If you get too hot, let me know.” His soft snort made her smile. She wriggled her fingers into a sterile glove and snapped the band around her wrist.

Tom shot straight up, dislodging the sheet and glancing around wild-eyed. “What are you doing?”

She waggled her fingers at him. “It’s a surgical glove.”

“I know the sound. Why? And why only one?”

She couldn’t help it; his abject fear made her laugh. “Relax, Sully. I’m about as far from your prostate as I can get.” She held up a second glove and smirked. “Health regulations frown on going for the Michael Jackson look.” She placed her gloved hand on his bare shoulder and pulled him back to the table. “You bolted before I got to the second one.”

“Yeah, well, the snap of a rubber glove does that to a guy.”

She chuckled as she worked her fingers into the second glove. Tom folded his hands over his chest and closed his eyes again, breathing slow and deep through his nose. Moistening two cotton squares, she began to bathe his chin and cheeks with warm water. A moment later, she tossed the squares and pumped a dollop of cleanser onto the fingertips. “This is just a mild cleanser,” she said, keeping her voice calm and impersonal. She worked the cleanser in tiny circles from his chin to his forehead. “When you leave I’ll give you some samples. Stop using the Irish Spring on your face.”

“How do you know I use Irish Spring?”

“I can smell it.”

“You don’t like it? I think it smells good. It’s manly, but ladies are supposed to like it too.”

She snorted and began to rinse away the cleanser. “It does smell good. Just not on your face.” Moving the steam closer, she smoothed exfoliating cream over his skin. His eyelashes fluttered when the exfoliating brush whirred to life. “Just going to slough off some of the dead skin,” she murmured.

He cracked open one eye. “Sounds disgusting.”

“Feels great.” She touched the rotating brush to his jawline and was rewarded with a low hum of pleasure. “See?” The tension eased in his shoulders. His biceps quivered then relaxed. The clasped fingers on his chest grew lax with each passing circle. “Let me do the extractions,” she coaxed in a low, seductive tone. “You’ll thank me.”

“Okay.”

Grinning, Maggie set the exfoliating brush aside and fished two more cleansing cloths from the bowl of warm water. With practiced strokes, she wiped away the residue and tossed them into the tiny can at her feet. She grabbed the cotton and her
comedo
extractor before he could change his mind.

“So, you wanted to talk?” she asked, hoping to keep him distracted while she went to town on his nose. He tried to nod, but she gripped his head. “Just hold still.”

“What made you decide to do this?”

Maggie bit her lip, zeroing in on the worst of the miniscule blemishes marring that perfect Roman nose. She knew damn well what he was asking. Just as she knew she had one shot at getting that blackhead out before he bolted. The problem was, she didn’t want to answer his question. At least, not the question she thought he was asking.

Maggie leaned in closer, pressing her cotton-wrapped fingertips to his nose and began to talk about the semester she spent in community college while she put the squeeze on him. “I met Tracy and
Shel
at Lakeshore,” she said, ignoring his wince. “But I only lasted one semester. I couldn’t give a damn about U.S. history before eighteen-eighty.” Tom yelped as she cleared the pore. Before he could wriggle away, she moved on to the next. “I dropped out and went to Cosmetology school. I was going to be a hairdresser, but then I found out that aestheticians can make a lot more per hour, so that’s what I did.”

“Christ Almighty, that hurts!”

“Hang tough, big guy. You’re not actually all that bad. Just a few more minutes.”

“You’re just doing this to get your jollies,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

She laughed and moved on to the next one. “Well, there are some perks to the job. When I’m feeling particularly bitchy, I make sure I have plenty of bikini waxes on the schedule.”

He grimaced, his fingers clawing at the sheet as she moved quickly and methodically from one spot to the next. “You’re like that dentist in
Little Shop of Horrors
, or the Nazi guy in
Marathon Man
.”

She chuckled and set her instruments aside. “And I thought you thought I was pretty.” She swiped a dampened sponge over his nose. “There, all done. You were very brave.”

Tom opened his eyes and stared up at her. His upside-down smile packed an even more powerful punch than when it was right-side-up. “You’re beautiful, Maggie.”

Biting her lip, she turned away. “Back to the fun stuff. A massage and a mask.”

“I’ll take the massage, but I’ve never worn a mask. You into that kinky stuff?”

Rolling her eyes, she squeezed a blob of massage oil onto her fingers. Pressing them gently to his forehead, she took a deep breath and started with small circles. “Anyway, I worked at a spa off Oak Street for almost ten years. Very
chi-chi
, very exclusive and stuffy. When my grandmother passed away, she left me everything. Her house, her savings… She never touched the money my parents left. I had a nice nest egg, so I decided to give it a shot on my own.”

Silence shimmered around them as she worked her way steadily around his eyes, down his nose, to his mouth and chin. Tom moaned soft and deep when she massaged the length of his jawline. She stroked his throat. Tiny prickles of five o’clock shadow caught her gloved fingertips and clung. Maggie laughed softly and worked her way back up to his cheeks. “I don’t get to give many men facials. The beard feels funny.”

Those dark lashes fluttered a bit, but he kept his eyes closed. “Feels good.”

A genuine smile warmed her face. “I’m glad you like it. Makes up for the nasty extractions?”

“What happened to your parents?”

Her fingers froze, pressing gently on his temples. Blinking away the jolt of shock his abrupt question caused, she raked her fingers through his thick hair, brushing it over his ears. “They died when I was six. A wreck on the Dan Ryan,” she said softly. “My dad’s mom raised me.”

He reached up and covered her hands, pressing them firmly against his head. He opened his eyes, peering up at her intently. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips. “Thank you, but it was a long time ago.” She wriggled her hands out from under his, grasped his wrists, and moved them back to his chest. “My grandmother was great,” she continued briskly. “Funny and smart. She could be tough when she wanted to be, but the best part was she didn’t want to be very often. I might have been a bit spoiled.” Tom closed his eyes and sighed as she rubbed his ears between her thumb and index finger. “She’d make these incredible sugar cookies whenever I did something good.”

“So you always did good,” he concluded.

Maggie studied his relaxed features for a moment then nodded slowly. “I tried to.”

“And you bought this place with your inheritance.”

Again she nodded then turned to grab another tube. “The building was pretty beat up, but Sean and George checked it out before I signed the papers.”

She slathered his skin with the hydrating mask, painting it onto his skin with deft strokes. Once it was applied, she rinsed her fingertips and opened a jar of massage cream. The cream warmed between her palms. She spread it across his broad shoulders, pressing firmly against warm, taut muscle. Tom groaned. The deep rumble rolled from his parted lips, carrying the sound long after she began to work the cream into the tight knots at the base of his skull.

“You did good, Maggie. I’d bake you some cookies, but I don’t know how.”

“It seems to be working out,” she murmured, kneading his neck gently but firmly. “So, Sean was the only Sullivan to inherit any kitchen skills?”

“He’s a little fruity that way. Plus, when he married Tracy it became a matter of self-defense.”

Almost of their own accord, her hands slithered over his shoulders and smoothed the slick cream across his chest. “True. I can’t tell you how many times she tried to blow up the microwave when we lived together.”

Her breasts brushed the crown of his head. Greedy hands slipped beneath the sheet, massaging his
pecs
and stroking the ripples of his abs. Her thumbs tweaked flat nipples as she worked her way back to the safety of his shoulders.

“Wow, I had no idea a facial involved a full body massage.”

His voice came low and gravelly, the same whisky-soaked timbre that made her drop her granny panties. Heat flamed in her cheeks, but it wasn’t all embarrassment. Maggie pulled her hands back as if she’d been scorched. “Sorry. Probably a good thing I don’t get too many men in here, huh?”

Tom grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands back to his chest, holding them there as he peered up at her. “I meant the baby, Maggie. What made you decide about the baby?”

Game over. A lump rose in her throat. She swallowed hard but refused to look away. “I told you. Tick-tock. Time’s running out.”

“I mean the donor thing.”

She swiped the last of the sponges from the bowl and squeezed the excess water onto his forehead. “We’re done talking.” Tom sputtered and reared up, but she pushed him back to the table and deftly swabbed the mask from his face.