Feather Light (Knead Me) (2 page)

“ ‘Woo-rah’? ”
 

Parker smiled. “Yes. It’s my own unique way of knowing when my client is ready. So ‘woo-rah’ me when you are.”

When he disappeared behind the curtain, he heard what sounded like plastic being folded and placed on the little table, which must have been her glasses or sunglasses. Parker pressed the first button on his left, and soft, ambient music filled the room. The light, though already set low, needed to be adjusted. He turned the knob down one notch before proceeding to wash his hands.

Parker strapped on his oil and lotion belt and heard Madame Baba’s shy “woo-rah” a moment later. He returned to the room, using the flickering candle sitting in the corner of the room as his guide. Three steps to the left led him to the side of the massage table.

“Comfortable?” he asked, feeling the edge of the table until he found the cotton sheet folded at the end.

“Uh-huh.” Madame Baba’s voiced sounded remote, as if she didn’t want to be bothered. That was understandable. Most clients wanted to be left alone, but Parker always found a way to draw them out and get more information on how to ease them.

With a gentle pat, he planted his palms on every pressure point, his way of marking the spots and orienting himself on the width of her body. Madame Baba had a long frame, judging from the length between her shoulder blades down to the base of her torso. She had a narrow waistline, soft skin, and baby-fine hair—and she was ticklish, made obvious by the way she jerked when he touched the small of her back.
Interesting!
 

The name didn’t fit the owner of the body but instead evoked images of a frumpy matron, a deadly cougar, or an overly cajoling older woman. In his mind, he saw a young, inexperienced, waif-like little girl.

In a soft voice, he asked, “What do you find comforting, Madame Baba?”

Parker pulled out the oil bottle and squirted a generous amount of the warm liquid on one palm and then some on her back before replacing the container in its holster. Rubbing both palms together, he eased his hands onto her back and began working in rhythmic circles. She sighed, seeming content.

“I find long talks over an intimate dinner relaxing, rainy nights with a good book, and a nice person who’s willing to listen . . .”

“Take a deep breath for me,” Parker suggested. When she did, he increased the pressure, working on the knots in the back of her neck, her shoulders, and wherever else she needed release.

Kelly Storm had finally succumbed to her assistant’s goading to get a massage. It was not just a regular massage, but a Monday Delight from none other than Parker Davis, the well-known massage therapist who could bring his clients to tears. Skeptical, Kelly had decided it was time to shut Jessica up and secure an appointment at their LA location, which was closest to her home.

Since Parker had been out of town, she’d waited for a month until he had gotten back and a Monday slot had opened up. If Kelly had used her real name, getting an earlier appointment would have been guaranteed, but she preferred anonymity. She could do without a bunch of camera-flashing, question-hounding barracudas following her every move, so she’d decided to wait.

Kelly called for a cab to whisk her away from her Brentwood mansion under the veil of total secrecy. Most paparazzi camped outside her home would mistake her for Sima, her cleaning lady from the Middle East. Dressed in one of her many disguises, she walked into the Beverly Hills location wearing her black wig, a scarf to cover her head and mouth, and dark sunglasses.
 

This Parker guy better be good!
Kelly shook her head as the perky receptionist led her to a well-lit hallway and into a cozy little room to wait. She took off her face covering as soon as the door closed. When Parker Davis walked in, her jaw literally dropped.

If she had done her homework ahead of time, she would have known the famed massage therapist was gorgeous beyond belief. Even in the darkened room with the glow of the candle illuminating his features, she could see his sparkling blue eyes and the strong set of his jaw, showcasing a full mouth that offered a wide and precocious smile. Serious muscles bulged from underneath his black cotton T-shirt, and his chestnut-colored hair was a glorious mop into which any woman would love to tangle her fingers. Kelly couldn’t pull her gaze away from him.

Keeping her disguise in place, she answered Parker’s questions with as few words as possible. Only when his hand touched her skin did she turn into a crumpled mess.

“What do you find comforting, Madame Baba?”

His question was nothing personal, but the quiet way he asked it compelled her to give him more details than she’d intended.

Parker’s hands glided across her back, sending her to a place she hadn’t been before. Firm yet prudent in every touch, he treated her body like fine china. Kelly felt delicate and precious. His sensual touches evoked desires within her that no other man had ever come close to doing. The way his hands probed every inch of her body pushed her to tears. She had read that with a good massage, toxins were released at a rapid rate, causing the body to feel tired or sore afterward. Every firm stroke of his fingers on her skin, along with his soothing voice, released a flood of tension that she’d been keeping bottled up inside.

Being on top wasn’t always what it was cut out to be. She had become an overnight sensation after one blockbuster movie and since then had been hounded by the media every moment of her life. Kelly had no idea what the words
privacy
and
downtime
even meant anymore. Her every movement caused a stir, and every outing became excruciating instead of enjoyable. She wanted fame and fortune, but she also wanted a little time still to be herself—to be able to talk and not worry about repercussions, shop without photographers snapping her picture, or dine out with friends without someone asking her for an autograph or to pose for a picture with them.

A buried memory surfaced. One particularly crazed paparazzo had hounded her during one of the lowest points of her life. While they lowered her mother’s coffin into the freshly excavated earth, the persistent photographer had squeezed through the tight bodies that surrounded Kelly, snapping several pictures with no regard for her right to mourn in private. Nothing had been the same for her after that incident. She’d begun to closet herself away from the public eye unless necessary, and she’d kept her circle tight. People seemed to forget that even though celebrities were considered public figures, it didn’t mean every facet of their lives had to be displayed for everyone to see.
   

“If you could go out with a good friend, what would you talk about?” Parker asked, deepening his strokes. It felt as if he were digging into her soul, freeing her fears and allowing her to soar, even if only for a fraction of time.

Kelly listened to his even breathing, loving his tone’s gentle caress and his unhurried rubdown.

“I want to share my innermost feelings
 
without the fear of being judged. I want to be seen as me . . . simple but deep. There’s more to me than what people see on the outside.”

Parker moved to the head of the table, pumped more oil, and steamrolled his hands over her back in one long motion, like he was pushing out what had ailed her soul for a long time. With each thrust of his hands, she released a sob, and Kelly found herself crying like a small child.

He stayed quiet while her anxiety-filled sobs flooded out like an overflowing dam, keeping a steady rhythm until her tears were all cried out. His hands spoke for him, soothing her, clearing her muddled thoughts, and paving the way to a clearer perspective.

Parker handed her a tissue and kept going, adding different techniques geared to ease her troubles away. When it came to massaging her scalp, his thumbs and fingers worked in easy, wonderful strokes. His caresses released her coiled tension, allowing more positive reflective thoughts to move in.

By the end of the hour, Kelly knew Parker was the real deal. He wasn’t just pleasing to the eye, but he was also able to get her to talk with his simple, thought-provoking questions. Now she understood why he was touted as magical—he worked magic. No wonder Jessica had sworn Kelly wouldn’t regret showing up. Her friend had been right when she’d insisted the man known as Feather Light possessed the gift of touch—and could send anyone screaming for release.

Chapter 2

Parker’s day went by quickly. On his breaks between clients, he’d gone back to his office to attend to some paperwork that needed his signature and just to take a much-needed breather. Massage, though relaxing for the client, was a whole lot of work for him. He enjoyed making the process seem simple, but in reality, each session left him tired and quite hungry.

This particular session with Madame Baba had left him wondering.
 
Her sadness came from deep within, somewhere he sensed no one had been allowed to see. She’d cried, not just for a much-needed release, but also for help. Parker shook his head, having no idea why he felt the need to protect the woman. He had to be losing his mind. After all, he couldn’t see, let alone slay Madame Baba’s dragons.

When the massage had ended, Parker could tell she was grateful by the way she’d taken his hand in hers and the sincerity in her voice when she thanked him. The sound of her footsteps had been distinctly lighter when she’d left. A happy new customer meant repeat visits and definite referrals, which was why his business had thrived. Almost all their clients left with a feeling of wellbeing, not only of their bodies but also of their minds.

He tapped the button on his watch and listened for the time. Cork would be waiting out front with the car. Parker hurried to review the notes he’d written for his appointment that afternoon: the exact words to be uttered, the costume, and where he would find her. He smiled after going over the plan and hit send. With precise movement, he crossed his office to the hallway, saying quick good-byes to the few people who were still around.

As usual, Cork was already waiting in the handicapped parking spot up front, a small perk Parker allowed himself to enjoy. Parking in LA was horrible to begin with, and walking several blocks without an aid would be a bit problematic for him. He still didn’t believe he needed the aid of a white cane or a guide dog, although it was recommended by his doctor. Parker could still get by with his limited vision. All he needed was good lighting, and he could pretty much get around on his own. Also, Webster, Cork, and the two assistants he’d hired for the two other branches made sure he had everything he needed at his fingertips.

The smoggy air hit him as soon as he emerged from the air-conditioned building. As much as Parker hated the weather in LA, this was his home. Everything about the city was familiar, and he took comfort in that knowledge. Blindness was not an easy disease to deal with. He’d had to make some adjustments to his lifestyle and use adaptive measures to compensate for his lack of vision, but so far, he’d been coping rather well.

Parker saw the shape of a familiar car parked near the curb, exactly twelve steps from the building. He slid into the cool comfort of the front passenger seat. Soon after, they joined the already congested traffic as they made their way to the 405 Freeway.

“Hey, bro, can we drop by Gelson’s first?” Parker reclined back in the seat and adjusted his sunglasses.

“Hot date tonight?” Cork’s deep voice inquired. Parker’s brother asked very few questions, but the one he
did
ask was one Parker wanted to avoid answering.

“Um . . . just hanging out.” It was a nice, evasive answer—not giving away too much, but offering just enough without sounding trite.

“Fair enough.”

Cork drove in silence, and Parker let the quiet relax him. His mind wandered back to his newest client, Madame Baba. There was something odd about the woman that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. After a shy start where she’d given him three-word answers, she had broken down on his table and confessed her unhappiness. Parker had no idea what she did for a living, her status in life, or what her problems were, and he wasn’t about to pry. If there was one important thing he had learned from this business, it was to let his clients do the talking. 

He was the listener they needed or, better yet, the more affordable shrink. Parker often encountered clients who were willing to tell him their life story with very little encouragement. Most of them didn’t come to sleep; they came so they could talk without having to deal with the stigma of seeing a head doctor. All Parker had to do was ask the right questions, and they’d take the cue.