Slow Hand Curves (Big Girls Next Door Erotica) (2 page)

“You mean Samuel.” The woman enunciated his name very carefully, her scowl disappearing before she slid into the last syllable. “She is a he, honey. That a problem for you?”

“Oh, dear!” I tried my best to sound distressed, which wasn’t a complete sham. I really was distressed, my stomach twisted in knots. I studied my watch for a long second before replying. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone--”

“Sorry, sugar, all booked up.” She clicked her mouse and then peered at her computer screen. “I have an hour free for next Thursday with Rachel.”

I shook my head, half turning for the door. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows that fronted the building, I saw that Portia hadn’t left yet. She stood next to her car, one manicured nail pressed lightly against the expansive chest of a male. One of the window’s intersecting steel support beams blocked his face, but he was dressed in a business suit and had an athletic build. Knowing Portia, his suit was silk and she’d caught sight of a Rolex on his wrist or some equally expensive brand.

His body language told me he was equally interested in Portia. He stepped closer to her, his torso leaning in. She pressed her whole palm against his chest and coyly turned her head. Watching them, a slow burning need started to heat low in my belly. I looked at the receptionist again, my gaze pleading with her to give me a reason to stay.

She reached along the counter and gave my hand a soft pat. “Sam’s a real professional, honey. Five minutes with him and you’ll forget it’s a man that’s got his hands on you.”

That wasn’t at all what I was hoping for, but I nodded. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my bankcard. Seeing the hundred dollar bill tucked to the side and so precisely folded, I blushed as I handed her the bit of plastic. I waited, cheeks growing hotter, as she processed the payment and then I followed her through a door and into a closed hallway with two chairs on opposite sides of a small water fountain.

“Have a seat and I’ll tell Sam you’re ready.”

I sat down and immediately started fidgeting once the woman was out of sight. I tucked my legs along one side of the chair before I realized I was subconsciously posing. Straightening them, I looked down and saw the swell of my stomach. I winced, folded my hands over it then decided that only drew attention to its size.

I had just tucked my legs along the side of the chair again when I heard a very deep, masculine voice call my name.

“Miss Rice?”

He was standing behind me and to my left. I looked over my shoulder and froze.

Samuel Pepin made one hell of a first impression. He was tall, at least six-two. Deliciously broad-shouldered. The white polo shirt with the center’s logo on it showed off his thick biceps and deep tan. Beige Dockers hugged his narrow hips and fought to contain what promised to be very muscular thighs -- not that I’d ever see them uncovered.

As magnificent as it was, his body finished a close second to his face. It was only two in the afternoon, but his six-o’clock shadow was out in full force, darkening his expression and contouring his cheeks. The thick black eyebrows and heavy lashes made his emerald-colored eyes pop. A firm-set mouth and square jaw ensured the overall effect was ferociously masculine.

Sam repeated my name, his mouth quirking up in a smile that softened his features. I nodded, realized my jaw was about two inches away from touching the floor and pressed my lips together. Standing, I cast my gaze at the door that led to the reception area and a very lonely sense of safety -- at least until I got to the parking lot and had to watch some jerk drooling over Little Miss Satan.

A warm, strong hand closed around my elbow. “Oh no, Hollywood. You’re coming with me.”

Coming? Certainly I was close -- at least I thought I was. If I knew whether I really was close, I wouldn’t have been there at all. But the juncture of my thighs had never felt so electric. Muscles I’d never felt before were starting to dance and squeeze and something inside me gave a little roll that turned my knees to rubber.

Feeling lightheaded, I closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was staring down at my face, his gaze hooded by his thick lashes.

“Are you feeling okay?” His other hand wrapped around my opposite shoulder to steady me.

Realizing I was about to nod again like the complete dolt I was, I gathered what little composure I had left and lightly brushed his hand from me. “I’m fine, Mr. Pepin. Why did you call me Hollywood?”

The grin came back, my nipples instantly puckering in response. Like the rest of him, his smile was sexy as sin.

“Because of these.” His hands, surprisingly gentle for their size, reached up, parted my blonde curls, and lifted my sunglasses off. “And call me
Sam
.”

Carefully folding the glasses, he hooked one of their metallic blue arms inside the collar of his polo shirt. His hands took possession of me once more and guided me into the treatment room. Stopping in front of a padded chair, he picked up a remote and started pushing buttons.

The chair straightened and lifted until it looked like a tall, narrow table with over-sized cushions. He folded the arms down, turned to a standing cabinet and pulled out a lightweight terry robe. He offered the robe to me, but didn’t let go when I reached to take it.

“What kind of music relaxes you?”

I shrugged. There was no way I was going to relax with him in the same room with me. His rich, warm voice lapped at my thighs and the way his scent curled around my senses struck a very real fear that I would do something embarrassing if he got any closer.

His smiling gaze turned impish. “When you’re in the tub, the water all warm and bubbly…don’t you have any music playing?”

I blushed, embarrassed that I was incapable of even taking a bath like a normal woman. “Hymns, mostly.”

Sam’s chuckle went straight to my thighs, jolting my swollen flesh like a hard smack. “That’s a waste of a bubble bath, Hollywood. How about I line us up some Etta James?”

“Okay.” Trying not to seem like a complete square, I gave him a tentative smile. “Is she new?”

“New? Etta James?” His voice suddenly grew stern, only the playful tilt of his head and the twinkle of his bright green eyes stopped me from panicking. “Miss Rice, you put that robe on and prepare to be schooled.”

He left me to change, my expression wide-eyed and slack-jawed as I wondered if he had any idea why I was there.

*****

I was sitting on the edge of the table-chair thingie when Sam returned, my legs demurely crossed at the ankles. I was too short for the table’s height. Even pointed down, my toes were still half a foot from the floor.

My hands fisting the lapels of the robe, I forced a blush down as he approached. “There wasn’t a sash.”

Watching me from the corner of his eyes, he plugged an iPod into a docking station. Just enough of his grin was visible to make me forget about the sash and meekly obey him when he told me to lie down on my belly.

His hands dipped between my chest and the cushioned surface, catching the edge of the lapels and lifting the top half of the robe off my shoulders and down my arms. “I couldn’t do that if there was a sash, could I?”

“No, I guess not.” I lifted my head as he slid a pillow under it.

His fingers darted out and smoothed my curls to the side as a woman’s sultry voice started playing over the docking station’s speakers. She sang like pure sex and I wondered why I’d never heard of her.

Oh, yeah -- she sang like pure sex. Despite being twenty-six and living in my own home, I still worried about my mother examining the contents of my iPod during one of her unannounced visits. She most definitely would not approve of this woman with the deep purring voice.

To make things even cozier, Sam grabbed the remote and brought the lights lower, their color taking on a deep blue. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out a small hand-sized machine and plugged it into the wall.

He pushed a few small glass bottles around before looking at me over his shoulder. “Tension headaches, right?”

“Yes.” Melinda had been telling the truth in that respect. I had the worst headaches. They went on for days, but a lot of high-priced doctors kept saying it was nothing. “That’s why I’m here.”

That last bit was a lie and I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him as my blush started all over again.

I heard Sam fiddle with the small machine for a few seconds and then the scent of almonds and chamomile started to drift through the room. A few more seconds passed before I felt the brush of his fingertips along the back of my neck.

He moved the bit of hair covering my neck to the side. His big hands gripped my shoulders and took a tentative squeeze. The woman was moaning as she sang, a deep throbbing cello coiling around her voice and sparking a sudden urge within me to moan right along with her.

Sam’s hands moved down my back, the fingers spreading like a butterfly’s wings to whisper along the sides of my torso. His thumbs pressed gently at my vertebrae, testing for any sensitivity. “Where does all this tension come from?”

He murmured the words. Feeling each one as a little puff of air between my shoulder blades, I realized he was leaning very close to me. I bit down on the whimper threatening to escape and managed a short response.

“Spreadsheets.”

“Okay.” He chuckled again, the air tickling my flesh and causing my shoulders to twitch. “What goes into the spreadsheets?”

“Numbers.” Stifling a groan, I closed my eyes. I sounded like a real Rhodes scholar -- not! Admittedly, I was pleased I had managed any answer while he was touching me. His chest hovered so close to my back I could feel his body heat. I swallowed and gave my throat a little clearing before I elaborated. “I’m an actuarian.”

I didn’t bother mentioning that I worked at the insurance firm my father’s grandfather had founded. Like my brother Beau, I was learning the business from the ground up so I could help run it one day.

“Ah, I’m terrible with math,” Sam confessed. “But great with my hands.”

He started to fold the robe a little further down my backside. I clutched at the fabric, a small gasp escaping me and making my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Making no comment, he skipped over the robe and down to the back of my knees. A hand on each calf, he started to knead the flesh.

It wasn’t so much that my tension went away -- it just sort of moved someplace else. Bits of it drew at my chest, making my breath come quicker. Other bits swam in my gut, the ripples so palpable it was if he already had started stroking me down there.

With Sam’s firm hands continuing to mold my muscles, I lost track of my own fingers. They slipped inside the robe’s pocket to brush against the hundred dollar bill I’d tucked inside after changing. My fingers were still acting of their own accord when they pulled the bill out and started to line old Benny boy up along the edge of my pillow.

Sam’s hands froze. “Put that away.”

If I had thought his voice sounded stern earlier, I now knew the difference. I reached for the bill, my hand shaking and fumbling in an attempt to pick it up. “I’m sorry…I…”

I was fast approaching a record level of mortification -- even for me. Clutching at my robe, I tried to sit up, handfuls of my overgenerous flesh escaping the fabric. I managed to get myself upright, my feet dangling and Sam’s big body blocking me from jumping down.

“I misunderstood -- I’ll leave -- please don’t call security.” The words came out faster than I’d ever spoken before. My eyes were wet, leaving me one blink away from crying. “It’s all a mistake.”

Sam plucked the hundred from my fingers, his gaze narrowing as he held it up. “You mistakenly folded a hundred dollar bill into a triangle with just Franklin’s face showing?”

“No,” I whispered. “Someone else folded it for me. Please, just let me go. You can keep the money for my troubling you.”

“Well, you have been bothering me since you stepped into my room.”

I felt a stinging pinch in my nose as I held back fresh tears. I hadn’t meant any of it as an insult. I looked at him, blinked once and felt the hot splash of tears on my cheeks. “You don’t have to be cruel. I said I was going.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Hollywood.” Sam tucked the hundred back into the robe’s pocket. Then he steered me until my back was against the table’s cushion, my stomach and tits up. “Neither are you paying for what I’m about to do to you.”

“What you’re about--”

He stopped the question with his lips against mine. Like his hands, they exerted the perfect amount of pressure, pushing and spreading at the same time until my mouth opened. His tongue slid in, curling to hook against my top lip and tug. He pushed the robe’s lapels apart, the fabric slipping like water through my fingertips.

Still kissing me, Sam palmed my bare breast. The contact instantly evoked a shuddering moan from me. His tongue probed deeper, exploring along the inside of my top lip before licking the bottom one.

Oh, Jesus. I’d never been kissed before, not in any way that counted, most certainly not like this or by a man like Sam. Another moan shook loose from me. His thumb and two fingers zeroed in on my swollen nipple, rolling the sensitive tip back and forth while he sucked at the corner of my mouth.

I didn’t need any prior experience to know he was an insanely good kisser. No, he was a great kisser. He mixed just the right amount of force with a little nip or lick, leaving no question who was in charge of the kiss. I pressed my palms against his shoulder, too timid to clutch at him no matter how much I wanted to.