The Masseuse (6 page)

“I
n my defense, you did say to make an appointment.”

Alec followed me through the door into the dimly lit hallway. The music changed to the sounds of rain—relaxing for just about everyone in the world but me.

I
had
told him that. Before last night.

“I have the right to refuse service to any client,” I informed him, walking stiffly.

“But you won’t.”

I stopped and turned slowly to face him. “Oh, and why is that?”

“Because you want to hear my apology for missing our dinner in person,” he said, and the low light casting shadows over him made me that much hotter. I couldn’t look him in the face; he was like some sort of male siren, luring me in just to hang me out to dry. I had to be careful.

“And,” he continued, “you want to know how I’m going to make it up to you.”

Dammit all to hell. I wasn’t forgiving him—I told myself I wasn’t hurt enough to want an apology anyway—but the possibility of amends was intriguing.

We entered the room I’d prepped while Maryanne Jenkins was getting dressed. At the time I’d been expecting a new client, someone who’d made an appointment earlier this morning, but I’d been distracted and hadn’t thought to check the name.

Alec eased back against the table, which was distracting enough because it looked too much like a bed with the sheets and blankets. I closed the door softly and leaned against the wall, giving myself enough distance to think.

“You could start with what happened last night,” I prompted.

His head tilted slightly. “When the boss calls, I have to answer. That’s the way it works.” There was an edge to his voice—maybe sarcasm, maybe something else.

“Like a dog.” I gave myself another point.

“Ouch.” Amusement flickered across his face. “I deserved that.”

I hummed my agreement.

For a moment he was quiet, studying me, and as the seconds ticked by, I felt as though my skin had turned to glass and he could see every secret I’d carefully hidden inside.

“I hurt you,” he said.

He rubbed his knuckles across his chin, a scowl on his face. The wariness I’d seen in the picture in Mr. Stein’s office returned to his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he added, and I could feel it—a brick in the wall around my heart crumbling. He sounded so genuine I couldn’t help but believe him.

“I’m a big girl, I’ll get over it.” I tried to sound tough, but the mood had shifted from tense to fragile. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t let men make me feel vulnerable. He shouldn’t have anyway. He was on my turf, he was asking for
my
forgiveness.

He pushed off the table and closed the space between us. With the wall firm against my back there was nowhere to go, not that I could have moved anyway—my heels felt rooted to the floor. His fingertips skimmed down my cheek, and though it felt good and the butterflies in my belly spazzed out like they’d been drinking a little too much caffeine, I turned my head away. I didn’t know what it meant that I could accept his dirty words but not his kindness. Something was wrong with me.

I panicked.

“Just undress to the level of your comfort and lie facedown on the table.” The line was so practiced it came out without a second thought.

With that, I escaped into the hallway, closing the door behind me. I needed to breathe, to get myself under control. This man could turn me on with a look, then bring out my most vindictive side. He’d invaded my thoughts and made me lose control over my body, and I knew practically nothing about him.

“Ohmigod, is that him?” Amy pounced from the laundry room where she’d been lying in wait for my break.

“
Shh!
Yes.”

“What’s he doing here?” She was staring at the door like if she tried hard enough, she might see through it.

“Apologizing. And getting a massage, I guess. I don’t know.” It dawned on me that he was probably taking off his clothes. He could be naked
right now
, and I would be lathering his perfect body with oil and rubbing my hands all over him.

How I was going to get through this without getting fired for sexual harassment was beyond me.

“Let me get this straight,” she planted her fists on her narrow hips. “He’s apologizing, but
you’re
giving
him
a massage.”

I breathed in slowly, exhaled. We were both staring at the door.

“He’s hot, Anna.”

“I know, Amy.”

“No, Anna. He’s
hot
hot. Like, molten-lava hot. Like unearthly hot. Like . . .”

“Yes, I get it. I’ve seen him.”

“All of him?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’d like to see all of him, if you know what I’m saying.”

I flexed my fingers and stretched my hands. Even if this wasn’t how Alec had intended to spend this time, I was going to proceed as though he had. He needed to see he couldn’t throw me, and since he quite obviously had, I didn’t know what else to do but play it cool.

“I have to go in,” I told her.

Straightening my spine, I reminded myself I was strong, independent, and, most important, in control.

“Good luck.” She stayed while I cracked the door, trying to peer inside until I shooed her away. With a pout on her face, she backpedaled down the hallway and slipped through the door to the waiting room.

I waited until she was gone before stepping back into the room. I hadn’t known what to expect, and in those seconds before I saw him, my imagination had gone wild. Visions of him lying on his chest, his bare back exposed for my tingling fingers, followed by him lying on his back, naked and hard as a rock, filled my mind.

What I didn’t expect was to see him still fully dressed, peering at my supplies on the granite countertop.

I blew out the breath I’d been holding.

“What is this?” He held up a small amber bottle.

So much for staying steady. When he turned, and his gaze found mine, I practically melted.

“They’re essential oils,” I said, motioning to the matching bottles behind the black marble sink. “You pick the scent that you like best, and I mix it in the oil for the massage.”

“This one, specifically,” he said.

I approached, and took the small glass bottle, uncorked it, and breathed it in.

“Sandalwood,” I said. “It’s supposed to be calming.” Unless inhaled in concentrated doses, when it became an aphrodisiac. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. The small, dim space was already brimming with sexual tension.

“It smells like you.” He slid closer and leaned down, the tip of his nose running down the wildly pulsing vein in my neck. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

He backed me into the counter, hands on either side, and eased his body against mine. He was so warm, even through the layers of our clothing, and his muscular chest rubbed my nipples to peaks. I nearly groaned from the pressure of his heavy cock against my belly. My breath came out in a shudder.

“Is this what you want?” I tried to focus, but it was quickly becoming impossible. “The oil, I mean. Is that what you’d like me to use on you?” I set the bottle down on the counter before I dropped it.

He pulled back and smiled wickedly. “Always with the teasing.”

Unexpectedly, he lowered and cupped the back of my legs with his strong hands. In one fluid motion, he lifted me up to straddle his hips. From this position, the soft parts of me found his hardness, and the friction alone was enough to bring me close to orgasm. I gasped, unable to hide the reaction as the blood rushed to my cheeks and the dampness flooded between my legs. My calves flexed around him and I grabbed his shoulders, eliciting a hiss through his teeth.

My skirt bunched around my waist as he turned and set me on the end of the table. When he stepped back, I had to bite back the groan of frustration. I was on fire, my breasts heavy and sensitive. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I would die.

He removed one of the black patent-leather ankle boots I was wearing. Not the wisest choice for working on your feet, but they matched my outfit, and today I’d dressed to kick ass. As he removed the other shoe, that well-laid plan crashed through the floorboards.

“What are you doing?” I whispered as his fingers skimmed over the bare strip of skin between my rumpled skirt and the straps of my garter belt. He unhooked both of the fastenings with a flick of his fingers. One smooth, practiced move. He’d done this before.

My gaze shot to the door. I was at work. I couldn’t do this.

But one of his fingers slipping beneath the top of my thigh-high made me forget everything but him.

He eased it down, fingers grazing the inside of my leg and tickling the sensitive skin behind my knee. When he got to my calf, he stopped, and began again on the other side.

“I told you,” he said, and I trembled as his fingertips came close to my sex. “I’m making it up to you.”

Embarrassment flushed through me. My desire was obvious, and I was making no attempt to cover myself up.

He knelt, his head even with my throbbing clit. Gently, he pulled the nylons free and left them in a puddle on the floor. My chest was rising and falling, my heart beating wildly. I held absolutely still, scared he would do what I thought he was about to do, but at the same time petrified that he wouldn’t.

He rocked back on his heels, and took one foot in his hands.

“I’m giving you a foot rub.”

The air whooshed out of my lungs. Oh. A foot rub. Of course. Automatically, I went to cover up my exposed hips.

“Don’t.” The word was hard, a command, and I froze at the sound of it. “Leave your skirt up. I want to see you.”

Slowly, I moved my hands back behind me, and rested on straight arms.

He began to knead my arches, working to the balls of my feet and then my heels. He had talent, I couldn’t deny it. In seconds, I was practically putty in his hands. I hadn’t realized how sore my feet were until he’d begun.

Minutes passed, and his silence began to make me nervous. Did he have a foot fetish? Was this something he did to get off? Or was this truly just for me? Still, the feel of his hands working my sore muscles was incredible. I didn’t want him to stop.

“Do you accept my apology?” he finally asked. There was something endearing about this sexy man kneeling on the floor, touching me this way.

I nodded, still unable to speak. When he went to the other side, I sagged, my head tilting back. But when his tongue slid up my instep, I sat bolt upright. He kept kneading as though he’d done nothing different, but the move sent bolts of electricity straight up my legs into my core. Instantly, the ache became a throb; it was almost painful that he wasn’t touching me where I needed him most. For one crazed moment, I considered doing it myself. One rub, that was all it would take to push me over the edge, I was sure of it.

“Good,” he said. “Because you still owe me.”

As I looked down my body into his eyes, I knew he intended to fuck me. Right here. Right now.

I shook with anticipation and trepidation. A tiny part of me was aware of the people in the adjoining rooms, of my coworkers and friends on the other side of the salon. The doors didn’t lock, and though the music was on, the walls weren’t soundproof. But the rest of me needed him to finish this, to take me now before I lost my mind completely. The feeling was completely foreign; I never gave up control when it came to sex. Sometimes I pretended to, sometimes I even came close, but until this moment I’d never needed anything so badly that I’d let my guard down enough to take it.

He kissed my ankle, then my calf, his tongue drawing a slow circle on the inside of my knee. He pulled me closer to the edge of the table, and my hips began to churn and move of their own accord. I couldn’t wait much longer.

“Hurry,” I whispered.

He stopped, and pulled away.

I blinked down at him.

“I have a full hour,” he informed me. “I intend to use it.”

An hour? I wasn’t going to last thirty more seconds the way this was going.

He started again, fingertips tracing up my thighs and higher to my panties. Tender kisses covering the inner surface of my thighs. He made me feel wanted, worshipped, even
loved,
though I knew that couldn’t be right. Love was not something I expected to feel with men I brought to bed.

But I hadn’t brought him to bed. We weren’t even on a bed.

With a jerk, he thrust my legs open, leaving me straddling his face, just inches away. All concerns evacuated from my mind. My legs hung down, unable to reach the floor, puppets to his placement. His touch grew soft again, skimming the backs of my calves. He licked a straight line up my inner thigh, stopping just short of the mark, and then nipped the flesh with his teeth.

I groaned, fisting the now crumpled sheets, unable to look away from his exquisite torture.

“Are you going to tell me to stop?” He pulled back, staring up into my eyes.

Was he joking? I shook my head, back in that terrible cycling dream where he backed away every time he got close to giving me the intimate touch I so craved.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you.”

He bit me lightly again, and I gasped.

“So do it.”

“Patience,” he cooed. “I’m going to take care of you.”

My muscles were beginning to flex and shake. I couldn’t hold still.

“Easy,” he whispered, breath hot on my skin.

Finally, his thumb trailed over my slit, and I bucked against his touch.

“You’re so wet, Anna,” he growled. “I can feel how wet you are for me. I can see it, soaking your panties.” He stroked me again and I quivered. “Look how ready you are.”

He drew back, licking my opposite inner thigh. Every time he got closer he backed away.

Payback
. So this is what he meant.

“Please.” I would have gotten on my knees and begged if he wasn’t already there.

He looked up, dark eyes blazing. Very slowly he kissed my damp, aching center, right through the fabric. My sex clenched. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

“Is this what you want?” He kissed me again. “Is this what you need, Anna?”

“I need you inside me,” I said, shocked by my own admission.