by Tia Louise
I pretend to lunge at him, and he ducks like he’ll tackle me. I lift my leg as if I’ll kick him, but Daisy steps in the middle of our play fight.
“Okay, kids…” She puts her arm around my waist. “I’m glad you’re okay. If Spencer’s down for the count, I need you to help me greet our guests. You up for it?”
I glance over at Courtney, who holds up both hands. “I’ve got to find my lost boy. Do what you need to do.”
* * *
Eight hours later, I’m standing outside the pristine white door of the executive suite, my breath a tight ball in my throat. Holding my fist up, I close my eyes as I rap firmly.
“Can’t you read?” Spencer snaps angrily from inside. “Assuming you can’t, I’ll read it for you. It says, ‘Do not disturb.’”
Slipping the tag off the doorknob, I use the extra key Daisy gave me to let myself in his room. It’s elaborately elegant, much like his apartment in Columbia. Plush, white carpet covers the dark laminate floor, and a velvet armchair is beside a matching, dark wood table.
I walk further into the dim-lit space, past the bed to where Spencer is lying on his stomach on a divan facing the open balcony. A light breeze drifts in from the spectacular view of the ocean, and the shush of the waves drifts up to us.
He’s not wearing a shirt, and his muscled torso is on full display. One hand is fisted under his cheek, and his eyes are closed. I take a moment to study his square jaw, his forehead slightly lined in what I assume is pain. A bucket of ice is on the floor beside him.
“It does not.” I’m quiet and playfully firm. “It’s much more polite. It says, ‘Please do not disturb.’”
His eyes pop open, and his body tenses as he lifts slightly. Just as fast he halts with a grimace of pain. “Joselyn,” he groans. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re hurt.” I go to him, dropping to my knees beside the long couch. “Why didn’t you say something? Why are you such a stubborn old mule?”
“I’m hardly old. I’m thirty-two.” His dark brow furrows.
“It’s a good thing.” Reaching for his shoulder, I pull him forward onto his stomach again. “You’re far more likely to heal faster at your age than if you were older.”
“If I were younger, I wouldn’t be lying here at all.”
“Spilled milk. You saved my life and the entire gala, and now you’re lying up here suffering for it, and you won’t let anybody help you. It’s ridiculous and prideful. I brought my bag, and I’m going to work out that injury. Right now.”
He turns his head, resting his cheek on his hand, and squints up at me. “Is that so? Who died and made you queen? How did you get in this room anyway?”
“Daisy gave me your extra key. Now you’re going to be still and let me help you.”
He hesitates a moment, studying me, but I don’t budge. My hands are on my hips, and my expression is as serious as my resolve—despite how delicious he looks in only his lounge pants.
His hazel eyes darken, and heat filters across my lower belly. I know that look, and I know where it leads, how good it feels.
Nope. I’m not even going there. His pig head told me how he felt, and I have no interest in violating his sacred rules—as if he’s in any shape for it.
Still, I have to help him. When he never came back after the fall, I knew I had to come up here. I couldn’t let him miss the gala or worse, be seriously hurt on account of saving my life. I had to do what I’m trained to do best.
“Just relax and stop fighting.” My voice is gentler.
“What are you going to do?” His voice is gruff, even if it’s muffled in the pillow.
Taking out a bottle of scented oil, I pour it on my hands and rub them together. “Lucky for you, I’m actually very good at treating sports injuries.”
My lips press together, and my breath stills in my stomach as my hands hover above his body. He’s an amazing specimen of a man. His broad shoulders are dimpled with muscles, and the line in his back is deep and luscious. Right at the base of his spine are two hollows just above what I remember is the most divine ass.
“I’m going to put my hands on your back.” I shift into professional mode, speaking softly. “Now, I’m just going to work out the tension. I’ll slowly apply more pressure. If it’s too intense, let me know, and I’ll ease up. Okay?”
He grunts his consent, and I’m ready. My fingers hum like the electricity is growing the closer I get to his skin. Closing my eyes, I exhale slowly and begin.
Usually, I don’t talk to my clients when I’m massaging them. I simply do what needs to be done and let the music play, let them sleep or zone out, whatever they prefer. This time, I feel like I need to keep him apprised of what I’m doing… If only so he doesn’t get the wrong idea and think I’ve forgotten his rules.
“I think the strain is located in your gluteus medius. That’s the muscle that wraps around your left hip. Is it okay if I get closer there? I’ll need to manipulate the top of your butt—”
“You have permission to touch my ass.” Heat flushes my cheeks, and I almost laugh nervously.
Almost.
I maintain my professionalism and my dignity, luxuriating in sliding my hands over his strong muscles. Even if it’s only to ease his pain, I can still enjoy it. He lets out a groan when I go deeper into the injured area, and I slide my hand higher to his mid-back.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
He doesn’t answer, and I chew my bottom lip as I move my hands lower again. I do my best not to think about what’s hiding under his pubic bone. He has an impressive eggplant, and he knows how to use it. A flash of his mouth on my body heats my panties, and I slam that door.
So what if he made me come… four times. So will the next man I find. The better man.
“Are you doing okay?” I slide my hand along his narrow waist.
“That feels really good.” He grinds out as I roll my fist along the muscle wrapping around his waist.
He’s so damn gorgeous. Kneading my fingers along his torso, I distract my mind with thoughts of baseball and cold showers and Oliver’s pet tree frog… Anything to keep from getting lost in the memories.
“God…” He gasps. “That’s where it is…”
Pausing, I take my time, focusing on the specific area causing him pain. “Better?”
“I’m sure it’ll be great once you stop.”
I do laugh this time, but it’s quiet, soothing. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for saving me.”
“As if I would stand there and let you crash onto the floor. You could’ve been killed.” He adds the last part quietly, just above a whisper.
“It was very heroic.” I think about the split second when I was in his arms and our eyes met, just before we both went down. “Like something out of a movie.”
“Not a Disney movie, I hope.” He turns to the side and looks up at me.
A lock of hair falls over his left eyebrow, and my eyes trace down his straight nose, past the dimple in his chin to the light dusting of dark hair on his chest.
He’s so handsome, like a prince.
“Maybe it was.” Leaning to the side, I admire his face.
Just as quickly, his scowl returns. “Don’t get any ideas, Joselyn. I did what I did because it was the right thing to do.”
Embarrassment flashes in my neck, and I move away so he can’t see the red flame in my cheeks. Why does he have to be such a bastard?
“Well, I’m here to try and even the scales.” Swiping my forearms across the large muscles in his back, I notice a white scar stretching across the top of his right shoulder.
It’s large and long, and I would guess it’s from being struck with a whip or hit by a tree branch. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before, although I was slightly buzzed and very overwhelmed with sensation the last time we were naked together.
“What happened here?” I place my palm on the top of it, and he flinches away.
“Childhood injury. Leave
it alone.”
Taking my hand away, I study the silver stripe. “Must’ve been pretty serious to leave a scar like that. Were you cut… or hit? Was it a car accident?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
“Actually, if you have a pre-existing injury, it can be helpful for me to know when I’m providing future treatment.”
“I won’t require future treatment. Thanks for the back rub.”
He starts to move away, and I resist getting pissed by his dismissal. He’s like a wild animal protecting a wound, and I want to put my hands on him again, slide them across this place where he’s storing so much hurt. I want to ease him to safety.
My tongue slips out to touch my bottom lip, and I remember what he can be like when he stops being cold. It’s addictive, and as angry as he makes me, I want to feel his warmth again.
Instead, I step back and take the towel, using it to wipe my arms before quickly packing my supplies in my messenger bag. “You might not feel so great tonight, but the healing should set in overnight. Maybe take some ibuprofen and drink plenty of water. By tomorrow, I think you’ll feel well enough to attend the gala.”
“I will attend the gala.”
“Great, then I’ll leave this with you, and here’s this.” I hold up the extra door card Daisy gave me and my business card, placing both on the side table. “You know how to reach me if you need anything.”
I don’t even look up before heading to the door. He’s freezing me out again, but I did what I needed to do to feel better about what happened. I tried to help him, not sleep with him. He can kiss my ass if he doesn’t want to be friends.
Chapter 12
Spencer
“You don’t look any the worse for wear.” Miles slaps me on the back as I enter the ballroom.
He’s six inches shorter than I am, and his hand hits me right in my injury.
I stifle a noise of pain, forcing a smile. “It’s not that serious—just a tweak. Besides, I couldn’t miss your big event.”
It’s a lie. I’d miss this superfluous extravagance in a heartbeat, but knowing she’s here, single, with all our richest clients in town from up and down the east coast, I dragged my ass off the divan, popped a pain pill, and put on a tux.
Of course, that’s not the way I rationalize it. I’m here as a part of the team, to show our clients how much we value our relationships… and I’m scanning the room, searching for her soft, auburn hair.
The Grand Ballroom is transformed. The overhead chandeliers are turned off, and instead, the room is lit by Ficus trees adorned with twinkle lights that also wrap around the perimeter. It gives the entire space a dreamlike, yellow glow.
A glass bowl holding a clutch of flesh-pink roses is on every table, and they look like brushed velvet. With the statues rising in the center, the entire room has a faint scent of roses. It’s very elegant.
When I passed through the entrance, I nodded to Daisy at one of the tables with the list of names, checking off registrants and handing them magnetic name tags. Their friend Courtney was at the other table that held elegant, beige canvas SWAG bags with the same flesh-pink ribbons.
A live band is at the other end of the room playing standards, and a closer look reveals it’s the same band from the Tuna Tiki. Only, they’re not playing Marley and Buffett tonight—no “Red, Red Wine,” as much as it’s the running gag in this group. They’re all spit-shined and putting on a good show for our neighbors to the north.
I wonder if Joselyn had anything to do with this, considering she has the catering connections. Where is she?
A server passes me with a tray of flutes holding pale pink champagne, and I lift one before stopping in front of the Disney characters Joselyn adapted to our needs. They’re impeccable, like something you’d see on a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float or in a botanical garden.
My brow tightens, and I have an unexpected flash of memory. I see her falling, her blue eyes wide with terror. My jaw clenches, and I swallow the sudden panic in my throat. I feel ill at the memory.
What is this? Fucking PTSD? I slug the champagne I’m holding and exchange it for another from a passing tray.
How could she think I wouldn’t rush forward and save her? Lowering my chin, I rub my forehead, trying to massage away the image of her broken or worse on this hard wood-parquet floor. Fuck the injury in my back. I’d do it again in a heartbeat to protect her.
Then she showed up in my room last night in beige joggers and a tank top that showed off those gorgeous tits in the best possible way, like she was trying to taunt me.
Her pretty hair was gathered in a high ponytail on top of her head… ideal for wrapping around my fist when I fuck her from behind.
I thought I’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. I’d taken a THC edible to ease the pain and inflammation. It should have knocked me out, but she still got me hard. Dammit.
Her hands were like some divine remedy. It hurt like fuck, but this morning, I actually felt significantly better. Hell, last night when she wasn’t torturing me by massaging my most painful muscles, her voice was like layers of warm cloth easing all the tension.
That probably was the drugs.
Clearing my throat, I try to dismiss the arousal she provokes simply by existing. I’ve had two glasses of champagne mixed with a pain pill. I need to eat something.
I stop at a set of long tables holding vast spreads of seafood and appetizers positioned in front of the giant floral statues. Perhaps Miles was right. Perhaps we can give these jaded New Englanders something they’ve never seen before.
“Spencer. Here you are.” Rick Brimfield clasps my hand in a firm shake. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Rick.” I return his shake firmly. “You made it.”
Speaking of jaded New Englanders, Rick is our richest client out of Boston and a total asshole. Naturally, we’re frenemies.
“Didn’t see you at the welcome dinner last night. Let me guess, you found the only Marilyn in this tiny town and spent the night with her in your room.” His smile is lecherous, but he does know my type.
“Actually, I tweaked my back playing racquetball with Miles. Had to call it early.”
“Too bad.” He looks around the room. “This is quite impressive, but I would expect nothing less. Only… What’s a guy to do with this?”
He holds up the ultra-feminine beige SWAG bag with the flesh-pink velvet ribbon, and I shrug. “Give it to your wife. Where is Vanessa?”
He grimaces, looking into the bag. “Our divorce was finalized last week.”
“Rick, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, fuck all that. You’ve had the right idea all along. There are far too many hot women in the world to tie myself down to screwing only one. I plan to make up for lost time, starting now. What do you say?”
My brow furrows, and strangely, I have no interest in his plan. In the past, I probably would have been fine with showing him around town, seeing what Oceanside has to offer. I take another passing flute of champagne.
Daisy swirls up beside us at that moment with her pituitary case husband who looks something out of Hollywood Tonight.
“Hey, Rick, I see you found Spencer.” She rises on tiptoes to give him a hug. “He was looking for you last night, Spence. I think Rick wanted to pull an all-nighter.”
“A missed opportunity,” I deadpan, still feeling off my game. “You should have sent him out with your husband.”
“Nah, thanks, but that’s never been my style. I’m a one-woman guy.” Scout looks down at his wife, and the adoration brimming in his eyes makes me angry.
I am not a one-woman guy. I need to fucking eat something. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I move away from them, returning to the food tables. I’m about to take what looks like a salmon croquette when I lift my eyes and there she is, entering the ballroom in a dress that makes me hesitate.
It’s a floor-length white gown with a sparkling gold band wrapped around her narrow wais
t, crisscrossing her bodice, and curving over each of her full breasts, which are straining like pillows against strapless cups. My dick gets hard at the sight of her.
She’s old-school sex kitten with her red hair swept back and falling in large curls around her shoulders.
Blue eyes land on me, and a hint of a smile teases her dark red lips. She crosses the floor, walking straight to me with all the confidence of a witch casting a spell.
“You made it.” Her slim hand touches my shoulder, and she rises slightly to give me a kiss at my ear that sets my teeth on edge. “How’s the back? Any better? I like this tux.”
The way she’s acting is worse than her anger. She’s familiar and curious and wanting me to be well—or to help me get there. Blinking up, she touches my chin and smiles like I’m her hero.
I’m nobody’s fucking hero. Not even my own.
“I told you I’d be here. I’m a man of my word.”
“Yes.” Her full lips part with a smile, and her eyes dance. “You’re honest and not nice at all, and you never sleep with the same woman twice. I’m learning.”
Is she teasing me? Dammit, the last time she did this, I kissed the shit out of her… and she was soft and pliant, and she tasted like honey. I want to take her mouth again, kiss her like I did before, like she belongs to me.
She doesn’t belong to me.
That thought pisses me off even more.
Our chemistry is very real, but I won’t let her have control over me.
“Why are you here alone? You should have brought a date.” Do I want that?
“I knew I’d be seeing you.” She’s undeterred by my gruffness. “How did you sleep last night? Any pain?”
“I took an edible. I was asleep ten minutes after you left.”
“Wait, are you saying you ate some weed?” She does that adorable little pursed smile like she’s scolding me. It shouldn’t work on a woman her age, but it does.
So well.
“THC is a proven anti-inflammatory pain reliever, and there’s no hangover.” Unlike this alcohol of which I’ve had too much. I need to eat something.