by Cate Beauman
She sat up now with her shoulders not quite relaxed. “You want a massage?”
Why the hell not? “Sure.”
“Uh.” She glanced at the book. “Uh,” she said again, “I guess we could do that.”
“Great. Go ahead and write me in.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely,” he said with a quick nod of his head.
“Um, what type of treatment are you looking for today?”
Anything but the silent treatment would work for him. “What’ve you got?”
“Jules gives an amazing Swedish massage.”
He’d never had a professional massage. Counterterrorism and constantly flying between continents had left little time for indulgence. “I’ll take that.”
“Thirty minutes?”
He picked up one of the pretty pamphlets on the corner of the desk, looking at his options. “Ninety.” He might need that long to break through Jules’ icy shield. She could be stubborn. He glanced at the bottom of the page, studying the list of add-ons, which would buy him another fifteen minutes. “And how about one of those scalp massages?”
Leila swallowed. “You want a scalp massage too?”
He shrugged casually. “If I’m gonna do it, I might as well do it right.”
“Right. I’ll need for you to fill this out.” She handed over a small stack of sheets with New Client Information typed across the top attached to a clipboard.
“Thanks.” He sat down in one of the dainty chairs designed more for a woman than a man and got started. By the time he finished answering questions about aches and pains, current medical issues, and areas where he held tension, Julie stepped out of the treatment room dressed in khakis and a white t-shirt. “Take your time,” she said quietly as she closed the door behind her.
Leila smiled politely as she glanced at Chase then rushed to her feet, hurrying into the main studio, clearly heading Julie off. “Jules, Mrs. Mickle canceled.”
“Oh. That’s actually great. I could really use—” Julie stepped into the receptionist’s area and stopped. “Chase, this isn’t a good time.”
“Mrs. Mickle canceled, Jules. Chase is your next appointment.” Leila smiled apologetically at her boss.
Julie glanced from Leila to Chase. “What?”
“The ninety-minute Swedish with the scalp thing thrown in,” Chase confirmed, holding her mutinous stare.
“Is this some sort of—”
A woman stepped out of the room Julie had just left, and Julie turned, her eyes going from hot to kind.
“That was amazing, Jules. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I just hate that we’re moving. I finally found the perfect masseuse, and we’re heading to Boulder. Any chance you want to relocate?”
Julie grinned. “I don’t think Boulder’s in my future.” She walked to the shelves behind Leila’s desk, lifting a pretty package of different-colored bath salts. “But I hope you’ll take this as a good luck gift.”
“This is amazing.” Beaming, the woman hugged her. “Thanks, Jules.”
Julie squeezed her back. “Good luck in Colorado.”
“Thank you.” Her happy client went to settle up with Leila, and Julie turned back to Chase, the friendliness vanishing from her eyes. “I need a few minutes,” she said stiffly.
“Sure. Take your time.”
She clenched her jaw and left the room.
He steamed out a breath, watching her disappear. He was definitely going to need the full hour and forty-five minutes to chisel his way through Julie’s shield.
~~~~
Julie tucked the clean fitted sheet under the massage table with several bad-tempered shoves as she worked her way around the bed. Was this really happening? Was Chase actually sitting out in the guest area waiting for a massage? She wanted to laugh. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation should have been funny, but it wasn’t. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Clearly he was eager to assuage his guilt for his bad behavior, but she just wanted him to go back to California.
It was tempting to feign a headache and tell him to go home, but that was bad karma. Flat out refusing him service was tempting too, but that was bad practice. And she was too much of a professional to sink so low.
Two hours—less, actually. She just had to make it through a mere hour and forty-five minutes. And people usually didn’t talk while she kneaded their tension away. By six thirty, he would be next door and she upstairs, showering off the day and watching the movie she slept through last night. She smoothed the top blanket in place and glanced at the candles still burning around the room, ready to get this over with. “Two hours,” she muttered, reminding herself that Chase was merely a client, no different than any of the other men or women she provided therapeutic services to.
Reassured by her own thoughts, she opened the door and walked out to where he waited. Her eyes met the intense gray of his stare as he stood. His snug denim and black shirt accentuated his insanely delicious build, and her resolve crumbled. How was she supposed to pretend he was just any other customer? She’d never slept with the men she massaged. She’d never shut herself away in a room with candles and music and oils she intended to rub all over a man she’d spent more than half of her life in love with. “I, uh—I—”
“Are you ready?”
“No” was on the tip of her tongue when she recognized the challenging light in his eyes. Her chin automatically jutted out. “Yes. Go ahead and undress as far as you feel comfortable, get under the covers lying face up, and I’ll be in shortly.”
“Great.” He closed the door to the therapy room behind him.
She took the clipboard Leila handed her, noted that he hadn’t developed any medical conditions in the years he’d been gone, assumed he would like medium to deep pressure, and was well aware he stored tension in his jaw.
“I’m sorry, Jules,” Leila whispered. “I tried to get rid of him, but he wouldn’t leave.”
Didn’t she know it. “That’s okay. It’s no big deal.”
“I can cancel my doctor’s appointment if you want me to stick around and wait.”
She smiled. “I’ll be perfectly fine. I know how to handle Chase.”
“Okay. Then I’m going to head out.” She put on her coat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.” Julie turned, gripped the knob, and knocked on the door. “Are you all set?”
“Yeah. Come on in.”
Taking a steeling breath, she walked in and stopped, swallowing as he sat up bare-chested with the blankets pooled around his waist. She had a lot of clients, many in great shape, but none as sexy as Chase. “You’re supposed to be lying down.”
“This is a great setup.” He looked around.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I’ve never done this before—a real massage.”
“Great. Lie down, close your eyes, and enjoy it.”
He shrugged and did as he was told.
“I’ll start on your right leg.”
“Yeah, great.” He sat up on his elbows. “If this is too weird—”
“No,” she answered too quickly. “It’s no big deal. At all,” she emphasized, staring in his eyes, hopefully making her point clear. “You want a massage, and I’m a massage therapist.” She adjusted the sheet around his leg, tucking it under his upper thigh. “Go ahead and lie back,” she said as she poured grape seed oil in her palm, staring down at his well-muscled calf. Clearing her throat, she hesitated. Client. Chase was a client. She touched her hands to his warm skin and began with effleurage, working her way up to his knee, then his thigh with greater pressure. Several minutes passed in blissful silence, and she started to relax, realizing he was going to enjoy the experience instead of try to chat her up.
She covered him again as she finished, wanting to keep him comfortable, and exposed his left leg, staring at the circular puckered mark high on his upper thigh as she
secured the sheets in place. Moving back to his foot, she applied more oil and worked her way to his injury, fixated on his marred skin—a bullet wound she was mostly certain…so close to his femoral artery. “I’m going to move to your abdomen,” she said quietly, taking one last look before she covered him.
He grunted his reply.
She tossed a glance at his face, half-smiling at his closed eyes, noting his relaxed jaw as she took her position at his torso region, ready to move on to the next phase. He was definitely enjoying his first therapeutic treatment. She pulled the soft cotton low along his hips, blinking in horror as she stared at two more scars—bigger, uglier—one on his upper hip, the other an inch lower, both with entry and exit points. Without thinking, she touched with soothing fingers, her instinct to heal, as if the gentle brush of her hand would erase where bullets had ripped through his flesh.
Chase’s eyes flew open, and he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” she whispered, stepping back, even as he still held her arm. This was why he’d given up what he loved. Something terrible happened, and he’d been seriously injured. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, turning her hand, capturing his, gripping his fingers.
“Don’t look at me like that, Jules,” he said quietly.
She didn’t know how she was looking at him, but she nodded, clutching him tighter. “Close your eyes.”
He held her gaze, and something powerful passed between them, a glimmer of understanding, a glimpse of the way things used to be before all of the complications, when they simply loved each other. She stepped closer and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Close your eyes,” she repeated.
He swallowed, holding her prisoner with his eyes, and finally he did as she asked.
She moved to his abdomen and continued with his massage, feeling him relax by degrees as time passed in a blur while she worked through the steps and techniques, eventually having him turn facedown. She kneaded and stroked his arms, back, and neck as her mind raced. For years Chase had been obsessed with the FBI. From the time he’d been ten, that’s all he’d wanted, all he’d worked for, taking extra classes, learning languages, and participating in internships, forever consumed with capturing the criminal element. For years he’d done what he wanted, and most probably caught the bad guys, but at some point, a bad guy had caught him too. “Turn again,” she said quietly, holding the blanket for him as he faced front.
He watched her as she sat on her stool and settled a towel beneath his head. His gaze never left hers as she began the final stage of their session, sliding her fingers up the back of his neck and through his hair. Her strokes grew longer, lighter as the minutes ticked down to the end. “We’re finished. Take your time getting—”
He reached up and captured her hands before she could stand. “Thanks.”
She didn’t want him to touch her, especially now when the last two hours had left her raw and confused. “You’re welcome.”
He rolled onto his stomach, facing her, his eyes sleepy, his hair mussed from her hands. “I’m sorry.”
She tried to pull away.
He tightened his grip. “I’m sorry, Jules.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t the time or the place. I’m at work, and you’re naked.
“This is the only way I can get you to talk to me.”
“I—”
“I hurt you, and I’m so sorry.” He laced their fingers. “Genuinely and truly sorry.”
For years she’d wanted this, apologies, an opportunity to be close again, but as she stared in his eyes and felt her fingers intertwined with his, she knew they could never have anything as blissfully simple as friendship. There was too much between them—too many feelings and emotions. “I think it’s better if we pretend you never came back.”
“I don’t. We were friends. You were my best friend, Jules.”
“And then I was more.”
He nodded. “You were.”
“And that’s why things will never be the way they were. I’d hoped they could be, but they can’t.”
“Jules—”
“I can’t do this with you, Chase. I don’t want to do this with you. It’s too messy.” She yanked free from his hold and turned away, tidying the oils and blowing out the candles. “Just get dressed and go.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she gripped the edge of the table. “Your treatments are on the house—” She turned back and gasped as he stood in front of her in only his pants.
“I’m leaving at the end of the week. Have dinner with me and let’s see if we can un-complicate this. We were doing okay with the tree and at Mrs. Mickle’s.”
She shook her head as her eyes filled. “And then we stood under the mistletoe. That’s always going to be there. Whatever that is will always be there.”
“We can put it behind us.”
She laughed humorlessly with another shake of her head. Didn’t he see that they couldn’t even if they tried?
He stepped toward her. “Jules—”
She backed up. “No.”
“Jules—”
“No.” Needing to finish this, desperate to end this once and for all, she closed the distance between them and recklessly pressed her lips to his.
He grabbed her by the arms, pushing her away. “Don’t.”
“That, Chase,” she said on a trembling whisper. “We can’t put that behind us.”
His breath heaved, mingling with hers and he yanked her against him, capturing her mouth. Tongues tangled as he ran his hands up and down her waist and over her ass. She moaned, sliding her fingers up the muscles of his back and through his hair. He nipped and tugged at her top lip, his tongue following, fanning the fires. Finally she pushed away, gasping.
“This is why. This right here.” She swiped at her hair and took another step in retreat. “We can lie to ourselves and say it’s no big deal, but that will always be there—along with the hurt and anger. We both moved on with our lives, so let’s keep going with that.”
“Jules—”
“Go home, Chase.” She opened the door, and walked out, stopping when she spotted the woman from the grocery store standing in the center of her studio, dressed in black tailored slacks and a stylish blouse/blazer/scarf combination.
“I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat as she smoothed her jacket. “I had to come.”
God, what else? She pressed her lips together, tasting Chase. “What can I do for you?”
Chase stepped out behind her, fully dressed, his hair more a mess after the last few moments.
“The other night I saw you at the gas station. You took me by surprise.” The woman sent her a small smile. “I’m Neve Porter.” She stepped forward, extending her hand.
She reluctantly returned Neve’s shake. “Julie.”
“I imagine you must think I’m crazy, but I’m not.” She handed over an eight-by-eleven poster with a picture of Alyson Porter, age three years, eight months, the caption told her. It looked so much like her. “I believe you’re the little girl in that photo.”
Julie stared at the grinning preschooler with long black pigtails, fighting the need to tremble. “I—I don’t know…”
“I’ve extended my trip. I’m staying in Spokane until tomorrow morning. I was hoping you might consider having dinner with me, or at least a drink.”
“I can’t.” She handed the picture back and took a step in retreat, crashing into Chase.
Chase laid a supportive hand on her shoulder. She was too weak to move away.
“You owe me nothing. I’ve been searching for this little girl for twenty-five, almost twenty-six years. The police called me the day before I spotted you. They’re running forensics on remains from a shallow grave they discovered in a park in Western Massachusetts. I just need to know one way or the other. I need to know what happened to my daughter.”
“But I’m Julie. I’m Julie Keller,” she shuddered out as she stared at the smiling child in the picture.
“Excuse us,” C
hase said, pulling Julie back into the massage room and closing the door.
“I’m not her child. I’m not.”
He nodded. “What do you want to do?”
“I want her to go away.”
“I’ll make her go away.” He skirted around her.
She grabbed his arm. “She’s suffering. I want her to go away, but she’s suffering. She thinks I’m her little girl.”
“I can go with you. If you want to have a glass of wine and hear her out, I’ll come with you.”
“I need,” her voice broke and she shook her head. “I need you to go away too. I need to get back to my life.”
“Let me come with you.” He took her hands, rubbing his thumbs along her knuckles. “Let me help, and then I’ll leave you alone. I’ll drop you off when we get back, and I’ll walk away.”
She yearned to turn her back on the gorgeous man offering his help and the woman standing on the other side of the doorway, but she couldn’t. “Okay.” She pulled away from him and twisted the doorknob, stepping out into the studio. “We can have a drink so you can see that I’m not your daughter.”
Neve nodded. “We could meet at The Grand Hotel where I’m staying, or anywhere else you want.”
“The Grand Hotel is fine. At seven thirty.” She wanted this over with fast.
“Make the reservation for three,” Chase added from behind her.
“I’ll see you both then.” Neve walked out.
Julie turned to face him. “I—I need to shower.”
“I’m going home for a few minutes. I’ll run her.”
She shook her head. “You don’t need to. By the time we leave the restaurant, she’ll see that this is a big misunderstanding.” She didn’t bother waiting for him to see himself out before she went upstairs and closed herself in the bathroom. Leaning against the door, she pressed her hands to her lips, still tasting Chase. Would it take months again to forget his bold flavor? Sniffling, she turned on the shower, pulled off her clothes, and stepped into the warm water and steam. She just needed to get through the next little while, then all of this would be over. Neve Porter would leave her alone, and Chase would walk away.
Chapter Fifteen