Touch Me Now

by Donna Hill

  His dark eyes caressed her.

  “How is your leg?” she managed to ask in a thready voice.

  He glanced down at his leg and his expression shifted. The light dimmed in his eyes. “That’s what I’m here for.” All the warmth left his eyes.

  Her heart thumped. What just happened? “Sure. Let’s get you set up.” She quickly turned away, not wanting Maurice to see the hurt and confusion in her eyes. She felt unbalanced. One minute he was seducing her and the next he was a complete stranger, not a man who had done things to her body that she’d only imagined were possible.

  Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, she led the way to the sauna. She stopped, turned toward him and lifted her chin. “You know the drill.” She forced herself to smile. “I’ll be in the massage room when you’re ready.” She hurried away and shut the door behind her.

  The threat of tears burned her eyes. She rested the back of her head against the closed door. What a mess. She’d made the biggest mistake a woman could make—sleeping with a man that she barely knew. This wasn’t the kind of woman that she was. Ever since Brent she’d made it a point to steer clear of relationships. She wasn’t like some of her friends who could have sex with a man and nothing more.

  What made her think for a minute that she could handle something like this? Not to mention that it was clear that Maurice Lawson had issues of his own.

  She pushed away from the door and routinely began preparing the room for her sexy, complex client. She drew in a breath of resolve. This was going to be purely professional. End of story.

  Maurice lay facedown on the table. His arms were at his sides, his head facing downward through the circular cushioned opening.

  The flickering lights from the candles cast soft shadows on the walls and played tricks on her eyes as she studied the muscles of his back. Her gaze traveled along his back down to the dip in his spine, the rise of his lush rear end down to the muscular thighs and toned legs. He was an exquisite specimen of a man.

  Layla poured a quarter sized amount of scented oil onto her palm and then another. A part of her longed to touch him again, another part dreaded what touching him would do to her.

  Maurice shifted his shoulders, nudging her out of her moment of indecision. Just do it and get it over with. Strictly business.

  Pressing her lips tightly together she lowered her hands to his shoulders. A jolt of current prickled the hair on her arms. She drew a sharp breath as heat radiated through her veins. She would have sobbed had it not been that she was biting down on her lip.

  Her skilled fingers instinctively did their work, soothing, massaging, pressing into his back, down his spine, splaying out to his waist and back again.

  His moan was raw. She could feel it vibrate deep beneath the smooth flesh up through to the tips of her fingers.

  Without letting her hands leave his body, she moved down to his thigh. First she worked the uninjured side then skillfully moved to the other side of the table and began to work her magic on his injured leg.

  Her fingers first skimmed across the raised scar then the indentation. Again, just like the first time, his body tightened, flexed as if he were about to flee. But her hands stilled him, calmed him, moved across the unwilling flesh and made it succumb.

  Her hands moved in time to the slow, sensual beat of the music that she could barely hear above her thundering heart. She felt him loosening. His body hummed.

  Maurice groaned and with agility that stunned her, he flipped onto his back and grabbed her wrist in a vice grip.

  Her breath hitched. His eyes burned her skin. He sat up, released her wrist and swung his legs over the side. He stood. Layla’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession. While she stood frozen, Maurice opened the door and walked out.

  Layla blinked back her surprise. What the… Did she hurt him? Did she do something wrong? She quickly snatched up a towel to wipe her hands and hurried out of the open door.

  Chapter 12

  Layla heard banging and movement coming from the changing room. She drew in a breath and stalked off in that direction.

  Maurice tugged the door open. Layla gasped and came to a dead stop.

  His brows were pulled together in a tight thick line. He appeared as if whatever was brewing beneath the surface could not be contained, like a volcano ready to erupt. For the first time, Layla felt a shiver of fear in his presence.

  He slung his backpack over his shoulder, threw a last look at Layla that froze her veins. He started past her, letting the cane take some of his weight.

  Maurice was halfway past her when Layla swung around, her good sense finally returning.

  “Just wait one damned minute!”

  Maurice stopped in mid-step. He glared at her over his shoulder. His brows rose as she came at him.

  She crossed the short space between them and looked up into his eyes with her fists planted on her hips. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted. “What am I, some insignificant,” she fumbled for a word, “whatever, that you can charm, screw and dismiss at will? You’re hot one minute and glacier cold the next. I may not mean anything to you and that’s fine! Maybe this is something you do all the time. And that’s fine, too. But the least you can be is a decent human being!” Tears threatened to tumble, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  Maurice rocked his jaw slowly from side to side as if he’d been punched. “I’m not someone you want to get involved with,” he said. His voice was so soft, so low, if what he said wasn’t so heartbreakingly sad, it would have sounded like a love song.

  Her heart clenched.

  Maurice walked out.

  * * *

  “That is so crazy,” Desiree murmured after listening intently to Layla’s recounting of what had happened at the spa. She slowly forked a mouthful of salad. “And he didn’t say anything else?”

  Layla shook her head. The incident at the spa had shaken her in a way that was hard to explain. Maurice was a montage of conflicts that left her walking on a precipice of self doubt. She simply could not wrap her mind around him. There were moments when she saw in his eyes, felt in his touch the warmth and caring that resided inside him. But right alongside that goodness and light was unreachable darkness, an anguish that hovered just beneath the surface. What had happened to him? That was the question that taunted her, dared her to find out.

  “Listen, it seems that Maurice Lawson’s baggage is even too heavy for him to carry. Let it go, La.” She reached across the table and covered Layla’s hand with her own. “It simply wasn’t meant to be more than what it was. A hot, crazy one night affair.”

  Layla sighed heavily. “Yeah. I guess.” Her gaze drifted off. As much as she wanted to dismiss it all and move on, she knew that there was a connection. She knew that he felt it too. She looked across the table at her friend. “What if Lincoln had let you go? What if he’d decided that all your baggage was too heavy, Desi?” she asked, really needing an answer.

  Desiree lowered her eyes. Her mouth tightened for a moment. “That was different. We had a relationship.”

  “One that you walked out on.”

  “This isn’t about me.” She paused a beat. “Layla, you barely know this guy. Actually you don’t know him at all.”

  Layla picked up her water glass and took a long swallow. Slowly she set the glass down. “You’re right,” she said on a breath.

  “I know me and Melanie told you to go for it. We were wrong. I’m sorry. Don’t make yourself crazy over this.”

  Layla angled her head to the side. “It’s not your fault. I’m a big girl. I knew what I was doing.”

  “Still…”

  “I don’t want to talk about Maurice Lawson anymore. He is a closed chapter in my book of life.”

  “That’s more like it
.” Desiree raised her glass of iced tea. “To moving on.”

  Layla touched her glass to Desiree’s. “To moving on.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Desiree said, barely moving her lips. Layla started to turn. “Don’t look. He’s coming this way,” she said from between her teeth.

  Layla’s stomach fluttered.

  And then he was standing right beside her. She could feel his heat. She inhaled his scent. Her pulse raced.

  “Hello, Layla…Mrs. Armstrong.”

  “Hello. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

  “I am. Thanks.”

  Layla dared to look up and she went tumbling into the depths of his eyes and was lost.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I stopped by the spa…but it was locked up. I wanted to make an appointment.”

  She blinked back her surprise. “Oh. I closed early today.”

  “What time do you open tomorrow? I’ll stop by then.”

  “At ten, but I have a full schedule tomorrow.”

  Desiree watched the unmistakable electricity snap back and forth between them and needed to duck out of the way or get struck. “I should get back to my office. Take my seat,” she said in an almost breathy whisper that took Layla by surprise.

  Layla’s gaze darted to Desiree who was already rising from her seat as if under some sort of spell. Layla fully understood that magic.

  “Layla, I’ll see you tomorrow. We have shopping to do.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Maurice eased into Desiree’s vacated seat. He rested his cane against his thigh and placed his hands on top of the table.

  Layla rested against the back of the chair and pressed her knees together to keep her legs from trembling. She linked her fingers together.

  Maurice’s dark eyes glided lazily across her face, down her throat to the V-opening in her blouse.

  Her skin grew warmer. Butterflies fluttered low in her belly.

  “I owe you an apology,” he finally said, the words moved across her in a tender caress.

  Her breathing escalated. She tore her eyes away from him to gain some balance. “For what?”

  “For not being a decent human being.”

  The muscles in her chest tightened making it hard to breathe.

  “I was hoping to make it up to you.”

  “You don’t have to make anything up to me.”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  Her gaze jumped to his face and the intensity in his eyes was her undoing.

  “Why should I?”

  “So that I can prove to you that I can be a decent human being.”

  She started to reach for her glass of water but her hands were shaking. She kept them knotted on the table instead.

  “Tomorrow?” He tipped his head to the side and looked at her from beneath those long, lush lashes. “Mojitos on me.”

  This coaxed a small smile from her. She pushed out a tiny breath. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

  “Seven?”

  She bobbed her head in agreement.

  A slow smile moved across his mouth and lit the hidden fire behind his eyes.

  Damn he was gorgeous and dangerous.

  Maurice reached for his cane and slowly stood. He glanced down at her. “Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

  He strolled out, his limp barely noticeable, more a swagger than a limp. Layla was finally able to breathe only to realize how damp she was between her legs.

  * * *

  Layla and Desiree spent the latter part of the next afternoon in town shopping for an outfit for Desiree and Lincoln’s anniversary party.

  “Do you think I should ask Maurice to come to the party at Melanie’s?”

  Desiree held up a Vera Wang short cocktail dress in a stunning combination of platinum and black. Desiree looked at Layla above the dress that she held against her body.

  “Do you want to?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe you should see how tonight goes and what he has to say for himself before you ask.”

  “True.” She picked up a sleeveless teal dress with a heart-shaped neckline that gathered in front and fell to just above her knees.

  “That’s you,” Desiree said emphatically.

  “And if I don’t take this dress, you will,” Layla returned.

  Desiree giggled. “What are you going to wear tonight? You know it has to be a knockout.”

  “Hmm, good question. Guess I still need to shop!”

  They linked arms with their choices in tow and continued looking.

  It was ten minutes to seven and Layla was as nervous as if she’d never been out on a dinner date in her life. She’d checked her makeup and adjusted her dress more times than she could count. Every time she heard a noise her heart leapt to her throat.

  She paced her bedroom and then the living room and kitchen like a woman possessed. At precisely seven, there was a knock on her front door. She froze. Suddenly her mind went blank. The knock came again, jerking her alert. She swallowed, ran her hands nervously down her dress and then walked to the door.

  She pulled it open and stopped breathing at the sight of him.

  He was clad in black from head to toe. The brushed cotton shirt was open three buttons down and tucked into the waistband of sleek black slacks that fit him to perfection. And his scent. Oh, his scent. It went straight to her head.

  “You look beautiful,” he said almost reverently. His gaze drank her in, the way her sleek brows swept over dark, almond shaped eyes and that mouth that he remembered so well. Her dress gently teased her curves and floated right above her knees to reveal her long, shapely legs.

  “Thank you,” she managed.

  “The midnight blue does something to your skin.”

  The words slid along her bare arms and teased her breasts that had risen to attention.

  “Uh, come in. Let me get my purse.” She turned quickly before she liquefied right on her doorstep and hoped that she wouldn’t topple over on her skyscraper heels.

  Maurice followed her inside. She could feel him behind her.

  “Can I get you anything before we leave?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  She picked up her purse from the counter and when she turned he was right there, right on top of her.

  She drew in a sharp breath. In her heels she was almost eye-to-eye with him. She could clearly see the flecks of cinnamon in his eyes, the rich smoothness of his dark skin, the way the tiny waves in his hair looked like bands of silk.

  He reached out a long, slender finger and stroked the line of her jaw, so featherlight it could have been her imagination. The corner of his mouth quirked ever so slightly.

  “Ready?”

  She blinked out of her trance. “Yes.”

  He took a step back.

  Layla recovered her equilibrium and walked toward the door. Once outside she gulped in a cleansing breath of air to clear her head.

  “My car is parked by the main entrance,” he said.

  “Okay.” They continued along the path to the front of the property. “Where are we going?”

  “B. Smith. I hope you like Southern food.”

  She perked up. “B. Smith is great.” She looked across at him and smiled and her insides unfurled when he smiled right back.

  He opened her door and helped her in before rounding the front of the car and getting behind the wheel of the silver gray Audi A8. The car oozed luxury with plush leather seats that she would give up her queen-sized bed to sleep on. The console looked like something from NASA, and when he started the engine, the car literally purred.

  “Buckle up.”

  She did as instructed while he pressed a button to retract the sunroof.

 
The breeze blowing off the Sound was balmy and the sun was beginning to set wrapping the East Coast in that twilight world of the surreal.

  Layla rested her head against her high seat back and took in the sights as the car made its way down the narrow streets. Maurice pressed another button and they were surrounded by the soothing voice of Kem.

  “I love this CD,” she said.

  “So do I. I’ve played it so many times, I’ve had to replace it twice.”

  Layla laughed. “You too!”

  He turned to her and dazzled her with a smile that filled her soul.

  “I haven’t had some good soul food in a while,” he said as he turned onto the road that led to the main part of town.

  “Neither have I now that I think about it. The neighborhood that I’m in has every kind of food you can imagine from every hamlet across the globe, but soul food is scarce.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “In the West Village. And you?”

  “Fort Greene, in Brooklyn.”

  Her eyes widened in delight. “Really. I love it over there.”

  “Do you? Well, maybe you’ll come and visit sometime.”

  Her heart stilled. Come and visit Fort Greene or come and visit him? She didn’t know what to say and thankfully she didn’t have to respond. They pulled up in front of B. Smith’s.

  Maurice eased the car into a space and got out. He opened her door and extended his hand. His long, strong fingers wrapped around hers as he helped her from the car. Instead of stepping back to give her some room to exit, he pulled her right up to him.

  Before she knew what was happening, his mouth possessed hers in a searing, hungry kiss that made her reel. And just as quickly as it had begun it was over and he released her onto her shaky legs.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that since you opened your door.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip then let it trail down to her collarbone. She shivered. “You have very kissable lips.” He took a step back, crooked his arm in invitation.

  Tentatively she slipped her arm through his and they walked together into the restaurant.