Her best work definitely did not happen when her brain was distracted by overwhelming surges of hormones screaming, This one, we want this one!
“Music? Sure. Great. Um...do you have any Stones?”
She assumed he meant the Rolling Stones, which just happened to be her all-time favorite band. She had a bunch of their early albums on her iPod, but the Keiko spa had a certain ambience and reputation that employees were supposed to help uphold. “I’m sorry, I only have instrumental things. Some classical piano, flutes. I also have waterfall sounds, rainforest sounds, ocean waves.”
“No Stones, but plenty of water,” he joked. “Sure, put something on. Surprise me.”
She laughed lightly at his joke—it was surprisingly dorky and sweet, a point in his favor—and hit Play on the remote that controlled the stereo.
Soothing flute notes piped out softly from the speakers.
“Okay, if you’ll just turn over onto your stomach, I’ll start with your back.” She held the sheet so he could maneuver himself discreetly beneath it. “Is there any area in particular you’d like me to focus on?”
As he settled onto his stomach and she draped the sheet over him once again, her gaze strayed to the rise of his buttocks, covered by just one layer of soft, thin fabric. An image flashed into her mind of rubbing him down with lube and tracing her palms down that incredible back, down, down beneath the sheet, to the rounded, muscular territory that she would find below...
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was so completely unprofessional. Her months of celibacy were obviously starting to wear on her sanity. Get a grip, DeLuca. Manhandling clients was an absolute no-no. Even flirting was off-limits.
“My upper back has been bothering me,” Adam was saying, “between my shoulder blades. I travel a lot and sit at my computer way too much.” He shrugged, and she couldn’t help but watch the muscles move beneath his skin with the movement. “I probably don’t have the best posture in the world.”
He looked pretty close to perfect to her. “What do you do?” she asked as she began working the pressure points along the meridians in his back. Talking while giving a massage wasn’t her favorite thing, but she found that most clients preferred to chitchat a bit before slipping into silence.
“I own a start-up company. A website.”
Of course. Austin was a Mecca for tech geeks. He’d mentioned an interview, which meant he was probably in town for a convention, or to seal a deal with an investor. “I saw on your sheet that you’re from Dallas?”
“Well, I’m from all over, really. My family moved around a lot when I was growing up, and Dallas is where we ended up. My sister’s still there. Stepsister, actually. I stay with her when I’m up there.”
“Mmm.” She warmed some of the lotion in her palms before smoothing it over his upper back.
She was starting out slowly, trying to get into the zone, letting her fingers travel over his corded muscles, pressing into knots, coaxing them to release. “Your shoulders are tight,” she murmured. “You work too hard.”
He opened one eye. “You can tell that just by massaging my shoulders?”
She pursed her lips, annoyed with herself. It wasn’t good practice to make pronouncements to her clients about what she read in their bodies. But sometimes bits and pieces leaked out, like now, when her focus was scattered.
“I can tell a lot from a client’s muscles,” she told him. “From how they’re configured. I can tell how well they take care of themselves, or don’t. I can tell where they hold their tension.”
His eyes drifted shut. “You can probably tell I’ve been traveling around a lot lately, then. Sleeping on all kinds of different hotel beds.” He sighed deeply. “Your fingers feel like heaven.”
So does your back, she thought. She reached for the bottle of lotion.
It slipped out of her already-slick fingers, bounced off the floor and hit the wall with a loud bonk.
“Oops.” Now her face was flaming. She moved fast to pick up the bottle before it oozed any more of its contents onto the carpet, and accidentally bumped a hip into the edge of the massage table.
“Oh! Sorry.” Flustered, she grabbed the bottle and straightened. There was a messy glob of lotion drooling down the wall. She turned her thoughts firmly away from which bodily fluid it looked like, and turned back to the massage table.
“Everything okay?” Adam asked, mercifully keeping his eyes closed.
“Just fine. Sorry for the interruption.” Feeling her heart rate skittering along, she commanded herself to breathe slowly and deeply as she squeezed another dab of lotion into her palm.
She needed to focus on her client as a sculpting project rather than as a man. As she had told him, she could tell a lot just from delving into his muscles. The slight hunch to his shoulders, the tightness where the muscles knotted together to form a protective wall around his heart, told her he was lonely. Her guess would be that he’d been on the road for too long.
She began the massage in earnest, squeezing and releasing his deltoids, using her elbows to delve deeply along the sides of his spine. She levered her forearms over his trapezoids, using the repetitive motion to encourage the release of tension and trying not to notice his excellent muscle tone.
She watched her fingers as they pressed into his firm, tanned flesh, as they traced over the smooth contours of his physique. When she noticed she was giving less of a massage than an extended caress, she frowned and applied more pressure.
He groaned.
Wincing, she lightened up immediately. “Is that pressure all right?” She rolled her eyes at herself. She’d suddenly started digging into him as if he were a particularly stubborn round of bread dough.
“No, it felt great. Amazing. No one ever uses enough pressure. I’m surprised you’re so strong.” Instantly, he gave a quick, apologetic laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—you’re just so slender and petite. The truth is, when I first saw you, I didn’t know if you’d be able to give me the kind of massage I needed.”
The kind of massage he needed—why did everything the man said sound naughty to her sex-addled brain? Once again, she felt heat rise up her neck into her cheeks. Thank goodness, his eyes were still shut.
And to be called “slender and petite” was just embarrassing. She was neither, not by any stretch of the imagination. Willow, like her name, was long and willowy. Lisa, on the other hand, had long muscles, a benefit of her profession, and a trim enough core and legs. But her curvy chest and hips pretty much threw off any overall illusion of slimness.
Adam sighed contentedly. “Massage therapy must give you a great workout.”
Inadvertently, she recalled Harry Richmond’s bulk again, his wide, furry back. She laughed. “It does. Sometimes even more than others.”
“What’s funny?”
“I—nothing.” She stopped kneading for a moment, closed her eyes and let out a breath. “I feel I should apologize. I think my focus is a little bit off today.”
“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “This has been great so far, for me. Seriously, this is the best massage I’ve ever had. You have amazing hands.”
She sighed nervously. Even the apology was more than she’d wanted to reveal. “Well, you don’t have to be particularly strong to give a good massage,” she explained. “It’s all in the leverage and the technique.”
She pressed the balls of her thumbs into the knots between his shoulder blades and was rewarded with a rumbling, deep-throated moan.
“God, I wish I could hire you to be my personal massage therapist,” he murmured. “If I could have just one session a week, one this good, I’d be a truly relaxed and happy person.”
A flat sense of disappointment settled in Lisa’s chest. She did her best to ignore it. She’d thought this guy seemed really sweet. Turned out, he was just another rich guy trying to convert the world into his personal workforce.
That was nothing new. Working at a high-end hotel spa meant coming into contact with weal
thy, entitled types on a regular basis. Lisa just wished this one wasn’t quite so hot, or so charming. What a waste of an appealingly goofy sense of humor, not to mention a kick-ass body.
Then, in spite of herself, she found herself picturing what it would be like to be his personal, private massage therapist, attending him in one of the Keiko suites.
In her fantasy, she wore nothing but a gauzy chemise that barely covered her nipples and reached just to the tops of her thighs. Adam Masters was stretched out on her massage table, and she leaned over his nude form, tracing her palms down his back to rub his muscular buttocks.
Her daydream-self climbed up onto the massage table to straddle him, pressing herself against his muscular bulk. Her movements drew the thin silk of her chemise over her skin, rubbing ever so lightly against her ultra-sensitized nipples.
“Mr. Masters,” fantasy-Lisa whispered, “you feel very, very tense. Is there anything, anything at all I can do to help you relax?”
Chapter 5
____________________________________
After a second, Adam raised his head. “Lisa?”
She came back to reality in a rush. Had she spoken aloud? No, she didn’t think so.
Had she?
“Is something wrong?”
No, nothing was wrong. Everything was perfect. The power of her little fantasy had just made her go completely wet, and her face was hot as a sunburn. But everything was fine, really.
She yanked her hands off him as if he’d given her an electric shock. “Nothing at all,” she managed. “I’d like you to turn onto your side, so I can stretch you out a bit.”
He breathed deeply as she leaned into his hip, pushing his shoulder in the opposite direction to give his back and side a gentle, deep stretch. She was close enough to smell his skin, and found herself getting lost in his scent. Beneath the fragrance of the massage lotion, he smelled lightly spicy, with a dark, rich undertone.
She hovered there for a moment, forgetting herself—and then abruptly pulled back. Now she was reduced to sniffing her clients? If she’d thought so earlier, now she was certain: There was something very, very wrong with her.
And she was clearly extremely compatible with Adam Masters on a DNA level.
“What kind of technique do you use?” he asked as she finished his other side and then helped him reposition onto his back. “I mean, your massage technique?”
“Oh, a little bit of everything.” She tried to look anywhere but at his chest as she applied gentle pressure to the valleys above his collarbone, pressing her fingertips in a line out to his shoulders. “Right now I’m using a Shiatsu technique to open your meridians. It helps get your energy flowing properly, which makes you more receptive to the healing effects of the massage.”
His eyes were closed, and a smile played on his lips as he submitted to her ministrations. “Seriously, this is the best massage I’ve ever had,” he murmured. Suddenly, his blue eyes opened. “You smell amazing. What are you wearing?” He reached up and caught her wrist in his hand, drawing it close to inhale deeply of her skin.
Her eyes widened for a split second. He was touching her—which was strictly against the Keiko spa rules, no matter how good it might feel. Where he held her wrist, there was heat and electricity, and awareness. And his lips were way too close to her skin.
Gently, she pulled away from him.
He went still for an instant, then winced. “I can’t believe I just did that.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “What an ass. Whatever you’re wearing must have gone straight to my head. I’m really sorry. Will you forgive me?”
Charmed again in spite of herself, she smiled down at him. “It’s a blend of essential oils that includes rose and vetiver. I make it myself, actually. And there’s nothing to forgive. Shall we continue?”
The next half-hour was pleasurable torture for Lisa. Her hormones were in overdrive, clamoring for satisfaction, so part of her was glad when it was finally time for the session to end.
“Adam?” she murmured.
He didn’t answer. His eyelids didn’t even flicker.
With only a twinge of guilt, Lisa stole a moment just to look at him. She’d had him turn over once more, near the end of the massage, so she could perform a cranial sacral maneuver on his neck. Now his eyes were closed, his face peaceful. His chest rose and fell evenly, slowly.
He’d fallen asleep.
She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. She was like a goddamned grade-school girl. Suddenly, she had a wild urge to poke him, tickle his nose, maybe stick his hand in a bowl of water so he would pee in his sleep.
Somehow, she managed to restrain herself.
“Adam,” she said again, a bit louder this time. She reached out and rubbed his wrist gently. “Adam, time’s up.”
He took in a deep breath, smiled in his sleep, and then opened his blue eyes and focused on her face.
Her breath left her in a rush. The thought invaded her mind, swiftly and inexorably: How sweet it would be to wake up next to a man like that every morning. A man who smiled before he even became conscious of where he was, or who was next to him.
“The session is finished,” she told him. “But please take a few minutes to lie here. I’ll leave the lights dim. Clare will help you out in the reception area whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” He blinked, and his smile deepened. “Wow. I think you may have magic in your hands.”
Magic in her hands. It was a silly thing to say, but a low thrill originated somewhere deep inside her anyway, and spread through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.
When this man looked at her, she realized, she felt as if he were really looking into her—deeply into her, down into the depths of her soul. His blue-eyed stare made her almost uncomfortable in its directness.
He was like a politician: He knew just how to make someone feel seen and heard. She had to remember it wasn’t real, and it wasn’t personal. Most likely, it was just the product of her hormones and her loneliness, convincing her there was a connection between them that wasn’t really there.
She gave him a purposely bland smile. “Well, I’ll just leave you alone, now. Take your time in getting up.” She stepped out into the hall.
Back in the reception area, she handed Clare the client sheet clipboard and then plopped into one of the chairs opposite the reception desk. She let out a long breath. “Thank God that’s over.”
“Masters?” Clare said, inspecting the sheet. “That’s what he put down as his name? Huh. So he really does live in Dallas. I’d heard that, but I didn’t know if it was true. He’s a Texan.” She raised her eyebrows at Lisa. “Another point for our great state.”
“I guess.” Lisa leaned forward and put her face in her palms, then wished she hadn’t. Her skin was still warm from touching him. Would she ever be able to smell the scent of that stupid massage lotion again without thinking of him?
“That was an absolute train wreck,” she admitted. “I couldn’t get into the zone. I kept dropping the lotion. I almost knocked the freaking table over! I actually apologized to him at one point for giving such a bad massage.”
Clare made a sympathetic noise and then pointed at Lisa’s midsection. “Looks like you got some lotion on your new shirt.”
“Dang it.” Sure enough, there was a gooey glob at the hem, spreading in a noticeable dark patch. It must have flung itself there when the bottle slipped out of her hands and hit the floor. “Can I have a tissue?”
Clare pulled one from her dispenser and handed it over. “It barely shows. I love that color on you.”
“Thanks.” Lisa dabbed ineffectually at the spot.
“It’ll wash out,” Clare assured her. “So, you look seriously flushed. Was it a hard session?”
She snorted. “You could say that.”
Clare’s eyes went wide. She plunked forward in her chair. “No.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “He did not pitch a tent. Did he?”
Lisa felt her
cheeks blaze at her friend’s crude reference to a sometimes unavoidable, always embarrassing situation during a massage. “No, that’s not what I meant at all, you pervert.” The very thought of it made her snort again in laughter.
“Oh, good. You had me worried.” Clare exhaled and sat back. “I don’t want him to be Mister Happy during a massage. He’s way too good-looking to be so—”
“Indiscreet?” Lisa suggested between giggles.
Clare shrugged. “I was thinking more along the lines of juvenile. If a man calls an erection ‘accidental’ past age thirteen, there’s something seriously wrong—”
She stopped speaking abruptly. Lisa blinked, and then, all in an instant, became aware of Adam Masters standing in the doorway, shoes in hand and an amused expression on his face.
Exactly how much of their conversation had he heard?
All three were silent for a beat, until Adam spoke. “It does happen sometimes, you know.”
Though she hadn’t been the one to speak so candidly on the subject, Lisa felt her cheeks flame for about the tenth time in the past hour. “Um—”
“You mean, legitimately accidental erections really do happen to grown men?” Clare asked boldly.
Lisa’s heart froze momentarily in her chest. She could not believe Clare had gone there.
Although, it was Clare. Of course she had.
“I’m just saying,” he said, gesturing with his dark leather shoes. “Sometimes they are a genuine surprise.” He grinned. “Just because we grow up doesn’t mean we have total, ultimate control over our bodies every second. Accidents can still happen.”
“Right. Like if Gisele Bündchen were to drop her grocery list next to you and then bend over to pick it up, your body would just naturally respond. It’s sort of a foregone conclusion, with a basis in biological chemistry.” Clare nodded and tapped a manicured fingertip to her temple. “Interesting. I’ll just file that away.”
Adam laughed, his deep voice filling the room. “Well, maybe someone more like, I don’t know, Jennifer Garner.”
Mister Match (The Match Series Book 1) Page 4