Falling For Her Boss

by Karen Rose Smith

  Al didn't hide his amusement. "What I'm suggesting is perfectly respectable, you know and health savvy right now. Even here in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

  Respectable. Massages brought hot tubs to mind. Personal trainers handling sweaty clients. His ex-wife. Zack pushed his fingers through the black hair curling over his forehead. "I have a stiff neck. Can't you give me a prescription...?"

  "What you have is a Type A personality. A stiff neck that won't let up is one manifestation of too much stress. Besides being a single parent, you're also a workaholic. They've both caught up to you. You've got a lot of tension in your neck and shoulders. If I prescribe a pain reliever or a muscle relaxant, you might become dependent on them. You need to find a way to relax."

  "You mean this is all in my head?"

  "Of course not. Your body's reacting to your way of life. The X-rays and MRI showed no structural abnormalities. Your problem is muscular. And it's not going to go away unless you learn to relax."

  "I relax! I go to Chad's Little League games."

  Al Winston's penetrating glare raked Zack's six-foot-two figure from his toes to the top of his head. "Cheering him on from bleachers and yelling at the umpire is not relaxation. If anybody can teach you to relax, Skye can. I've sent over quite a few hard core Type A's in the past year, and she's done wonders. If they cooperated with her."

  "Sky?" Zack immediately pictured a flower child with waist-length hair, beaded headband, and sandals.

  Al pulled a notepad in front of him and wrote as he talked. "Skye. That's with an 'e'. Last name's Delaney. She's a licensed physical therapist but specializes in relaxation techniques and massage. I'll send a report of your visit. If you tell her I sent you, she'll try to fit you in. She's usually booked three or four weeks in advance but keeps a few slots open for emergencies."

  Zack checked his watch and stood, impatient to get back to his office. "I wouldn't consider this an emergency."

  Al laid his pen on the desk with a firm click. "Turn your head as far as you can to the right."

  When Zack tried what should have been a simple maneuver, pain shot into his shoulder and up the side of his head.

  Al nodded knowingly, tore the paper from the pad, and handed it to his recalcitrant patient. "Call Skye today."

  Zack rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, eyeing his physician. Skye Delaney. Massage therapy. He'd prefer a pill to holistic medicine any day.

  ***

  He was five minutes early. The setting sun splayed orange and purple across the horizon as Zack opened the screen door to the brownstone and walked inside. Music floated across the reception area. The instrumental strains had an oriental flavor. The waiting area looked more like a living room than a doctor's office. Of course Skye Delaney wasn't a doctor. What had he gotten himself into?

  There was a desk with an odd shaped chair and no receptionist. He didn't hear voices or people anywhere. But these old houses in the center of town boasted thick walls. He chose an overstuffed chair in a grey-blue corduroy. The mauve drapes had the same color of blue running across the edge in a small print.

  A door creaked open down the hall and soft footsteps echoed on the wood floor as someone approached. When Zack saw the woman, his foot stopped tapping and everything in his body seemed to take a deep breath and hold it.

  Skye Delaney looked like...an angel? An imp? A sensual woman? A flower child? Her long blond hair was pulled back low on her neck. Turquoise, fuchsia, and yellow ribbons wove through it, forming a loose braid. Why would a grown woman wear ribbons to her waist?

  He knew immediately where she'd gotten her name. Her eyes were as blue as any sky he'd ever seen. A loose white gauzy garment came to her knees but when she moved, he had no doubt she had firm breasts and a slender waist. The white leather shoes had two straps that crossed over her instep.

  Her eyes drew his again. When she smiled, he blew out his breath. She was going to put her hands on him? His jaw clenched as he strove to control a surge of hormones he hadn't experienced since he was a teenager touching his girlfriend for the first time.

  Skye extended her hand, a hand that had short nails and looked as if it didn't have enough strength to massage a kitten. Zack stared at it a few seconds, then realized she was speaking.

  "Hello, I'm Skye. You're Zachary Clark?"

  Still feeling off balance, he took her hand and was surprised by the hidden strength in her grip. "Yes. Al Winston sent me."

  "When you talked to my receptionist, she said you weren't sure what type of massage you wanted."

  "I'm not sure I want any massage."

  Instead of being offended, she gave his fingers a gentle understanding squeeze. "I talked to Al this morning and he said you had doubts about massage therapy. But he discussed your problem with me and I think I can help."

  Zack looked at their clasped hands and felt serenity radiating through him. He'd never felt anything like it. But the erotic sensations that went with it when he looked at this woman made him pull his hand out of hers and take a step away.

  "I don't understand how massage can do more than make my neck feel good for the moment."

  "Let's go into the therapy room and I'll explain the basics."

  Feeling overdressed in his navy suit, he followed her unhurried pace down the hall, making himself slow down so he didn't step on her heels.

  Opening the door, she waited until he stepped inside. Not one part of his body brushed hers, but he was suddenly more aware of her than he'd ever been of a woman. And he smelled...strawberries. Couldn't be, could it? Women smelled like flowers, exotic mixtures, not fresh, luscious strawberries. Great. Now he was imagining things.

  The room gave him as much of a shock as Skye had. A rainbow spanned two walls, spreading color and vibrancy. A chair the color of spring grass sat at the rainbow's end as if waiting for the pot of gold to appear.

  Zack smiled uncertainly.

  Skye sat at a rolltop desk and waved at the chair. "Have a seat."

  Zack blinked. He was used to being the one in charge, in the business he'd nurtured and made a success as well as in his private dealings. Since his ex-wife had left for California and the good life, Zack had taken control of his life and his son's. It irked him to realize Skye Delaney would be in charge for the next half hour or so. He didn't like the idea at all.

  "Let's just get started. I have to get home to my son."

  She didn't miss a beat. "How old is he?"

  "Eight." The warm glow Zack always felt when he thought about Chad spread around his heart.

  "And he wants his dad to tuck him in?"

  The briskness left Zack's voice and he found himself smiling. "Actually, he has Little League practice and usually falls asleep before I get the chance to tuck him in. He's growing up so fast."

  "Al told me you're a single parent. I imagine that's as much work as running a business."

  He wondered if she was married, engaged, or had children. "The printing industry doesn't have nearly as many crises. At work I might have one a day. With Chad it's more like five a day."

  Her smile started in her eyes, then spread to her lips, lighting her whole pretty face. "It's really that bad?"

  Zack couldn't keep from grinning back. "Sometimes it seems like it."

  Skye stood and crossed to the massage table. She took a sheet from the shelf underneath. It was sunshine yellow like the one covering the mattress. There was nothing cold or sterile about her or the room. "You can undress and cover with this if you'd like. Don't rush. Take off everything but your briefs. I'll knock before I come in to see if you're ready."

  Her instructions took a moment to register. As she drifted past him, he caught her arm. "I have a stiff neck."

  She arched a brow. "Meaning?"

  What did he mean? Lord, she had him rattled. Imagining her hands on his body...

  He released her arm. "Look, Ms. Delaney, I'm sorry if I sounded..."

  "Skye."

  "Skye." He rubbed his hand over his chin, tr
ying to choose his words carefully. "I'm sure you're very good at what you do. But I'm not here for...pleasure. I just want to get rid of this neck problem and--"

  Her blue eyes were steady. "I get the impression, Mr. Clark, that you don't hold a very high opinion of what I do. Of course, like many people, you think you know what that is without trying it."

  Was he that obvious? He thought he'd hidden his distaste for women whose careers gave them physical access to their clients. Alicia had shown him what a dangerous thing that was for a relationship. Relationship? Hell, he wasn't going to have a relationship with Skye Delaney. She was going to give him a massage. Period.

  Zack's fatigue from working at his desk all day without a break broke through his frustration. "I don't have to try walking over hot coals in my bare feet to know I don't want to do it."

  Skye's eyes twinkled with amusement. "You put touching in the same category as walking on hot coals?"

  Intuitively, he knew her touch would bring fire to his body. Maybe because touching hadn't been a big part of his existence before he married and maybe because he missed it so much since. That wasn't something he'd admit to anyone, let alone a massage therapist.

  He steered the conversation back to business. "I came here because my shoulders are tight. I want some relief."

  Her amusement slipped away but the twinkle stayed. "According to Al, your life is tight. That's what's causing the problem. Of course a simple massage won't fix it. I have exercises to teach you, tapes for you to hear. I can teach you what I know to use as a prescription."

  "I don't have time for all that!"

  Skye shook her head with such vigor, her braid fell over her shoulder along with the stream of ribbons. "You'd rather be in constant pain than take twenty minutes twice a day to relax? Or get a massage twice a week to be good to your body?"

  Be good to his body. What an unusual phrase. He was good to his son. But to himself? He sighed. "What do you suggest?"

  "You don't want a full body massage."

  He tensed. "No."

  She shrugged. "You're the client. I can only help as much as you'll let me. Today we can do an upper body massage. But would you mind if I do your feet?"

  She had to be kidding. "If it's necessary."

  "Not necessary, but helpful for relaxing."

  "Fine."

  She didn't comment on his lack of enthusiasm. "I'll leave while you take off your jacket and shirt."

  "You don't have to." At her raised brows, he added, "It'll only take a second. We'll save time."

  Her amusement was back. "Saving time is important to you, isn't it, Mr. Clark?"

  "Zack." Formality didn't seem to have place here. He shucked off his suit coat and hung it on the coat rack in the corner, taking off his black loafers at the same time.

  "What do you save it for?"

  He swiveled to meet her gaze and found she was serious. "My son. There's always someplace to go, something to do."

  She gave a small nod as if he'd confirmed something.

  As his hands went to his shirt buttons, he felt the urge to rattle her. "How did you know I wear briefs? Maybe boxers are my speed."

  Instead of getting flustered, she laughed. It was a wonderful sound. Earthy, rich, easy. "I don't have X-ray vision if that's what you're wondering. Most of my male clients under fifty do, over fifty they don't. Once in a while I'm surprised. I'm as capable of stereotypes as the next person."

  Zack flicked off his socks. She could laugh at herself. He liked that. Remembering Alicia, he decided to concentrate on those damn ribbons instead. It was safer to think Skye still hadn't grown up rather than focus on qualities he found enticing.

  ***

  Skye held her breath as she watched Zachary Clark tug his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. What was wrong with her? Why was her heart thumping as it did when she rode a double-decker Ferris wheel? This was a client, for heaven's sake! She shouldn't care what color his chest hair might be or where it grew and how. She shouldn't wonder if his stomach was as flat as it looked. And she definitely shouldn't look into those compelling grey eyes and want to teach him everything she'd learned to handle stress.

  She often saw men like Zachary Clark in her practice, like him in the sense that action, results, and goals pushed them into physical distress. Maybe she recognized these men so easily because she'd been married to one. The disastrous consequences of that relationship had taught her well. She didn't get involved with men who had no sense of play, who couldn't enjoy the beauties of life like rainbows and bunny rabbits, and who couldn't be depended upon when someone close needed them. That was the ultimate test.

  With resolve, she watched Zack's shirt fly open and took a deep relaxing breath. If she tensed up, every nerve in her body would go on red alert. As her eyes swept over his broad shoulders and muscular arms, she told herself it was simply a body--muscle, bone, and tissue, a client like all the others.

  Taking another deep breath, she adjusted the small pillow at the head of the table. "Lie on your back with your arms at your sides."

  Zack sat on the table and with an uncomfortable look that told her he'd rather jump the Grand Canyon on a motorcycle, he rested his head stiffly on the pillow.

  She took another pillow from the shelf under the table. "I'm going to put this under your knees so your back flattens."

  He slid his feet back, raising his knees, and she stuffed the pillow underneath. He stretched his legs out again, but still didn't look relaxed.

  "Some of my clients like me to massage them in silence so they're in tune with the rhythm of my hands and the effect on their body. Others prefer music. What would you like?"

  "Music," he said tersely.

  She flipped on the tape player. Classical music softly filled the room. Taking a plastic bottle of almond oil from a side table, she poured a few drops into her palm and smoothed it to her fingertips.

  "Close your eyes," she said softly. "Now take three belly filling breaths. Feel the air fill the bottom of your stomach and let it out slowly."

  He followed her directions to the letter, and she smiled. He was probably a perfectionist. She could use that to lead him to deep relaxation. "Now, pay attention to your breathing, the subtle rocking motion. While I massage, you're going to let me take care of you. Don't try to help in any way. When I lift your arm, just let me lift it. Don't assist. I'll turn your head if I need to. There's nothing for you to worry about. I don't talk while I massage because words are distracting. But if something I do hurts or you feel cold or uncomfortable, tell me."

  She could see his body was still tense--he was swallowing often, his eyelids fluttered every now and then, his fingers curved into his palms. "I'm going to start with your face, then move to your neck and shoulders. I want you to think about your favorite place. Go there in your mind."

  She covered his forehead with the heels of her hands, letting her fingers extend down his temples. Applying no pressure but letting him grow accustomed to her touch, she paused for a few seconds.

  Those seconds were tough. She was much too aware of his uncovered chest, the bronze nipples, curling black hair that tapered to a lopsided V, every crease and crevice on his face. There were worry lines around his eyes and mouth and she longed to smooth them away, to lay her fingertip in the tiny cleft in the middle of his chin. No, Skye! He's a client. Just do your thing and forget he's one attractive man.

  With the pads of her thumbs, she massaged his forehead. Pressing moderately, she continued all the way to the temples and moved her thumbs in slow circles, taking another deep breath, telling herself to use her skill and blank out the texture of his skin and his musky scent.

  ***

  Zack had never been touched this way. At first the heat from Skye's hands seemed to surge through his body and he was sure she'd know he was physically attracted to her. But then there were other feelings and silent communication. The message was one of comfort, caring, peacefulness--such peacefulness he felt himself drifting to anoth
er place where all weight fell from his shoulders, where floating was the mode of travel, where peace was life and the scent of strawberries.

  As her fingers finished performing magic on his face and moved to the back of his neck, he knew the peace was a gift from Skye Delaney. A wonderful lethargy overtook him and when she lifted his head slightly and turned it to the side, he didn't think of resisting. With each gentle knead of her fingertips, he felt her empathy, her respect for him as a being sharing the human condition. He felt something coming from inside her--confidence, serenity...and sensuality. She overflowed with it.

  After his neck and shoulders, she massaged his arms with strokes that penetrated his muscles. She even spent time on his hands. When she asked him to turn over, he did it automatically. She must have pulled the pillow away because his cheek met the cool sheet. He suddenly realized his neck didn't hurt. He hadn't been able to sleep on his stomach for the past week!

  With both palms she applied oil to his shoulders, using a simple stroking that was gentle, yet definite and steady. When he felt her elbow rest against his shoulder, he guessed she was pouring more oil.

  She was one with her hands as they molded to fit his contours. Her fingers curved and wrapped evenly and smoothly around his shoulders as they sought his back. Her hands seemed to listen to the tissue and bone under the skin, tuning in to the strata of the muscles--thick and thin, tight and loose. When she encountered bone, she outlined its shape. Each movement flowed, one stroke naturally gliding into another. Each pass went deeper. She seemed to find each knot, each sore spot, working and soothing until he felt like melted butter.

  His feet were the real surprise. As she worked first the bottom and then the top, he felt the connection throughout his body. He wanted her to go on forever. But she didn't. She stopped.

  He felt the rough texture of a towel on his back in long, wiping strokes as it absorbed the oil. Laying it across his back, she said softly, "Keep your eyes closed until you're ready to get up. Don't rush. After you're dressed, come out to the waiting room and we'll make your next appointment."