Bossed by the Single Dad: A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Mia Madison

  His eyes swept up and down my body. I was wearing shorts, and a t-shirt over a sports bra, but suddenly, I felt naked under his gaze. I cringed backward, but bumped into a machine behind me.

  “What’s your name, sexy lady?”

  “Her name is none of your fucking business,” a voice growled from my right.

  Ian! What was he doing here? The surprise that washed through me was being replaced by relief. Ian was here. He’d get rid of this guy.

  “Hey, pal, I saw her first.” The sleazy guy gave Ian a challenging look, but I noticed he’d taken a step backwards.

  “Yeah, and I heard the way you were talking to her. In a decent gym, she’d report you to the front desk and get you thrown out for those kinds of comments. But in a fucked-up place like this, I’ll have to do it myself. Get the fuck out of here.”

  The sleaze-head took another step away from Ian, but then addressed me again. “I’ll see you around, gorgeous. And next time—”

  “Next time you stay the fuck away from her or I’ll rip your head off. Leave. Now.” Ian’s voice was a non-nonsense growl, and without another word, the guy took off.

  Ian had his back to me as he watched the man retreat. Then he turned to me.

  “Thank you.” My voice was small compared to how strong his had just been.

  “You don’t have to put up with that shit,” he said, obviously still angry. “In most gyms, there’re posters about sexual harassment policies. Most gyms take that seriously. Here, there’s nothing posted. Not even anyone at the front desk.”

  I looked over and he was right. There wasn’t anyone there though there’d been a young woman there when I first arrived this morning. I was beginning to see what Ian meant about this being a shoddy gym. At the moment, though, I was more interested about what he was doing here. He was wearing dark shorts and tennis shoes, which was pretty much his usual attire, only this time he had on a gray tank top. Which meant I couldn’t see his firm pecs, but every muscle in his arms and shoulders was still on display.

  He shrugged when I asked him. “I wanted to check it out. See if it was as bad as I’d heard.”

  “And?” I looked up at his face to catch his gaze briefly on my chest. Somehow I didn’t mind it when he did that.

  “And it’s worse. Why don’t you let me train you?”

  Automatically, I shook my head. It was a very kind offer, but the only thing more conspicuous than a big girl trying to exercise in a gym would be to have the super-hot guy assisting her. That would certainly turn some heads. I didn’t say any of that to him, though. “That’s very kind, but I’ll be okay.”

  He scoffed. “Yeah, things are off to a great start. You get hurt your first visit and hit on by a scumbag the second.”

  I flushed at his words, but before I could figure out how to respond, he asked a question. “How do you feel? Does your back still hurt?”

  “A little.”

  “Come with me.”

  I took his hand and followed him as he wove his way around the machines. As we walked, I tried to take in the gym from his point of view. Some of the machines did look pretty old. And most of them didn’t have any instructions posted. A few had stickers with diagrams of how to do various exercises, but many of the stickers had peeled off.

  Ian led me to a door along the wall in between the men and women’s locker rooms. He stepped inside and turned on the light. It was a plain room with several padded tables in the center. It took me a second to realize they were massage tables.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here.”

  “Who’s going to stop us?” Ian answered, his voice gruff. “I’m not a member, and I was able to walk right into this place. No one objected.” He moved to the first table and patted it. “Climb on up. Face down.”

  Oh God. There was no way I could lay down in front of him like that. No way I could lay my imperfect body in front of his perfect one.

  Seeing my hesitation, he patted the table again. “Listen to your personal trainer and hop up here.”

  “You’re not my personal trainer.”

  “I am until you get one. Come on. I guarantee your back will feel better twenty minutes from now.”

  I believed him. Every time he touched me it made me feel better. But still, this was too much. It would be too intimate. So I went on the offensive. “Are you a masseuse now? Did you and your army buddies spend a lot of time giving each other massages?”

  He laughed. “Smartass. No, it’s not a skill I had much use for in the service, but it’s one I picked up a long time ago and have honed over the years. I promise you it’ll feel good.” He tilted his head to the side, assessing me. “Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’re worried that I’ll make you feel too good.”

  What? What did that mean?

  As if in answer, he continued. “Maybe you’re worried that it’ll feel so good that you’ll start moaning my name. Maybe you’re worried that you’ll fall head over heels for me once you feel my magic touch.”

  Ooo, he was evil. The seductive tone in his voice was making my toes curl. Somehow, his goading worked. Slowly, I moved over to the table and lowered myself onto it, acutely aware that my ass was prominently on display.

  Ian’s strong hands went immediately to my shoulders, and instantly, I was in heaven. He hadn’t been kidding, he knew what he was doing.

  My body calmed as he kneaded the knots in my shoulders, but my mind couldn’t quite catch up. Ian had come to this gym for me. To check it out on my behalf. Then he’d stepped in when that awful man was bothering me. And now he was giving me a massage.

  It just seemed so unreal. Was he doing this as my boss? Granted I hadn’t been in the workforce long, but this seemed above and beyond even for a concerned boss. Was he doing this as a friend? That had to be it—I didn’t know what else it could be. If I were a size two like his ex-wife, I might think that he was doing this because he liked me. But there was no way. Those kinds of things just didn’t happen outside of romance movies. My last—and only—boyfriend had been during my junior year of college. It had been my experience that guys only wanted to be friends with women like me—they didn’t want to date them.

  So I guess that meant that Ian was my friend.

  A friend with magic fingers.

  He leaned over me, squeezing the muscles in my shoulders and upper arms. I had my arms folded under my head, my eyes blissfully closed. It felt amazing.

  Ian patted my back. “Lift yourself up for a moment.”

  Puzzled, I did, and Ian deftly slid my shirt up to my neck. I gasped. I was still covered, since I was facedown, but still, I hadn’t expected him to do that. And the brief touch of his hands on my sides send shivers across my body.

  “All right, now that you’re relaxed, I’m going to work on the back muscles you strained.”

  I started to respond, but the next moment, I felt him unhook my bra. The straps of the grey sports bra fell to my sides, and I panicked as I tried to figure out how much he could see. My chest was pressed firmly against the table, but surely he could see the side swell of my breasts? Was he looking there now?

  With that thought in mind, it should’ve been impossible to relax, but somehow, his touch was soothing. Very soothing. In fact— “Ow!”

  “Sorry,” Ian said. “But I’ve got to relieve some of these pressure points.” He chuckled. “So maybe instead of moaning my name, you’ll end up cursing it.”

  From that point on, the massage felt more like the few I’d gotten from professionals. Mostly pleasure with a little pain mixed in. Especially when he used his strong thumbs to press on points on either side of my spine. That hurt, but the relief after he stopped pushing felt amazing. In my amateur assessment, his ministrations were helping.

  “All right, now I need to reach some points on your sides. I’m going to use a firmer touch so that it doesn’t tickle. The last thing I want is you squirming around.”

  I braced myself for his touch, and then his large hands
were on either side of my ribcage when he spoke again. “Actually, that’s not the last thing I want—but it’s the last thing your strained muscles need.”

  What did that mean? That he wanted to see me squirm? Or perhaps wanted to make me squirm? Is that something friends said to each other?

  Ian chuckled, a low rumbly sound. “Your face just got two shades redder. But save some of the blushing for the last part of the massage.”

  Uh-oh. That sounded ominous. “Wh—what happens in the last part?”

  “I need to relive the tension in your sciatic nerve.”

  That didn’t sound so bad—except I had no idea what a sciatic nerve was. Suddenly, it occurred to me that the more important question was where it was. Warmth flooded me as I thought about that. Or maybe it was just because of the long strokes he was making down my sides. His thumbs were on my back as his fingers rubbed up and down my skin. It felt amazing except for a few twinges when he pressed on some sore spots.

  I decided to be bold. “Where’s the sciatic nerve?”

  His hands left my sides and there were two light touches on my buttocks. “Here.”

  Light as it had been, his touch there nearly made me bolt off the table. Just in time I remembered that my sports bra was undone and that I’d already flashed him once before.

  Ian’s hands returned to my lower back, rubbing and soothing. “I promise, it’ll make you feel better. And I’ll be good. I’ll be professional.”

  My tense muscles began to relax again before he added, “Though it might a little hard.”

  Holy crap. The best massage of my life, and I had to spend it overanalyzing everything this gorgeous man said. Did he mean it was hard to remain professional? If so, why? If I were watching a movie, and a guy like Ian had said that to a woman he was massaging, I’d know exactly what he meant. But Ian couldn’t mean it was difficult to be professional around me. He just couldn’t.

  Tilting my head back, I twisted a little so that I could see his face. He was looking down at me. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

  I gasped. “I—I’m not…”

  He smirked. “See? No idea. But I do. And that asshole before did.”

  No. There was no way in hell a man like Ian thought I was beautiful. Maybe the asshole by the triceps machine—maybe—but not someone like Ian.

  Ian placed his hand on my head, smoothing my hair away from my face and gently pushing my head back down. “Okay, now I’ll be professional.”

  He resumed rubbing circles up and down the sides of my spine while my mind reeled. Maybe I’d only dreamed he’d said that.

  Gradually, he worked his way lower, until he was massaging spots along my waistline. “I’m going to press against your sciatic nerve now, okay?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what I was agreeing to, but I nodded anyway. I trusted him.

  A strong finger pressed hard into the top of my ass about halfway down. I tried to keep myself from tensing.

  Ian withdrew and pressed again. His touch made me feel warm all over. And made me wonder about what his touch might feel like a few inches lower.

  A sigh issued from above me. “This isn’t working.”

  “It isn’t? How can you tell?”

  “Because you’re not saying ‘ow’. If I were pressing the right spot, you’d feel a sharp pain followed my relief when I let go. It’s difficult to find the right place through your clothes.”

  Which meant… did he mean he needed to…?

  “Can I slide your shorts halfway down?”

  I felt my face flush.

  “Just halfway. Just enough to reach the sciatic nerve. I promise.”

  I buried my head in my arms, not looking at him. Could I do this? Could I let him see that part of me? Touch that part of me?

  But he was trying to help. And… and he’d called me beautiful. He couldn’t have meant it though, could he?

  With my eyes tightly closed and my face in my arms, I lifted my hips off the table.

  “Good girl,” Ian breathed, his hands immediately grasping my waistband. With a quick, controlled movement, he pulled my shorts and panties down, exposing the top part of my ass. I whimpered into my arms, unable to look at him.

  He chuckled. “The good news is that you’re not going to feel embarrassed for long. The bad news is that’s because you’re about to feel some pain. But it’ll feel better afterwards.”

  I braced myself, and his strong fingers pushed sharply into my flesh. Crap, he was right about the pain. “Stay still,” Ian commanded as I squirmed under the pressure.

  I tried, but it was difficult. His fingers were hard, pressing in on my nerves like that. He did it a few times, in slightly different areas, and all I could do was to brace myself and wait for it to end. It figured… a gorgeous man’s hands were on an intimate part of my body and it was too painful to enjoy.

  Finally, his hands stilled, then stopped touching me altogether. A moment later, Ian tugged my shorts and panties back up. But then he rested his hand on the small of my back, his fingers partially splayed over my ass.

  The massage was over, but as long as he was still touching me, I wasn’t going to move.

  “You’ll likely feel more sore today but then better tomorrow.” Ian’s voice sounded a little distracted.

  “Okay,” I said, finally shifting my face to the side so I could see him.

  He patted my backside gently. Absently. Then he sighed. “There are things I wish I could tell you. Things I wish I could ask you. But not now. Not here where you’re feeling vulnerable.”

  His touch vanished and he stepped away from the table.

  “What? What things?” I twisted around to see him better, only remembering at the last minute that my sports bra was undone. Hastily, I placed my arm over my breasts, holding the bra in place as I sat up. “What things?”

  Ian just shook his head. “Get dressed. I’ll wait outside.”

  Then he left.

  What did he want to tell me? I fastened my bra and smoothed my clothes into place. What did he want to ask me? I did my best to fix my hair in front of a small mirror on the wall.

  But when I got out, Ian escorted me to my car, said good-bye, and headed off to his truck.

  All in all, it was the strangest workout I’d ever had.

  Nikki

  “Want to practice handstands?” Cole was on the opposite side of the counter at the leasing office, but within seconds that changed. He places hid palms on the smooth surface and hoisted himself up, his legs pointing out to the side like a gymnast on a pommel horse. For a moment, I was afraid he was going to try to rise into a handstand, but instead he swung his lower body around and sat on the edge of the counter.

  I laughed. He was such a cute kid. “No handstand practice for me today.”

  “My dad says you’re getting better. And stronger.”

  That made me blush. A couple of times after my shift last week, I’d headed over to Lou’s gym, only to have Ian show up a few minutes later. We never talked about the things he’d alluded to in the massage room, but still… things were heating up.

  He’d taken it upon himself to be my personal trainer, showing me which machines to use, setting the weight, helping me with my form. And that involved touching—a lot of it. He positioned my body in the machines, showed me how to move, corrected my form as I did the reps.

  Once a gym employee had objected that Ian wasn’t on staff as a personal trainer, and Ian told her politely but firmly that Lou’s didn’t care enough to teach basic safety procedures so he was sure as hell not going to let his friend get hurt again. After trying to break into Ian’s rant for a few minutes, the woman gave up and retreated to the front desk. After that, no one questioned Ian’s presence again.

  Ian was an excellent personal trainer, but the effect of his hands on my body served mostly to get me too hot and bothered to sleep. Each night I’d go home and replay every interaction I’d had with him that day.

  A movement in front
of me brought me back to the present. Cole was sitting Indian style, using his arms to lift his lower body off the counter. I’d seen him do that on a park bench, but the counter was much higher off the ground.

  Before I could say anything, someone beat me to it.

  “Get down from there!”

  Cole and I both jumped, and for a horrible second, I thought that Cole was going to fall off the counter. I grabbed his t-shirt and he was able to set his legs down without overbalancing. My heart was beating rapidly—he could’ve been hurt.

  “Why did you let him up there?”

  My brain kicked in and I recognized the small but fierce woman as Lydia, Cole’s mother. As before, she was impeccably dressed, this time in a cream colored jacket and skirt. As before, she was as intimidating as hell. “I—I’m sorry, he just does that kind of thing sometimes.”

  Lydia grabbed Cole’s arm and he jumped off the counter. “I’m his mother, I don’t need to be told what my son does. He’s a daredevil, like his father, and it’s up to the adults in his life to rein him in.” Her emphasis on the word adults made me feel she didn’t count me in that group.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “See that you don’t,” she said huffily, and then turned to her son. She was such a tiny woman that Cole was nearly as tall as her. “Go say good-bye to your dad and gather your things.”

  Cole scampered off, exchanging a worried glance with me as he opened the front door. Something in his expression alarmed me. The other times I’d seen Lydia pick up her son, she hadn’t given him the chance to say good-bye to Ian. So why was she doing that now?

  “Miss Foster,” Lydia said, rounding on me. “From the way my son talks about you, I gather that he considers you a friend. But you’re an employee, not a friend. He’s a nine-year-old boy. He’s friends with the children at his school.”

  “No, he’s not.” I gasped. The words had slipped out of my mouth unintentionally.

  “What did you say?”