by Sara Daniel
With ten minutes left in the massage, he ended his conference call. If she initiated a conversation, she might get him to speak to her—or at least acknowledge her—before he began another call.
“Would you be comfortable unbuttoning your shirt? I’d like to pull it off your shoulders, so I can knead your skin.”
If she planted the seed, maybe in another session or two he would agree. For maximum effectiveness, his issues needed to be addressed on a skin-on-skin level—the norm in her industry, although not necessarily for office sessions.
He turned his head toward her, and she rubbed the strained tendons on the far side of his neck, refusing to give in to the impulse to trail a line of kisses along them. Even so, his eyebrows rose. “Is this I show you mine, you show me yours?”
Her fault for allowing him to guess the direction of her thoughts. Because she ran a straight therapeutic massage business, not a shady front for men who paid to be serviced, she removed her hands from his body altogether. “Not as long as I’m on the clock and getting paid.”
“I apologize.” At least he possessed the good sense to recognize the offensiveness of his suggestion. “I didn’t mean to sound like I requested something illegal. Good policy.” Clearing his throat, he loosened his tie. Then he paused and called his secretary. “Louise, you may go home now.”
While he unknotted the tie and began working the buttons of his shirt, Willow turned to get a bottle of oil from her bag so she wouldn’t ogle his lovely, if tense, physique and throw her business ethics back into doubt.
The door to the office flew open. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Mr. Vanderhayden, but my intercom is malfunctioning. What did you—” Louise broke off. Her gaze raked over his askew clothing, and her mouth dropped.
Oh, my gosh. Willow tried not to laugh, but a snicker escaped anyway. Apparently, the buttoned-up CEO had never shown any skin in front of his secretary before. Her goal to loosen him up appeared a runaway success. Propping one leg on the armrest of his chair, she pretended to fix the leather lace on her moccasin, trying to contain her inappropriate humor.
“I said you could go home so I wouldn’t shock you and feed gossip to the entire office if you walked in on me with my shirt half-open.”
Judging from Louise’s expression, sending her home early had never entered their conversation before, not that many people considered an hour-and-a-half past quitting time on a Friday early. “Oh, no, sir, not a word to the staff. Have a good night, sir.”
As soon as she pulled the door shut behind her, Colin circled Willow’s calf with his warm hand, pushing her away. “Thanks for nothing.”
Maybe her attempt to keep her emotions in check added to the wrong perception, but instead of regretting her actions, she savored the warmth and delicious tingling remaining from his touch. “Have you never loosened your tie in front of your employees before?”
“I don’t believe so. I have an image to uphold, you know.”
“The constraints of your image are part of the reason you need my touch.” Sliding her index finger around his collar, she smiled at his light shiver. “Would it be so bad if we attempted an image makeover?”
“Let’s stick with what I hired you for.” Pulling his shirt away from his chest, he bared his broad shoulders while still leaving his sleeves and cuff links secure on his arms.
“Fair enough.” Standing behind him, she took in the view. His pale skin held no hint of a farmer tan, confirming his lack of sun exposure. No rolls of fat tissue or exposed ribs marred his appearance, either. He’d managed a sculpted physique, accented with a sprinkling of chest hair. “I have to know your secret. I’ve yet to see you get up from your desk. Yet, you have a six pack. How is that possible?”
“So, now you like my mysterious and sexy image, huh?”
Not answering her question followed his expected pattern of behavior, but teasing instead of ignoring her surprised her. In a good way, too. Maybe he wasn’t a hopeless workaholic, after all.
Placing a foam headpiece on the papers on his desktop, she smiled at him. “If you like, lay your face on this. I’ll be able to manipulate your neck muscles better. Next time, I can bring in a special chair so you can lean forward into the foam at a more comfortable angle. It’s not conducive to you working through the massage, which is why I haven’t suggested it before, but a lot of clients take advantage of the opportunity for a quick nap while I work.”
“A nap?” His eyebrows shot up, and he pushed the foam away, picking up one of the papers beneath it as if to prove he wouldn’t be caught napping under any circumstances. But he did bend his head more than usual for her.
Squirting a quarter-size amount of her favorite massage oil onto her palm, she worked it between her hands, then slid her fingers from his ear down to his shoulder. “I took a lovely nap this afternoon. I take one most days, as a matter of fact. I recommend them.”
“Unlike some people, I have a real job.”
Anger flooded her, and she dropped her hands to take a steadying breath. “What I do doesn’t feel real to you?”
“You know what I mean. I know what you charge me per hour, and I can multiply by forty hours a week. Although considering you’re free enough to come here whenever it’s convenient for me, plus take naps every afternoon, I doubt you bring in that paltry amount.”
“I don’t, nor do I want to.” She shuddered at the thought of forty full hours of paying clients. Her risk factors were high enough without working to death. “If a real job has an income threshold and requires someone to clock in before the sun’s up and punch out after it’s gone down, you’re right. I don’t have a real job, and I have no intention of getting one. I have enough money for a roof over my head, food in my stomach, clothes on my back, and entertainment with my friends. Why would I want to make myself miserable to get more, when I already have enough?”
“You’re getting by.” Revulsion rolled off his tongue with each word. “Have you ever given a thought to your future? What are you going to do when you’re eighty-years-old and you’ve outlived your money?”
Heart pounding and eyes stinging with tears, Willow yanked the pillow off the desk and threw it in her bag. The full thirty-minute session fulfilled, she would not waste another second on the narrow-minded asshole. “I would love to be eighty and outlive my money. If you could guarantee me that future, I’d take you up on it in a heartbeat.”
Chapter Two
“Why is she not on the calendar for this week?” Colin demanded three days later, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Despite his request for Willow to be worked into his schedule three days a week, he didn’t see her slotted in once.
“I have a message out to Ms. Jefferies,” Louise said. “She doesn’t schedule in advance. As soon as I hear from her I’ll send you the update.”
More of her live for the moment philosophy, which translated into a terrible way to run a business. At least her poor response to his practical advice at the end of their last session hadn’t caused her to cancel.
“Unless you’d like me to find another massage therapist who’s willing to book permanent time slots?” Louise asked.
“No, I want Willow.”
“Of course, sir. I will make sure she’s knows.”
“Don’t tell her I said this, but do whatever you have to do to get her in here.”
“Without letting her know how desperate you are to have her,” Louise deadpanned. “Yes, sir. Did you enjoy your massage after I left on Friday?”
Hell, now his straitlaced professional secretary thought teasing him made for acceptable office banter. Willow would enjoy discovering the extent of her terrible influence.
Attempting to rise above her corruption, he barricaded himself in his office to focus on the day’s tasks. But he didn’t breathe easier until she joined him late in the afternoon. Looking forward to her voice so much, he initiated the conversation. “Did you have a nap today?”
With one hand on the door, she paused, app
earing small and vulnerable. “Do you really want to attack my irresponsible habits before I’ve delivered your massage?”
More than simply pissing her off Friday evening, his words had hurt her. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t regret forcing her to take a cold, hard look at her future. “I was attempting small talk.”
Face brightening, she strolled toward the desk, her cheerful energy on full display again. “Acknowledging me and making small talk? My, my, I’m such a bad influence.”
“Funny. I had the same thought.” But he smiled in return.
She wore a fuchsia tunic top, paired with leggings and the moccasin boots, creating such a cuddly image he ached to hug her, although he still didn’t understand the allure of blue lip gloss. If anything, she seemed to have applied it heavier than last time. Or perhaps she’d used a paler face cream.
“As a matter of fact, I slept in this morning and had a nap this afternoon. Catching up from my weekend fun, you know. So, what fun things did you do this weekend?”
“Fun?”
Her smile faded and she leaned her hands on the desktop, across from him. “Did you leave the office this weekend?”
“Yes. I went to my condo on Sunday.”
“Excellent.” Her brow furrowed. “But you were here on Saturday? Doesn’t it bother you to waste rent money by hanging out here every day?”
“I own it, and it’s an investment. Do you ever have clients lie down to give them a massage?”
“Of course. That’s the industry standard. Do you want to lie down here?” She rapped her knuckles on the polished wood of the desk.
“No.” Considering the mere act of unbuttoning his shirt had shocked his secretary, he risked sending her into cardiac arrest if she walked in on him lying across his desk. Standing, he slid back a door built into the paneling of the wall behind him and tipped his head for Willow to follow.
Eyes wide, she joined him at the secret entrance. Glancing from the private full bath on the right to the gym equipment and extra-long couch on the left, her expression turned skeptical. “And you don’t take naps?”
“I crash around three a.m.”
A single shake of her head conveyed her disappointment in his response. “Sleeping isn’t for sissies. Your body needs to heal and stay healthy, but I don’t expect you to take my word. You can Google it.”
Wasting minutes, let alone hours, on something so frivolous did not have a place on his to-do list. “What kind of massage happens lying down?”
“Almost every kind. I can do the same thing I did at your desk, concentrating on your upper back, neck, and shoulders, or I can give you a full-body massage, like you’d receive in a spa setting. In that case, you would take off your clothes and cover yourself with a towel. If you’ve never had a full massage before, we work on everything above the waist and below the thighs.”
Submitting to her ministrations while naked held a lot of appeal. Convincing Willow to concentrate on the area between his waist and thighs sounded even better. “Do you ever date clients?”
“I’ve given massages to men I dated. Some stayed on as clients after the relationship fizzled.” Her lips curved. “That might mean I’m a better masseuse than a girlfriend.”
Despite wanting the girlfriend version, he only needed her professional services. “I’ll stay dressed from the waist down, and you can concentrate on my shoulders, where I need the attention. Besides, I have some work to finish.”
“You’re going to work while you’re lying on the couch? Would it kill you to take a break?”
“My time’s too valuable to waste. I can knock out a lot of tasks in a half hour. And don’t use any of that oil. I don’t have time to shower right now.”
After fiddling with his cuff links, he took off his shirt and hung it with his suit coat. Then he looped an earpiece over his ear and dialed one of his West Coast offices while bringing up a spreadsheet on his laptop. Arranging the device on the cushion facing him, he lay on his stomach, awaiting Willow’s personal touch.
He stared at the screen, trying to ignore his disappointment over giving up both the opportunity to have her hands caress every inch of his skin and to continue their banter. Limiting her hands to his upper half while he continued to work constituted the right, practical decision. He only made correct, practical choices.
***
With the couch set lower than a usual massage table, Willow leaned over far enough to make her own back ache. As long as a dizzy spell didn’t hit her, she didn’t mind the extra discomfort.
After the half hour ended, she straightened and arched her back, blinking away momentary stars from the abrupt shift in blood flow. Balance restored, she shook out her hands and repacked her supply bag.
Colin set aside his earpiece and laptop then crossed the room and shoved his arms back into his shirt sleeves. After buttoning his crisp, white shirt, he looped a blue tie around his neck.
She didn’t recall him ever wearing another color in her presence. “Are all your ties blue, or do you only own one?”
“I change at least once a day, sometimes twice.” Opening an oversized cabinet door, he gestured to several suit bags, a half dozen white shirts, and a dozen blue ties. Some ties sported a muted stripe, others a subtle paisley design.
Without staring at them lined next to each other, she wouldn’t have discerned a difference. “Well, Christmas shopping for you will be easy. White shirt, blue tie. Check.” Of course, if she bought him a gift, she’d attempt to rock his wardrobe with a tie-dye shirt or, even better, Rudolph boxers with a prominent, glowing red nose.
While winding his tie and securing it in a snug knot against his starched, buttoned collar, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you buy presents for clients?”
“If the mood strikes.” Unable to hold his gaze without leading him on, she shrugged and glanced at the clock above the treadmill. “Anyway, you’re not a client at the moment. Your session ended two minutes ago, and you don’t have any upcoming sessions booked, so I’m on personal time.”
“That sounds promising.” He winked. “How much personal time do you want to devote to me?”
Despite having no future to offer, she stepped toward him and looped her arms around his neck. “Enough for a kiss, to start with.”
Instead of rushing to open a phone conversation with someone on the other side of the world, he smiled and bent his head. “Let’s make it a memorable one.”
A thrill shot through her, and she brushed her cool lips over his warm ones, closing her eyes. Oh yes, kissing Colin was destined to be a memorable experience. The cold authoritarian she’d met on the first day melted into someone more passionate and sweeter than she could have imagined.
Cupping her face with his hands and angling his mouth, he poured the intensity she’d previously only seen him devote to his work into turning her body into a tingling, craving mass of need. She loved the way he cradled her—so gentle, yet firm.
Stars danced in front of her eyes, but she willed them away to press her tongue between his lips. No matter how light-headed she became, she refused to miss a moment of the kiss. Colin’s mouth made the opportunity to enjoy worth the risk of passing out.
But, too soon, he broke off, panting, his eyes dilated with desire. “I have to get that.”
“Get what?” His words made no sense, then her ears started ringing. No, not her ears. His damned phone.
“Of course you do.”
But he’d already turned his attention to a conversation he gave far more importance to than anything she offered.
Sinking onto the couch, she pressed her fingers to her still tingling lips. Dear God, she hoped she didn’t affect him as strongly as he affected her. If he became emotionally invested, she’d bring pain and misery into his life.
Another glance assured her his phone call consumed him. As a momentary diversion, she’d indulged in a small slice of romance with the one man who appeared suited to give exactly that and not expect more.
When her heart rate returned to something approaching normal—her version of normal, anyway—she picked up her bag and left the office unnoticed.
***
“Finally,” Colin muttered, pacing in front of Louise’s desk as she stepped from the elevator.
“It’s seven-forty-five, sir. I thought my official start time was eight a.m.”
Shaking his head, he dismissed the mundane discrepancy. After the kiss with Willow two days ago, he wanted to carve personal time into his schedule. However, Louise controlled his office hours, forcing him to pace the floor and plead for her assistance. “When Willow comes today, hold my calls.”
Eyes wide, she typed in her computer password and clicked on his calendar. “What should I do about the key meeting on the Downing merger you have scheduled?”
Hell. He’d hoped to blow off a status report, not a Downing meeting. “All right. I’ll take the call, but clear fifteen minutes from my schedule at the end of today’s massage and for every future session. Also, cancel all calls and meetings during future massages.”
“Yes, sir.” Louise kept her expression neutral.
Needing to make his expectations clear, he added, “And I don’t want any word of this getting out to the staff.”
“Of course not, sir.” Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a rush. “I’d like to leave work by five-thirty, sir, to get to my son’s basketball game tonight.”
“I didn’t know you had a son.”
“You never asked.” Reaching behind a stack of files, she lifted a framed family picture. “He’s ten. My daughter’s eleven. I missed every single one of her soccer games this year. I promised I’d do better with my son’s games.”
Never having discussed personal lives with his staff, he’d wandered into unfamiliar territory. “Did you ask for time off to go to your daughter’s games, Louise?”