Rattling Around: The Baxter Boys #5 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

by Charles, Jane

  “I know what you mean.” He picks up my hand. “It can’t be easy with your Grams and her memory or worrying about your Gramps’ health. You have a lot.”

  “I’m good,” I assure him.

  “You sure?”

  He’s studying me like he can see more than I want to show. I pull my hand back and reach for a piece of cheese. I don’t want to let go but I don’t want him to see too much. I don’t know what he can see and I’m not even sure what I’m hiding from him.

  No, it’s not hiding. It’s remaining in control. Compartmentalizing. One problem at a time. One hurdle that needs to be approached with rhythm, stamina and determination. Only after I clear one can I concentrate on the next and there are too many to trip now. My next hurdle is to get a job and that is all I want to concentrate on right now. It’s all I have the energy to worry about at the moment. That, and the mob coming after my brother.

  No! Not going to think about that either.

  “You know, my table is always available.”

  Unwillingly, I moan. His hands were magical. “No. I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t. I offered.”

  So, so tempting and maybe I could relax. I thought I had because I slept, but that was more exhaustion. The tightness in my neck, shoulders and back has been growing each day.

  “You’re leaning toward it aren’t you.” He’s grinning at me.

  What I need to do is forget for a while and Sean is the perfect person to make that happen. “You’re right. I do need to relax and I’m taking you up on your offer.”

  After we finish up the wine in our glasses, we put everything back in the basket. My pulse has kicked up and my body is anticipating the escape to come. I just got a sample of Sean’s magical hands a few days ago. I can’t wait to experience them without clothing in the way.

  He folds the blanket as I grab the basket and we head back to the brownstone. Nobody seems to be around but Dylan is sitting at the island working on his laptop. On the stove is a chicken, submerged in water, celery and onions floating around it, steam coming up as if it’s near boiling.

  “What are you making?” Sean asks as he sets the basket on the counter.

  “Chicken stew and dumplings.”

  My mouth waters. I know that I just had bread, cheese, grapes and wine, but I haven’t had a good, homemade chicken stew in months. On the counter is a bag of potatoes and carrots to be added later. Beside it is a box of Bisquick for the fuffy, doughy dumplings on top. I’m so tempted to invite myself to dinner, but I don’t dare.

  Sean heads to the fridge and takes out three large bottles of water. One he hands off to me. “Start drinking now.”

  “What if I’d rather finish the wine?”

  He takes it from the basket and hands it off to Dylan. “No alcohol for you for twenty-four hours.”

  “Ah, that’s why you’re back so soon.” Dylan’s eyebrows rise. “It’s the only drawback to a Sean massage.”

  He got all of that from water?

  “It helps to not be so sore. Not that you may be because I don’t know what your normal water intake is, but it also helps move the waste products worked out,” Sean explains

  I think I’ve heard something like that before. “Why no alcohol?”

  “A massage usually increases circulation and alcohol will have a stronger effect, at least right after.”

  I’m not seeing anything bad in that.

  “Have you ever had a massage? A real one?” Dylan asks.

  “My shoulders have been rubbed, but that’s about it.”

  He starts to grin. “You are in for a treat.”

  Well, I had already decided that but I’m hoping for more than just my back rubbed.

  Sean leads me up to his room on the third floor. This house is just like ours and I suspect that every single brownstone, on both sides of the street, is identical.

  His room is kind of sparse with just a bed, dresser and night stand. On the far wall is a cabinet, which he goes to and takes out what turns out to be a table and starts unfolding it and then adds an attachment to the end. I know he said he had a table, but I was kind of anticipating the bed. Then he takes out a crisp, white sheet, and tucks it around the table before adding a loose one on top.

  Inside the cabinet are also shelves of towels and bottles. He takes a ceramic bowl out, chooses a chunk of what looks like wax, then sets it in the bowl and then plugs it in.

  Mood setting?

  Then he turns. “Drink some of your water before we start.”

  I take a drink but I’m suddenly nervous because I really don’t know what to expect. It all sounded good when I was sitting in the park and the idea of being alone with Sean, skin touching skin, is something I really want, but this is a setting I’m not used to and now that I’m here…

  He takes out a bottle and then a stool and turns to me.

  “Now what?”

  “Whatever you are comfortable with,” he says. “But, it is easier to work on your shoulders, back and neck without a shirt and bra in the way.”

  I figured that.

  “If your lower back needs work, the jeans should probably go.”

  Okay, everything but panties. I get that, though hopefully those will disappear too, along with his clothing. A little massage and some sexy time is exactly what I need to escape. To feel like my life is normal again. Not that it’s my habit to sleep with guys I just met, or have only known for a few days, but it’s what I need right now.

  “I’ll leave you some privacy. Go ahead and get undressed and get under the sheet on the table. Then put your face in the round pillow at the top of the table. I’ll be back in a few.”

  I blow out a breath, a mixture of anticipation and nerves churning in my belly. “There’s also a hair tie of you want to gather it up to be out of the way.

  Then he flips a switch by the door and is gone. I quickly undress because I don’t know how quickly he will be back. It’s one thing to want to get naked with Sean but a totally different matter for him to walk in on me while I’m undressing. Then I tie up my hair and get on the table.

  At the quiet knock on the door I call for him to come in.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep.”

  14

  Rolling a towel, I place it beneath her ankles to support the small of her back. “Make sure and tell me if anything is uncomfortable or hurts too much.”

  “Will do,” she says eagerly. Her voice is kind of muffled because her face is turned to the floor.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.”

  I’d shut the air off to this room before I left. The air conditioning has been running but I don’t want her to get chilled. It’s done by flipping a simple switch by the light, which closes the vents to this room. It’s only used when I’m giving massages. At one time, I thought this would be my career and not construction, but that was short lived. I still like giving massages and I’m good at it, but I’d rather build. That doesn’t mean I don’t mind helping my friends out, though. I worked with Christian a lot when he was going through radiation. Then Dylan when he broke his hand. I anticipate spending time with Bethany’s low back and feet as she progresses in her pregnancy. My one consistent person is Zach. After long weekends as a female impersonator, his low back and feet are usually killing him from wearing those four inch heels. And, my latest and newest customer is Nina. Not that any of them are paying customers, but she plays rugby and soccer like a beast and massages have become part of her regular training. At first she was resistant, but after one, she has me on her schedule. Hers are more therapeutic than stress relief and I’m always worried I’ll hurt her because she usually has a few bruises that I need to be careful to avoid.

  Now that I think about it, that extra bedroom can be turned into a massage room, then I won’t have to keep putting things away.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

&nbs
p; I pull the sheet, exposing her back and fold it at her panty line, tucking the ends around to protect her clothing then grab the oil and put just a small amount between my palms and work it until it’s warm before I spread it across her back, shoulders and neck. Then I start with the palm circles, making my way up her back, starting on the left side.

  “What kind of music relaxes you?” Normally I put on music that the person on the table prefers. For Christian, it was always jazz. And, I should have asked before I started.

  “None.”

  That’s a first.

  “After a busy day in the kitchen with voices constantly talking and the noises that come with cooking, when I need to relax, it’s silence I need.”

  So, I won’t talk either, which is okay since this is about her.

  “Conversation is fine though,” she says. “So don’t shut up.”

  Did she just read my mind?

  “But, if I want something in the background, it’s usually, and you are going to think I’m strange, NPR.”

  I almost stop what I’m doing. “Seriously?”

  “I know, it’s strange, but I learn all kinds of interesting things.”

  I just chuckle.

  “Now you’re going to make fun of me, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I assure her. “That’s what I listen to when I’m working.”

  “Seriously?” It’s like she doesn’t believe me or something.

  “Seriously. Music isn’t my thing either.” When I reach her shoulders, I move back down again with small circles, paying attention to how the muscles are reacting beneath my palm. After I’ve done that a few times, I start with lifting the muscles on the lower back by cupping my hands.

  “That feels good.”

  And, I’ve just started.

  Noelle has some of the softest skin I’ve ever had the pleasure to touch. Silky and smooth. But beneath that beautiful skin are also some of the tightest muscles I’ve ever encountered and I wasn’t lying the other day when I said it seemed like she has knots on top of knots. I started discovering those as I was using my knuckles to smooth up her shoulders and back.

  How long has she been carrying this tension in her body? Was it before her Mom was killed?

  “Do you ever get any numbness or pain anywhere?”

  “My hands, sometimes, when I’ve been doing a lot of bread or working with a lot of dough. But, that hasn’t been an issue lately.”

  “Anything else hurt, besides your neck?”

  “Shoulders sometimes.”

  “What about when you’re working?”

  She groans. “That’s a different story. Sometimes my feet and low back if I’ve been standing all day.”

  They may not be bothering her now, but she’ll be back at work soon, so I’ll hit on those problem areas too. But, those can wait for the moment because her trapezius is as tight as a bow string.

  After working the right side as I did the left, I move to the head of the table and being thumb work on her traps. She moans a few times as I increase the pressure in places until trigger spots release and then I continue to the next trouble spots.

  “What ever happened to the art center? Is it still there?”

  “It’s been closed.”

  Disappointment settles. Even though I hadn’t really thought about the center in a long time, at least not until we started talking about it today, I hate the idea that it’s gone.

  “How long ago?”

  “About seven years.”

  Her voice is so quiet and I’m not certain if it’s from sadness or because she’s that relaxed.

  “That’s a shame. I really enjoyed my time there,” I say as I work my way toward her neck. “Why did it close?”

  “Not enough volunteers.”

  “I thought the staff was paid.”

  “Some.”

  “It’s too bad Kaden never got a chance to go there. It was great.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “So, did you go there a lot with your Uncle Tink or Grams?”

  “Sometimes,” she mumbles.

  Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk but I still feel like she’s holding something back.

  “Did your mom do stuff other than help your Grams bake?”

  Her muscles start to tighten beneath my fingertips. The exact opposite of what her muscles are supposed to do.

  “Except, now that I remember, she was the woman who was usually in the music room, wasn’t she?”

  “Piano.”

  By the tightening in her neck, I now know for certain that Noelle doesn’t want to talk about her mom, but I just don’t get why. She never really seemed to have a problem before.

  Instead of talking further, I concentrate on her shoulders and neck and eventually her muscles relax beneath my fingers.

  “That feels so good.”

  Her voice is almost groggy. She wouldn’t be the first person to almost fall asleep while I worked on them.

  After I’m finished with Noelle, she shouldn’t have an ounce of tension in her body and should sleep like a baby, assuming she hasn’t been sleeping all that well. How could she when her body is so tight?

  I don’t really mind the silence, especially if it helps her relax, which she is, and I move to her left arm, working my way down to her hands, massage them and back up her arm and switch sides, adding more oil when it’s needed.

  I only know she likes this by the moans.

  “You okay? Too much pressure?”

  “I think I’m in heaven.”

  I bite back a grin and finish her right arm before I pull the sheet back up so that it’s covering her up to her shoulders. “Do you think you can roll over?”

  “I’m not sure. I feel like perfectly cooked pasta.”

  “As you should.” I’m glad she’s reached that stage. “But I was going to work on your legs.”

  She lets out a sigh and starts turning. The sheet slips, giving me a glimpse of her boob, not all of it, and I avert my eyes and grab another towel. “Scoot down so your head is on the table.” She does so and I place a small pillow beneath her head and adjust the ponytail so that it’s not at the back of her head. She’s tugged the sheet up to cover her boobs, not that I know if they were totally on display at any point but I didn’t look because it’s not my place and I didn’t want her to think I’d take advantage of the situation.

  Once she’s settled, I uncover one leg, add more oil to my palm, warm it and begin working on the muscles of her calf.

  Each time she moans and groans I know that I’m accomplishing what I set out to do. Except those moans are borderline erotic and I need to block out the images in my head, which is really hard when I start working the muscles of her shapely thigh.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get off the table after this.”

  Her drowsy voice goes straight to my dick. She sounds like she’s just been sated in the best way possible and would be all snuggly and warm.

  Damn, this has never happened to me before. I’ve given all kinds of massages but never once have I become aroused or let my thoughts stray to the inappropriate. Of course, Noelle was never on my table before either.

  It’s wrong what I’m feeling or thinking and I need to stay focused and professional, even if I’m doing this as a friend.

  A friend who would like to maybe be more than friends.

  Stop!

  “I can turn the lights off and let you rest when I’m done.”

  “I think I’d rather curl up in your bed.”

  Do not think about her in my bed. I try hard to block the image from my mind but I’m not doing very well. In my mind, she’s under the covers, one leg out, hair rumbled from a thorough loving and a lazy smile on her lips, her blue eyes warm and relaxed.

  Stop!

  “You are more than welcome to use the bed. After you drink some water, the sleep will be good.”

  Another moan escapes. At least she isn’t talking about curling up in bed anymore and I need to st
op thinking about Noelle in my bed. At least right now. I don’t know what the future holds, but now is not that time to move whatever our relationship is in that direction. But, it’s hard to ignore when she’s practically naked, relaxed and her body soft with oils. “If you want, you can also take a shower to help get some of the oil off your body, and then crawl into bed. I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”

  “What if I don’t want to sleep?”

  My hands unintentionally still for a moment. Why did I bring up the bed? “Resting is good too.”

  She doesn’t say anything again when I move to the end of the table to work on her feet. First one and then the next. She doesn’t even flinch like a lot of people do because feet can be sensitive. Maybe she’s fallen asleep. Noelle wouldn’t be the first and truthfully, it kind of makes me happy when someone trusts me enough to be able to fall asleep, and when I’ve been able to bring them to that state.

  As I cover her foot and stand, ready to leave her alone, I notice that she’s watching me, but I can’t read what is in her eyes.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’m not sure.” She sits up, holding the sheet against her breast as she studies me. “What’s this? Us?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask slowly.

  “I was kind of hitting on you, making a suggestion of maybe…” Her face starts to turn red. “I thought perhaps…then I wondered if I read everything wrong…I suck at this.”

  “You don’t suck at anything,” I assure her.

  “You got that I was offering up or was I too subtle?”

  “A little subtle, but even if you were…” I’m shaking my head.

  Her face gets even redder as she drops her head.

  “Misread.”

  “Not at all.” If she’d just look, she’d see how hard I am.

  “So, not interested.” She slips from the table, taking the sheet with her.

  “I never said that.”

  “Yet…”

  “Not the time.”

  She tilts her head and looks at me out of the corner of her eye.