Unsuitable

by Lavinia Kent

“I think that we may just have to wait to know the answer to that.” He could see she wasn’t quite happy with that answer. “But I definitely am ready to explore further, to give us both time to understand what this thing between us is.”

  Jordan nodded, clearly not quite sure what to say next.

  Perhaps it was time to move it back to easy. Sex wasn’t the answer, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t part of it. “You did say something about a massage. Do you really know what you’re doing?”

  She straightened and then relaxed, clearly not opposed to a little bit of easy. “I can’t say I’m a professional, but I know the basics. Now, what exactly is stiff and needs working on?”

  There was no mistaking that double entendre, but he was going to make her work a little harder, plus he really did need a massage. “I’ve been hitting the gym hard the last few days and now I find myself an aching mess. My calves are pretty tight.”

  Her eyes dropped again to his legs. “I think we can start there. I’ll set up the table.”

  He started to stand and the puppy whined.

  “We’ll have to do something with Dolly,” Jordan said. “My guess is that if I give her a little food and take her out again, we can put her in her carrier and she’ll sleep for a good hour or two. She’s still a baby and tires out so quickly. Of course, when she wakes she’s apt to be a little hellion.”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage. Now, if you tell me where her food is, I can take care of that and take her out, too, while you set up the table.”

  She smiled and nodded, heading to the carrier and pulling a small bag of kibble and treats out of the side pocket. “Everything you need is here.”

  He took the bag and carrier from her and headed into the kitchen with the puppy.

  * * *

  —

  She’d never given a seductive massage before. Jordan stared at the table for a moment, trying to stop her hands from trembling. She’d spoken the truth that she knew the basics of massage, but they were talking about a lot more than a simple rubdown. On the other hand, how hard could it be? She had a feeling that once her hands were on him things would proceed of their own accord. “Is there a way to cover the windows?” she asked. The idea of being watched might be exciting, but the brief time she’d been scared of a paparazzo shot had left her ready to give up on that fantasy.

  “There’s a switch on the wall,” Clay answered. “It will lower museum blinds from the ceiling.”

  She looked about and located the switch. Flicked it.

  A moment more and she had the table set up.

  Oil? She hadn’t thought to ask the masseuse for it. She did have some lotion in her bag, but she couldn’t see Clay wanting to smell like roses.

  She ducked into his bathroom. Yes, he did have some lotion of his own. Not as good as oil, but certainly better than nothing. She sniffed it curiously.

  Her belly tightened. It smelled like him. She checked the brand. That was something to remember. If they broke up again, she’d be able to remember him with a tiny whiff.

  Not that she had any intention of letting him go. He might think they were still negotiating, but now that he’d let her in, she intended to do her best to hold on tight.

  She glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a windblown mess, but she could live with that. Her eyes were still shadowed from the past days but there was nothing she could do about that.

  Her turtleneck was something else, however. She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d left home. A turtleneck? Who set out to seduce a man in a turtleneck? And it wasn’t even a tight, sexy one. It was old, extra large, and slightly pilled. But it was cozy and that was what she’d wanted.

  She pulled it off.

  The long-sleeve tee underneath wasn’t much better, although it, at least, was appropriate for a massage.

  A quick debate ensued in her mind.

  She pulled it off, too.

  Hmm. Her bra was cute, skin-colored with peach trim. It wasn’t what she would have called seductive, but it wasn’t ugly and it did shape her breasts rather well—if she said so herself.

  She shimmied out of her jeans.

  Her panties weren’t an exact match, but with their light blush shade, she doubted he’d notice, not that she was sure men ever noticed. That probably wasn’t true. They did notice, but only for about two seconds.

  Did she dare? She looked in the mirror. It was being rather obvious. There would be no mistaking what she wanted if she went out like this. Not that there was really any question where this was headed, and she didn’t want there to be. Still…

  It was a pity he was already wearing the robe. There didn’t appear to be another one, something she should probably be glad of, as it indicated an absence of overnight guests. It didn’t make things easy at this moment, however.

  Twisting her hair up into a knot, she strode back into his bedroom.

  It took a moment’s courage to open his closet and pull out one of his shirts. He might resent her intrusion, but she remembered how he’d looked at her the first time she’d put on one with nothing beneath it…Hmm. Perhaps she should lose the panties and bra? No, this time he could work a little for what he wanted, what she wanted.

  She chose a softer weekend shirt. The crisp white of his business shirts was wonderful, but in this instance she’d choose soft. Besides, she thought it was rather less likely to stain if some of the lotion went a little astray.

  Leaving behind a neat pile of her clothing and shoes, she headed back to the living room.

  He’d dimmed the lights and a candle glowed on a shelf above the massage table. Gentle music permeated the air. Clay wasn’t going for subtle either.

  “I like to be able to relax when I get a massage,” he said. “I pretend I’m someplace else. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Did he really do this whenever the masseuse visited? She had a hard time believing that. She’d believe that the masseuse set it up, but Clay? Still, she made no comment.

  He turned to her, and faced her, let his eyes trace from her toes up to her messy knot of hair. He raised a brow.

  “I changed. I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I didn’t think the wool of my sweater was good for giving a massage.”

  His gaze went back to her legs.

  She didn’t say anything. He was more than free to draw his own conclusions—and they’d probably be right. She rubbed her calves together slightly, letting his eyes follow.

  The heat in the room seemed to rise several degrees.

  His eyes came back to hers, held them.

  Her mouth went dry.

  He untied the robe, letting the belt fall to the sides. It opened partway, but then held.

  She glanced at the table. It had been covered with a clean sheet when she opened it, but…“Towels. I need towels.” She turned and hurried back to the bathroom, grabbing a couple of the clean, folded towels.

  “I was wondering if you’d fled,” Clay said, still standing as she’d left him.

  “No. Well, only for a second. I really did need the towel, to cover your hips.”

  “Did you now?” His voice was a low growl.

  “It seems like a good idea. For the start, at least.”

  He smiled wryly. “If you say so.”

  She spread one towel along the table and handed him the other. “I’ll turn my back. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll start.” She turned.

  “Whatever you say.” There was a distinct note of humor at her embarrassment. “I’m ready.”

  Clay lay facedown, the plush cotton draped over his ass, but only his ass. His face was turned away.

  Heat rose high on her cheeks—and not from embarrassment. How could any man look that good? All smooth, soft skin over hard muscle, long and lean. More a swimmer than a football player. That indent at the top of the shoulder, that
curve at the bottom of his ribs, the way his neck flowed to shoulder, the small of his back.

  Her fingers curled, flexed and curled again.

  She couldn’t wait to touch him, but at the same time, she was putting off that first moment. Even though they’d touched before, this time felt different. This was the first time she’d allowed herself to consider beyond the physical, although it was certainly fine on its own.

  She stepped closer, squeezing some lotion onto her hand. She rubbed her palms together, warming it, breathed in the scent, warm, woodsy, that hint of musk—his scent.

  Again, she felt that quiver between her legs.

  She pressed her thighs together, trying to slow the excitement building within her. This needed to be slow, really slow.

  Moving to stand at the head of the table, she placed a hand on each side of his neck, putting almost no weight upon him, letting the warmth of their bodies mingle. She pulled in a breath, pressed lightly, relished the silk of his skin, feeling the heat of the gentle friction. She traced the long muscles, put more weight in it, heard him sigh with pleasure.

  Her nipples peaked. She loved that sound.

  She leaned forward, letting the weight of her body add to the pressure.

  Another sigh. She almost gave one of her own.

  Long strokes on the neck, easing the tension.

  More lotion.

  Another long caress, fingers digging in, searching for knots and points of tension.

  The warmth of his skin combined with the lotion and a cloud of the clean scent rose about her. It was the lotion, but somehow more. She pulled in a long breath. So good.

  She moved to his left side, stretched his arm, allowing herself to ease the muscles and at the same time find her own pleasure in stroking the hard, smooth biceps. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to taste.

  She moved down to his forearm, feeling the light abrasion of the hair on his arms. She rubbed back and forth, remembering how the nerves ran up the arm to the shoulder and neck, remembering how easing stress in one spot could affect other places on the body.

  She moved to his palms, knowing how much she loved a hand massage during a manicure. As if on cue, he sighed again. Finger by finger she worked, imagining how his hands would move upon her body, picture his long fingers easing down her legs, stroking through her neat curls, moving lower, easing her apart, stroking and spreading.

  Her panties were soaked.

  She moved back up his arm, once again enjoying the feel of his hair beneath her fingers.

  Hair. Beard. She hadn’t had a chance to stroke his yet. How would it feel? His stubble had been delicious the last time they’d been together. Would his beard still feel the same way or would it be soft like the hair on his head? And how would it feel if it stroked against her? Against her palm? Her breast? Her thigh?

  Her mind formed images, his dark beard, her pale thigh, moving higher and higher…

  She squirmed, the silk of her panties suddenly rough and pressing.

  Hurriedly she moved to the other shoulder and began the flow all over, trying hard to concentrate on him and not her own needs. This was about him, his pleasure, his needs. She had come here to persuade him to give her a chance and this was her best opportunity.

  Finishing the second arm, she moved to his back, running her hands up and down his spine, putting her weight into it. He sighed slightly, but mostly remained quiet.

  Her fingers trailed at the edge of his towel but, despite temptation, did not move lower.

  Chapter 25

  This was killing him. Clay lay facedown on the table and willed his body not to betray him. He knew where this was going, Jordan knew where this was going, but he needed to restrain himself a little longer.

  Her finger skimmed his lower back, over the towel and then his thighs. He pulled in a quick breath and held it. Her fingers were strong. Far stronger than he’d ever realized. She wasn’t doing much that differed from Marta, but the effect on his body was anything but the same.

  He tried to count backward in his mind.

  Began to list the states in alphabetical order.

  Tried to think of all the rivers in the United States that began with the letter M.

  None of it worked.

  She moved down to his calf.

  That was better. At least he could think when she was kneading the tight muscles of his calf.

  The Mississippi. The Missouri. The Mad River. The…

  She moved to his foot, pressed her knuckles into the arch.

  His eyes rolled back in his head. That was amazing.

  A long moan escaped his lips.

  He heard her shift behind him.

  She moved on to the other thigh.

  He clenched his eyes tight.

  The Mississippi. The Mississippi. He couldn’t think of anything else.

  She’d be at his calf soon. He could hold on another moment.

  Ahhh, that was good. So good.

  Her fingers began on the calf. He did need this.

  Down to the foot, again that magical pressure.

  The knuckles of her hand pressed deep into the ball of his foot.

  He could hold on. He could hold on.

  Then, her lips landed on the back of his knee. Her mouth warm and wet.

  He almost jerked off of the table.

  Her tongue traced small circles.

  Fuck. He’d been wrong. He couldn’t hold out.

  He tried to turn, but she held him down.

  “Not quite yet,” she whispered against his skin.

  It would have been easy to force the issue, but instead he twisted his fingers into the sheet.

  Her mouth moved back and forth over sensitive skin. One of her hands began to slide up his leg, to play under the edge of the towel.

  He swallowed.

  Her fingertips brushed his balls and it was all he could do not to howl.

  * * *

  —

  This was harder than she’d thought. She’d been so determined to keep the massage friendly for at least a little longer, but touching him was almost too much.

  Not to mention tasting him.

  She let her fingers move higher.

  How daring was she? She’d thought Clay would make some move, but all he was doing was lying there. He definitely wasn’t unmoved, there was no mistaking the meaning of those little noises or the quivers that had run through his body, but he was refusing to take control.

  It wasn’t that she minded being in control. She’d been happy enough to give him orders that day at the pool, but right now she needed some reassurance, needed to know that he was feeling what she was feeling—and she wasn’t talking solely about the physical.

  Her thighs might be tingling, but her belly was full of butterflies.

  She stroked the soft hair of his balls, cupped them lightly with one hand, while the other stroked up his ass under the towel, squeezing the tight muscle.

  He shifted, pressing himself into her caress, but made no other move.

  All or nothing. She’d pushed him away and if she wanted him back she was going to have to show him that she was ready to take risks. Big risks.

  Grabbing hold of the towel, she slowly pulled it, revealing him inch by inch.

  He was still on his belly, but she was more than happy with the view.

  That ass. Those indents at the side.

  “I think I need to be able to put more weight into it in order to rub you properly,” she whispered, her voice low and husky through no effort of her own.

  Wishing she had some gymnastics training, she levered herself up onto the sturdy table so she could sit astride him, one calf on either side of his thighs. She didn’t sit, but rather leaned forward, spreading more lotion across his back, before sweeping her hands down over
his buttocks, pressing, kneading.

  Need was starting to grow within her. She thrust her hips forward, lowering them until she brushed the curves of his ass. Then she pressed herself against him, the material of her panties pulling tight.

  The contact brought some relief, but pushed her higher, further.

  She rubbed herself again, even as she slid her hands up his back.

  Her breasts grew tight, the nipples stiff.

  She wanted to press them against him, to squeeze them tight.

  Shrugging out of his shirt, she let it fall to the floor.

  One of her hands stayed on Clay’s back as the other came up to cup a breast. Did she take off her bra now or wait until he was watching? If she took it off she could coat her breasts in the lotion, lie down atop him, rub herself until—

  No, men were visual creatures and she knew how much Clay liked to watch her.

  And it was time. It was past time.

  She lifted up again, spreading her legs as wide as she could on the small table. “Turn over.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, but no more than it took a hummingbird to flap its wings once. Then he was over and there was definitely no mistaking how he was feeling about her massage.

  * * *

  —

  It was hard to breathe. This was beyond fantasy. This was beyond…Fuck, Jordan was beautiful. Her bra made her look almost nude, but not quite, the hint of lace wrapping about her, the rose of her nipples barely visible.

  She levered herself up, her strong thighs holding her, let the silk of her panties brush the head of his dick.

  Fuck.

  He pulled in a deep breath, held it.

  She rubbed herself back and forth, slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

  Her arms rose and her hands cupped her breasts, her thumbs pressing the lace against her hard nipples. Her lips parted, he heard her low gasp. Her eyes widened.

  She moved again. Inhaled sharply. Her fingers pinched tight against the lace.

  And her face…she was letting him see everything she felt, letting herself be completely vulnerable to him. It was hotter than anything he’d ever imagined.