The Masseuse (13 page)

The pressure building in my pelvis shattered apart all at once. Every muscle tightened. I cried out, straining against myself, fighting for more, even as the contact became too much.

“Help me,” I cried, falling forward. I needed more. I needed . . . I didn’t know what I needed.

He held my hips in place with one hand, fucking me fast, while the other crossed in front to flick over my clit. His thumb rubbed a quick hard circle, making me come again. My sensitive nipples brushed his chest as he thrust into me. I lost control, flexing and writhing, wet with water, wet with sweat and my own slick juices.

Right in the middle, he pulled out.

“No,” I gasped, empty when I’d been so deliciously full. My sex contracted as I felt his warm fluid spurt on my back. I arched, aware of his cock between the globes of my ass.

Before I could process what had happened, he’d pulled me forward so that I was straddling his face. Where I’d been empty just a second before, I was filled again with his tongue, spearing into me, and then his fingers as his mouth found my clit. I shouldn’t have looked down at him; the pleasure in his face drove me even higher.

I could barely hold my own weight, but his strong arm around my hips propped me up and forced me to take every sweet lashing of his tongue. One gentle suck and I was lost again. My arms were shaking, barely supporting my body as his fingers curved and stroked. The glorious heat pummeled me, taking my body by storm. It was too much.

I collapsed on my side, breathing hard, unable to even open my eyes. My heartbeat pounded in my eardrums as the tremors raced through me, aftershocks of what had just happened.

Without a word, he picked me up, cradling me against his chest, and carried me to the bathroom. Once under the shower’s warm water, he set me down, waiting to make sure I could still stand before reaching for the washcloth. Leaning against the wall, I pressed my cheek to the cool tile as he lathered me with soap and gently washed me clean.

I wanted to do the same for him—touch him in the same adoring way—but before I could, the hot water ran out.

“C
old!” I screeched. “Cold, cold, cold, cold . . .” I chanted this until I was successfully able to push past him and crank the handle. The water shut off with a sputter, leaving me covered with goose bumps and dripping from head to toe.

“That,” he said, “was definitely the fastest I’ve ever seen you move. And that’s pretty fast, considering you thought someone was breaking in earlier today.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, rivulets of water streaming down his bronzed skin. His wet, slick hair was nearly black and had more curls than when it was dry, tempting me to wind it around my fingers and pull his face down to mine—something I would have done had I not been mesmerized by his growing erection.

“I guess the cold doesn’t bother you much,” I said.

His grin widened. He wasn’t the least bit modest.

“Not when I’m naked with a beautiful woman.” He stepped forward, and the warmth rekindled low in my belly as he pulled my body against his. “I’ve thought about seeing you this way since you showed up at the coffee shop with your wet hair.” His lips brushed just the corner of my mouth, enough to make my pulse scramble. He moved my hair over my shoulders, and I jumped when he nipped the sensitive skin behind my ear with his teeth. “You smell incredible.”

“It’s the sandalwood,” I murmured, gasping as his fingertips trailed down my breasts. Slowly he began to circle one hardened peak.

“It’s you,” he murmured. “Everything about you calls to me.”

His breath teased my lips as I flattened my hands over his hard chest. His cock twitched against my waist.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I asked.

He took a step back, brows drawing together. A strange, worried look passed over his face. The separation made me self-conscious, and I covered my chest with my hands.

“Food,” he said, his features softening. He reached for my hand, leading me out on the bathroom floor where he wrapped a towel around my shoulders. “You need your strength.”

“So you can ravage me again?” As he turned away to dry off, I stared at the winged tips of his shoulders and the lean lines of his waist. Artists made paintings of backs like his.

“If I recall, I was the one being ravaged,” he said.

I snorted. “I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

“Good.”

I put on a short silk robe that was hanging over the door and took a couple minutes to fix myself up. The reflection in the mirror showed a different woman than the raccoon-eyed girl who’d first stepped into the shower. My cheeks were pink and flushed, my lips a little swollen. I didn’t bother drying my hair because I knew leaving it wet would drive him crazy.

When I emerged, I found him in the kitchen wearing only his jeans. There was something unbearably sexy in the way they rode low on his hips and left his bare feet peeking out beneath the frayed hems. While he heated something up in the microwave, I sat on a stool at the island, admiring his chest.

He paused, one hand on the microwave door, to narrow his eyes at me.

“If you have to wear clothes, you can wear that,” he said.

“Oh, can I?” I twirled the tips of my hair around my fingertip, pleased when I heard the growl rumble in his chest.

“Careful,” he said. “You know what happens when you tease me.”

My stomach clenched just at the thought of what he could do to me. But there was more to this than mind-blowing sex. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d allowed a man to stay this long. Some hadn’t wanted to; some I’d just kicked out. Certainly no one had ever brought me breakfast and thought to return my car to the garage. He felt more familiar than anyone I’d ever known—he’d drawn out parts of me I hadn’t shared with anyone—and yet he still seemed so much a mystery.

The microwave beeped.

“I hope you like Cuban breakfast sandwiches,” he said. He’d already found the plates.

“I’ve never had one.” The scent of eggs, cheese, and pork filled the kitchen. My mouth began to water.

“They’re better fresh,” he admitted, placing the plate in front of me. “My mom used to make these for my dad.”

It occurred to me that this was possibly the first spontaneous thing he’d offered about his past. I wondered if his mother was Cuban—that would explain his naturally bronze skin and dark features—but I didn’t want to ask a question I wasn’t prepared to answer myself. I didn’t know where my ancestors were from. My dad suspected I was a mutt—he always used kinder words, but they meant the same thing.

“Lucky him,” I said, noting the way he’d said
my dad
, but not
me
.

Alec snorted. “Right. Lucky him.”

Or maybe not so lucky.

“Is she still alive?” I remembered he’d told me he had spent time with Maxim Stein growing up. Maybe the Steins had stepped in when she’d passed.

“Yep.”

“Oh,” I said. “Does she live very far away?” He appeared to know the area pretty well. It seemed likely that he’d grown up here, or at least lived here for some time.

“Not far enough,” he said, elusive once again. I didn’t press; his mouth had pulled into a tight frown.

I took a bite, closing my eyes to savor the delicious tastes. “Where’d you get this?”

“There’s a great Cuban bakery down the street.” He tilted his head at my surprised expression. “You need to get out and explore more.”

“You want to play tour guide?” Amy had done some of that, but most of our time had been spent engaging in Paisley-appropriate activities: the aquarium, the water park, Disney World.

“Think you can keep your hands off of me that long?”

“I think I can manage.” Maybe.

“I’m not sure I can.”

I grinned as his focus turned from his sandwich to my robe, which had slipped off my shoulder.

“If we don’t leave now, we’re not going to,” I said.

His forehead crinkled, as if he was really contemplating this decision. Then, before we could get into trouble, he put his plate in the sink and went to find his shirt.

Half an hour later we were in his Jeep cruising down the side roads toward the bay. I’d chosen sandals and a lime green summer dress, loose enough to be casual but short enough to show off my legs. Despite Alec’s protests, I was wearing panties, but once he saw the lacy boy shorts and matching bra, he didn’t argue too much.

We took the bridge across the Bay and, when we reached the town of Clearwater, veered south down the coast. There were fewer tourists than there had been during winter break, but still a steady flow of people entered the little beach-front shops and restaurants. He pointed out a few good places to eat, and I thought we might stop and get out, but he continued on.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked suspiciously.

“You’ll see.”

Leaving the fancy hotels and beach rentals behind, we passed through a residential area, where the gated mansions began to rival Maxim Stein’s. Though neither of us talked, there was a quiet comfort between us. The air was still charged with electricity, especially as his fingertips absently began to circle my knee, but it felt less urgent than before.

The mansions gave way to golf courses, and finally to the sandy shores of the Gulf of Mexico. When he stopped at a single-pump gas station for drinks, I remembered to check my phone. Amy had called, and with a wince I quickly called her back.

“What the . . .”

“Sorry, I’m here. I’m alive,” I said before she could finish.

“Home visits?” A pot banged in the background and she swore. “I thought you were taking the day off.”

“I am,” I said. “With Alec.”

Pause.

“Alec the ass?”

“Turns out Randall’s the ass. And Alec is a sex god.”

Pause.

“Go on . . .”

I giggled. “I can’t right now. We’re out exploring. I’ll call you later.”

Alec pushed through the door of the gas station, smiling that smile that melted me like butter.

“You can’t just . . .”

“I’ve got to go.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” I said with a grin. “But I love you.”

“Fine,” she said grumpily. “Love you, bye.”

I shoved the phone back in my purse on the floor as Alec set a paper bag of snacks on the backseat.

“Love?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked. “Should I be worried?”

The butterflies in me recognized the hint of jealousy in his tone and fluttered their wings.

“You should be terrified,” I said. “Amy’s very protective of me.”

He turned the key in the ignition. “I guess that’s something she and I have in common.”

He said it so matter-of-factly I couldn’t help but kiss him. I held his face in my hands, closed my eyes, and breathed him in. He smelled wildly masculine, a scent all his own, and the soft pressure of his lips pulled at my heart just as it stirred something deep in my stomach.

I was falling too fast for him.

“You scare me a little,” I admitted.

His hands threaded through my hair, pulling me back for another soft kiss.

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “I know the feeling.”

*

A little over an hour after we’d left Tampa, we entered Fort De Soto Park. Alec paid the park ranger, and took a right at the historic military fortress, named, he told me, for the explorer Hernando De Soto. We passed long beaches, lined with white sand and sheltered by tangled trees and tall yellow grass, finally parking at the far end of a nearly empty lot.

“This seems private,” I noticed.

A salty breeze blew through the car as he opened the door.

“It’s quieter than the private beaches,” he said. He brought my hand to his lips and bit my knuckles lightly. “I wanted to be alone with you.”

My heart stuttered. I was glad when he stepped outside to stretch his legs so I could catch my breath.

“Should I have brought my bathing suit?” I asked when I met him around the back of the car. The air was cool enough that I was glad I’d packed a light sweater. I wasn’t sure I could manage a swim.

He shook his head. “I was thinking we could walk.”

A walk on the beach? Was this guy for real?

He threw a blanket from the trunk over his shoulder and led me over a short, rickety bridge that crossed the marsh. On the opposite side, the trees opened to a sandy shore and the pristine, blue-green waters of the Gulf. A few people were already there—a different group from those that flocked to the touristy beaches. We passed an older couple in beach chairs, each with a worn paperback. A man teaching his son to fish. A young woman with a purple streak in her hair, who was touching up a painting on an easel.

I kicked off my sandals and carried them in my hand, walking beside him through the surf. The water was cold enough to feel refreshing, and the sand crunched beneath every step. Overhead the sky was clear and blue, but pewter rain clouds gathered over the horizon.

“This is incredible,” I said, giving wide berth to a blue heron that watched us from the grass, ten feet away. “I’ve only been to the beach once since I moved here. Amy and I took her daughter on Christmas.”

It had been a hard day; Paisley hadn’t said a word to Amy until a man dressed like Santa had waved from his sailboat, just off the shore. That was less than two months ago, and she hadn’t said much more since then.

“Did you move here because of Amy?”

I rubbed my arms. The sun was warm, but the breeze was chilly. “Partly. Amy’s had it rough since her divorce. It’s not easy being a single parent.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

I missed a step, caught up.

“So, you . . .”

He laughed. “I was raised by one. There aren’t any little Alec Flynns running around.”

I wondered if he’d been raised by his father. Earlier he’d said his mother didn’t live far enough away. I was just about to ask when he looked over his shoulder at me.

“And the other part? You said Amy was part of why you moved. What else brought you here?”

I twisted my hair into a knot and crossed my arms. “I like to go new places. Try new things.”

“But you moved to Florida and have only been to the beach once.”

“So?”

“So if you were looking for a new place to experience new things, I’d think you’d make a point of experiencing them. You have a job, an apartment, friends close by. That’s what people do when they’re trying to set down roots, not just passing through.”

My feet had stopped, and I wiggled my heels before I sank in the sand. “Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Not
all
figured out.” He grinned. “I’ve got some things figured out.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Like what?”

He threw the blanket away from the surf and moved closer to me, gaze sharp and penetrating. “Like being asked personal questions gets under your skin.” He moved my hands to his chest, and held my wrists so I couldn’t pull away.

I scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

“I know you like to keep people at a distance, and I’m guessing there’s a reason.” I looked down, unable to help it. “I know you like it when my tongue touches you here.” He licked the place where my neck met my shoulder. “And here.” His thumb trailed down my breast. “And here.” His hand slid briefly between my legs.

“Alec,” I gasped, then searched the surrounding area for any witnesses. We were alone. For now.

His lips made a slow path across my collarbone. I shivered as his fingertips brushed the strap of my dress off my shoulder.

“I know you close your eyes when you know I’m watching you,” he whispered. “And I know you don’t trust me.”

I stared into his eyes, dark as the ocean and filled with secrets.

“Should I?”

“That’s up to you.”

An alarm rang in my head.
Too close
, it said. I didn’t want to sit by, unable to stop him as he slowly stripped down my defenses. I needed to regain my footing, take the upper hand.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

My hands lowered down his chest, under his shirt and then back up. My nails raked over his smooth skin—not hard enough to scratch, but enough to remind both of us that I could play this game too.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.