Sweet as Candy - Karla Doyle Page 0,12
table, slaying him with a view of her ass in a thong. “Better get started so you don’t run out of time.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced down at his groin. “Unless you’re one of those quick-to-the-finish-line guys?”
Not by a longshot, but he’d teach her that lesson another day. “My thirty minutes, my way, right?”
“No bareback anything. No kissing. Hands only on my body, not your mouth. Absolutely no physical harm. Understood?”
“Absolutely.” He scooped her clothes from the floor and tossed them onto the massage table. “Get dressed.”
She gaped at him as he picked up a leather club chair and repositioned it to face the wall, then sat on the floor in front of it.
“Chop, chop,” he said, making a circular motion with one hand. “I’m not paying you to stand there in your underwear.” He reached forward and patted the shiny leather. “Get dressed and get over here.”
She wiggled into the black pants, smoothing the stretchy fabric over her thighs. “If ripping my clothes off is part of your scene, you’ll have to reimburse me. And not be cheap about it.”
“Got it.”
Her pretty face disappeared from view as she pulled the sweatshirt over her head. The roomy top fell into place effortlessly, the bottom band hugging her hips the way he would if he were holding her while burying his face between her legs. Crazy as it was, watching her put her clothes on was as sexy as watching her take them off.
“Happy now?” she asked, plunking onto the chair in front of him.
“So you do care.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but neither action hid the bud of a smile on her lips. “I don’t understand you.”
“If I had a dollar for every woman who’s said those words to me,” he winked, “I’d have enough to pay you for more than half an hour.”
Her smile bloomed. A soft laugh too, as she leaned forward to give his shoulder a friendly swat.
His reflexes kicked in as he caught her delicate wrist with his fingers. He drew her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss just above her knuckles. “I should’ve done that the first time we met.”
Her lips parted and closed. “I don’t know what you want.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Yes. I always know what men want. It’s my job to determine your motivation and goals. As quickly as possible.”
“You think like a cop.”
This time, her laugh was short and brittle. “I think like somebody who’s four credits short of a psychology degree and puts that academic knowledge to use daily, analyzing the men who pay her for sex acts.” She withdrew her hand and settled against the back of the chair. “I’m too tired to try figuring you out today. Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure you get your money’s worth.”
“This. Getting to know you. That’s what I want.”
She tilted her head to one side while glancing at his groin. “It’s not all you want.”
“Already told you how that’s going to happen. In a bed, not on a massage table. Because you want to, not because it’s your job.”
“I don’t date customers.”
“Then we’re good to go, because I’m not paying you to touch me. Not today or any other day.”
For a solid ten seconds, she simply stared at him. Eye-to-eye contact with no breaks or hesitation. Fearless and direct. Either she’d used her analytic skills on him after all, or she naturally possessed two of the characteristics he liked in a woman.
“I’d offer you a penny for your thoughts, but I bet they’re worth a lot more.”
The sigh that slipped from her lips softened her assertive edge without diminishing her sexiness. “You’re intriguing and attractive, but even if I was interested in seeing you on a personal level—which I’m not,” she wagged a finger at him, “you’re a cop and I’m a sex worker. Not exactly a compatible combination.”
“When I look at you, I’m not thinking about either of our career choices.”
Still holding his gaze, she leaned forward and trailed the glossy, pink nail of her index finger down his jawline and along his bottom lip. She smiled at the involuntary shiver that rippled through him, then sat back in the chair.
“So tell me, Jake,” she said, dragging that same finger slowly up the inside of her thigh, all the way to top, where she stroked up and down over the luckiest two inches of spandex in the world. “What are you thinking about when you look at me?”
“Currently,