older.”
“If I were younger, I wouldn’t be lying here at all.”
“Spilled milk. You saved my life and the entire gala, and now you’re lying up here suffering for it, and you won’t let anybody help you. It’s ridiculous and prideful. I brought my bag, and I’m going to work out that injury. Right now.”
He turns his head, resting his cheek on his hand, and squints up at me. “Is that so? Who died and made you queen? How did you get in this room anyway?”
“Daisy gave me your extra key. Now you’re going to be still and let me help you.”
He hesitates a moment, studying me, but I don’t budge. My hands are on my hips, and my expression is as serious as my resolve—despite how delicious he looks in only his lounge pants.
His hazel eyes darken, and heat filters across my lower belly. I know that look, and I know where it leads, how good it feels.
Nope. I’m not even going there. His pig head told me how he felt, and I have no interest in violating his sacred rules—as if he’s in any shape for it.
Still, I have to help him. When he never came back after the fall, I knew I had to come up here. I couldn’t let him miss the gala or worse, be seriously hurt on account of saving my life. I had to do what I’m trained to do best.
“Just relax and stop fighting.” My voice is gentler.
“What are you going to do?” His voice is gruff, even if it’s muffled in the pillow.
Taking out a bottle of scented oil, I pour it on my hands and rub them together. “Lucky for you, I’m actually very good at treating sports injuries.”
My lips press together, and my breath stills in my stomach as my hands hover above his body. He’s an amazing specimen of a man. His broad shoulders are dimpled with muscles, and the line in his back is deep and luscious. Right at the base of his spine are two hollows just above what I remember is the most divine ass.
“I’m going to put my hands on your back.” I shift into professional mode, speaking softly. “Now, I’m just going to work out the tension. I’ll slowly apply more pressure. If it’s too intense, let me know, and I’ll ease up. Okay?”
He grunts his consent, and I’m ready. My fingers hum like the electricity is growing the closer I get to his skin. Closing my eyes, I exhale slowly and begin.
Usually, I don’t talk to my clients when I’m massaging them. I simply do what needs to be done and let the music play, let them sleep or zone out, whatever they prefer. This time, I feel like I need to keep him apprised of what I’m doing… If only so he doesn’t get the wrong idea and think I’ve forgotten his rules.
“I think the strain is located in your gluteus medius. That’s the muscle that wraps around your left hip. Is it okay if I get closer there? I’ll need to manipulate the top of your butt—”
“You have permission to touch my ass.” Heat flushes my cheeks, and I almost laugh nervously.
Almost.
I maintain my professionalism and my dignity, luxuriating in sliding my hands over his strong muscles. Even if it’s only to ease his pain, I can still enjoy it. He lets out a groan when I go deeper into the injured area, and I slide my hand higher to his mid-back.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
He doesn’t answer, and I chew my bottom lip as I move my hands lower again. I do my best not to think about what’s hiding under his pubic bone. He has an impressive eggplant, and he knows how to use it. A flash of his mouth on my body heats my panties, and I slam that door.
So what if he made me come… four times. So will the next man I find. The better man.
“Are you doing okay?” I slide my hand along his narrow waist.
“That feels really good.” He grinds out as I roll my fist along the muscle wrapping around his waist.
He’s so damn gorgeous. Kneading my fingers along his torso, I distract my mind with thoughts of baseball and cold showers and Oliver’s pet tree frog… Anything to keep from getting lost in the memories.
“God…” He gasps. “That’s where it is…”
Pausing, I take my time, focusing on the specific area causing him pain. “Better?”
“I’m sure it’ll be great once you stop.”
I