sensation. It was heaven, but I couldn’t fully relax, because what if I made an embarrassing groan of pleasure?
He released me, and I let out a long breath. Thank goodness maybe we were done, because my heated cheeks couldn’t take much more. I was already panting way more than a relaxed person should be. But then, to my utter horror, he stepped behind me.
“You’re rigid,” he whispered. I heard it clearly because he was so close to my ear. The air tickled my neck and goosebumps spread down my neck to my chest.
He was slow but deliberate as he pressed down the muscles connecting my shoulder to my neck. Sweet Lord, I was gonna die like this. Let me go this way. It was a good life.
“Relax,” he said again.
I wanted to relax but the second his hands touched me again, a different sort of tension took over—sexy-man-proximity tension. His scent encompassed me. He smelled like cooking dinner, and relaxing by the fire, and good conversation. He should smell like death and regret; that would make this easier.
The image of his naked, glistening skin popped back into my mind. It had been there most of the night while I’d tried to sleep. It was the first thing I saw behind my eyelids when I woke with the blankets tangled between my restless legs. Wow, this was not the best time to remember that. But, well, since we were here …
“It’s a little hard at the moment,” I said to break the tension. When he went stock still, I realized my mistake. “To relax,” I added as quick as possible.
“Hmm,” he rumbled out.
Dear God, did he feel anything close to this on his end? This spark? Was it because I was a hard-up horn dog with a totally indecent crush, or was this heat between us a real thing that would exist outside the roles we played? You couldn’t force or fake attraction, but sometimes two bodies rubbing together was enough to stir our most ancient needs.
“Roll your shoulders,” he said.
Then he took my head in his hands and gently pressed his thumbs into the base of my skull while his fingertips spread through my hair. Goosebumps spread over my skin and my breasts screamed out for attention in the only way they knew how. My nipples hardened and grew heavy with want. Play with us, squeeze us, twist us, suck us, they called out.
“You’re a string tuned to high. A second from snapping,” he said softly.
“I am not,” I said. It came out as a half-hearted whisper.
He tilted my head side to side. He moved to the deep tissue of my upper back and neck. As a cellist, I had almost perpetual back pain and what I called “cello butt”—a constant ache in my tailbone from sitting stock-straight on the edge of a chair. I wondered if he was aware of cello butt. Maybe those muscles needed to be worked.
I coughed out and cleared my throat.
He didn’t notice and continued my three-hundred-dollar massage. As he rubbed, an amazing thing happened: I actually started to relax.
“Ohh,” I moaned. I didn’t even care.
I did notice that his body pulled back away from me slightly. Maybe I freaked him out. But he was the one rubbing me down telling me to relax; what the heck did he expect?
He pressed my shoulders down away from my ears. As he did, he said, “Years of playing incorrectly have locked them into a hunched position.”
He rubbed his thumbs deep into the tension. My body felt delicate and tiny under his touch. He could easily toss me around, bend me, break me …
Chapter 17
Believe the story the music is telling you.
DEVLIN
Finally, she started to relax into me. She was pliable. She took instruction perfectly. I could spend my life instructing her into various positions. She melted into me and it grew more difficult to ignore the heat radiating between us. Sweat broke out along my brow. The air puffed out of my nose, too hot.
She had to feel it too. What would she do if I slid my hand forward and across the expanse of her delicate collarbones? Felt all her softness under my rough skin? How would she respond?
I cleared my throat. “Pick up your bow again.”
It took her a minute for my request to sink in through the layers of relaxation. Eventually, she blinked rapidly and picked her bow back up. Her hand clamped it into a rigid C-shape.
“No. Hold on to that relaxation. Feel