Worth the Risk_ A Contemporary - Megan Hart Page 0,39

the contents of his suitcase lay scattered all over the floor. He started picking things up and shoving them back in the overburdened case.

"It's getting dark," Laila said quietly. "I was afraid you'd gotten lost or something."

"Yeah, that would be just like me, wouldn't it?" Hal said bitterly, shoving a pair of jeans into the suitcase. "Big idiot that I am."

"That's not what I meant."

He paused, shoulders drooping. "You really hired the wrong man for this job, Laila."

"You think so?" She sat down on the bed to watch him stuff the suitcase. "I don't. I needed someone to make my family happy I was still single. I'd say you did a great job of that today."

He risked a glance at her. "You're not mad?"

She bit her lip, a gesture he found unbelieveably appealing. "I was. You said some pretty rude things. Again."

Hal sighed and went back to the task of tidying the room. "I'm only trying to do what you asked me to."

"I know that." Laila smiled. "And I am grateful."

"Even though I've nearly killed you a bunch of times already?"

Now she laughed out loud. "I could've done without that. I'm still sore."

"I could give you a massage." The offer slipped out without him thinking about it. Once the words were out, though, all that filled his mind were thoughts of Laila, naked and covered in oil under his hands.

"Could you?" She rolled her neck, wincing. "That would really be great!"

"I need the practice," Hal admitted. "Especially since I'm missing some classes this week."

"Where do you want me?" Laila patted the bed. "Here?"

Oh, that sure would be a good place to start. Hal gave himself a mental shake. "Sure."

She paused. "Clothes on? Or off?"

"Most people prefer to wear a towel," Hal said, forcing his voice not to betray the way her question had sent his heart pounding.

Laila pulled the one from her head, letting her hair down. "Okay."

"Wait just a minute." Hal rifled through the suitcase until he found what he wanted. "My oil."

"You really do have everything in there," she marveled.

"I'll go into the bathroom," Hal offered. "Just let me know when you're ready."

He was only in the room a minute when she called for him to return. She'd turned out all the lights but one, and turned the radio to a station playing light classical music. She'd pulled the covers back and now lay face down on the robe, covered by a towel from her waist to her knees.

Hal put an extra towel next to her head. "I brought this for you."

"See, that's what I like about you, Hal," Laila said almost sleepily. "You think of everything."

He started by drizzling some oil onto her bare back. Laila gasped at the chill of it; it had been in his suitcase and not a warmer. Not the way his instructors would like, but the best he could do under the circumstances.

It warmed quickly beneath his fingers. Hal rubbed Laila's back in long, firm strokes, concentrating on running his thumbs just beside the ridge of her spine. She let out a little groan/moan, a sound so filled with pure pleasure it made Hal's mouth go dry.

"That is excellent," Laila said. "Wow. Wow!"

"This is why I want to be a massage therapist," Hal said. "I want to make people feel good."

"It's working," she mumbled.

He kept up the massage, using all the techniques they'd gone over in class. Somehow, performing the massage on his classmates was incredibly different from working on Laila. For one thing, she was a lot more vocal with her appreciation.

"Oh, yes," she moaned.

Hal's mind wanted to imagine her saying those words in that tone while his hands performed a different sort of massage. He forced the thoughts away. If he wanted to be a professional, he couldn't let his attraction to the client affect his performance.

It was hard to ignore Laila's low moans of pleasure, though, or to not imagine them as coming from a different source. She practically started purring when he began working her shoulders and neck, easing the tension out of them with strong, smooth strokes. Concentrate on the hands, Hal thought. Concentrate.

"You've got magic hands." Laila's voice had gone low and throaty. "God, Hal, you're good!"

She wriggled a little under his touch. Her back had taken on a sheer, rosy glow from all his ministrations. That was how her skin would look flushed with passion, too.

He had to stop or he'd embarrass himself. "I think that's it."

"No," she wailed in complaint, sitting up.

She clutched the