“I just seized an opportunity,” Sean answers. “You said I couldn’t get in until next week, but it seems there was a cancellation.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I sit down across from him at my small desk and look down at his file, not even wanting to know how he managed to pull this off. I read the answers he provided on his questionnaire like I would with any other client, and do my best to focus, but under my outward professionalism I can’t stop thinking about what he looks like under those clothes, both dreading and anticipating that I’m going to have to put my hands on him.
We spend the next few minutes talking seriously about his treatment. Or rather, it’s me talking—stalling. I explain what I expect from him, how we’ll start adding yoga and deep stretching into his routine. He answers truthfully about when he feels the most pain and describes it as I take notes. When I can no longer stall, I take a deep breath. “Alright, let’s see where you’re tight and what we can improve,” I tell him as I stand and make my way to the cabinet beside my massage table to set up.
When I turn back around, he’s already behind me.
“Where do you want me?” he asks in a low voice, from only a few inches away. My entire body heats with thunderous desire as I look up into those eyes.
Fuck.On top of me?
He pulls his cut off and hangs it over the back of the chair.
I swallow before I answer, questioning my sanity. “The massage table is fine.” I have to figure out how to separate and compartmentalize working with him and wanting him, because I’m a total goner for this man the moment he comes anywhere near me.
“Perfect,” he says, then—using one hand to reach behind his neck—he pulls his t-shirt off and folds it, setting it on the same chair his cut is draped over. I think he begins to speak but I have no idea what he’s saying, because under that shirt is the kind of body I’ve seen only in my dreams.
Sean’s so defined that I can see every ripple of his tight abs and the deep V that disappears into his black jeans. His chest is thick and solid. Ink lines his arms and shoulders. My God,his shoulders.His arms make me want to curl up with them around me and make a home there. There isn’t much of him that isn’t covered in ink, but what I can see is smooth and tanned. The dog tags remain around his neck and remind me of his sacrifice, his bravery and his strength, somehow making his allure even stronger, as if that were even possible. Goddamn.
Sean Hunter is all man and fucking incredible-looking.
“Jeans too?” he asks, grasping for his buckle, snapping me from my living daydream as I focus on his eyes, which are watching me intently and filled with that cocky amusement. It hits me then thatI’mthe one who’s going to suffer the most through this massage.
Okay … maybe I didn’t think this through very well.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sean
All the restraint I’ve used to stop myself from tearing every single piece of clothing from Layla’s body since the first moment I saw her is worth it when I see the way she’s looking at me right now. Striving for optimum physical health has its perks, but I’d never once cared what a woman thought about my body until Layla’s warm, whiskey-colored eyes turned dark and lustful the moment I pulled my shirt off. Just knowing she wants me the way I want her is electrifying, and proves she’s one step closer to admitting she wants to be mine.
“Wait!” She stops me, holding a hand up as I work at the buckle on my jeans. “I have to leave so you can get undressed.” She straightens out the sheet on the table with a blush creeping up her throat. “And a reminder? I’m notthatkind of masseuse. I’m amassage therapist.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” I grin, removing my holstered gun and my knife, both of which I carry everywhere with me, before setting them on her desk. “I’m not self-conscious. You can stay.” I shrug, just wanting to fuck with her.
I begin to toe my boots off as she moves toward me andpresses a warmed towel to my bare chest. I take it from her, brushing my fingers over hers.
“As much as youthinkI’d like to see you naked, there are rules here. This is a respectable place and I have to leave the room while you prepare for your treatment.” She looks down to the sheet in my hand and her eyes trail over my chest one more time. “And we’re not working on your glutes, so leave your boxers on. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I chuckle to myself at the way she fights the inevitable. It all serves to twist even further into the most complex puzzle I’ve ever tried to unravel. “For such a small person, you’re really fucking bossy,” I tell her as she opens the door.
She shrugs, brushing me off. “Maybe it’s just you who brings out the worst in me?” she fires over her shoulder as the door closes behind her and I’m left standing in the middle of her massage room with my boots off and my pants undone.
I try to remember the last time a woman said no to me. Every time I think I’ve moved closer to understanding Layla, she throws me off my game. I know she does it to prove her strength, but all it makes me want to do is fuck the fight right out of her, repeatedly. I shake my head and pull my jeans off, folding them over the side of the chair where the rest of my clothes are, then I look down at my rock-hard cock and ask myself what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Layla
Taking a deep breath, I stare at myself in the mirror outside the treatment room. Looking at my mother’s eyes inside of my own, I wonder how she lived a life with no temptation, how she made it through each day giving to everyone else but never herself and still always having a smile on her face. To leave Sean standing there looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had was difficult to say the least, but I remind myself that I did leave and maybe that’s a small victory in itself. I’m pretty sure he expected that he’d show me his beautiful body and I’d just be putty in his hands. And although I almost was, I refuse to be like every other woman he’s rustled his belt for and had them drop to their knees. In Chantel’s words,I have the pussy. I have the power.There’s something incredibly strengthening about knowing that, even though I’m at Sean’s mercy, he’s moving atmypace, not the other way around. I don’t think he does that a lot.
When I knock and push the door open a few minutes later, he’s face down on the table, arms under his chin. I close the door as I always do.
“You can put your face in here,” I say, patting the donut at the end of the table. He glances up at me and my stomach drops.All his dark, delicious beauty is focused on me as he lets out a sigh while I try to ignore how perfectly the height of his face lines up with my core.
“Tuck your arms here, if you can,” I tell him, running my hand along the very limited space on either side of his thick body. That fucking body, goddamn.
Any. Other. Client.
