Page 94 of Over the Limit

“Sure, Lachlan. I’ll go anywhere you lead,” she mimics but smiles as her eyes narrow. And they stay narrowed as she tries to figure out where the hell I’m taking her.

But it’s not far.

It’s across the hall actually.

“Lachlan . . . what are . . .”

“I rented out both places—the whole floor so we could have our privacy,” I explain as I unlock the door and push it open for her. “And I wanted to do something nice for you.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when I look in the apartment to see the massage table set up, flowers on every possible surface, and candles flickering in the darkened room.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re under a lot of pressure, a lot of stress, and I wanted to do something to help you relax.”

Emotion swims in her eyes as she stares at me. “You’re the one who had a tough day. You’re the one who deserves—”

“Shh.” I put my finger to her lips. “Enough about me. There’s always too much about me and not enough about you.” I replace my finger with the touch of my lips. “Please don’t fight me on this. Leave your clothes on the chair. Slide under the sheet on the table. And I’ll have Carlotta come in in a few minutes to start your massage.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to making you feel good? Dead serious.”

“Lach.” I love my name on her lips. Especially when it’s breathless and disbelieving and full of whatever emotion is fleeting through her eyes.

“I know,” I whisper against her lips. “I know.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Blair

“That feels like heaven,” I murmur into the donut my face is pressed into on the massage table.

My body is absolute mush. Carlotta has the hands of an angel, and she has worked every single knot out of my shoulders and back. The way she rubbed my feet and hands. The way she’s worked in silence and allowed my mind to wander to a million places.

And yet, it always comes back to one person in particular.

Lachlan Evans.

The man had a shit day and rather than brood or pout or take it out on me, he somehow managed to organize something to make me feel good. To step outside of his own world and care for me.

It’s such a drastic change from what I was used to with Rossi that I struggle to accept it.

Well, not really. What person is going to struggle with being massaged into blissful oblivion? No one.

But the thought remains. He takes care of me.

“I will be right back,” Carlotta says softly. “I need more oil and it’s right outside the door.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m not going to complain about more oil,” I joke.

The door opens momentarily and then clicks back shut as footsteps head back toward me.

I hear the pump of the oil. The sound of it being shared between two hands. And when the hands hit my lower back . . .

I’m an instant pool of need. A relaxed body. A clear mind. Warmed oil. His strong hands. How could I not be?

His lips land between my shoulder blades. His strong hands work firmly over my muscles, the content sounds from deep in my chest simply reflexive.