Page 92 of Whispered Promises

Flutters spark in my stomach as Nate steps back to me as soon as they let go, his hand sliding around mine without even looking.

He makes it feel…natural. Even when he’s here with someone who’s obviously a friend, whether conscious or not, his mind still considers me.

“Good, just with my girl,” Nate replies, and shit if that doesn’t send me soaring.

Glancing down, I check to see if my feet are still touching the floor. He’s making it all too easy to fall for him.

“How’s Talia?”

The man’s face breaks into a wide, dimpled smile. Dressed in all black, with a pair of joggers teamed with a T-shirt, it makes his lightly freckled face stand out more.

“Too perfect for me,” the man replies, eyes crinkling at the corners with fondness.

“Fucking too right,” Nate snorts, squeezing my hand and tugging me forward slightly. “Is the room ready?”

“Yup, all good. You can use the one on the right. Done for the day, so I’m heading out now. Lock up when you’re done?” he says, holding out a set of keys. “I’ll grab them from you when I see you Thursday for your session.”

“Will do,” Nate replies, walking us towards the doorway the man had walked through before.

“It was nice to meet you…”

“Rosy,” I call back over my shoulder, trying not to laugh at the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Rosy. I’m Jack. Feel free to remind your caveman that I’m taken, so he doesn’t need to hide you.” He laughs as we disappear down a short corridor that has a door on either side.

Nate just grunts in response, and I can’t tell if it’s in disagreement or not.

As we enter the room on the right, I’m left feeling even more confused. It’s small and cosy, with a chair in the far corner and a massage table in the centre of the space.

“Um…?”

Nate drops his gym bag from his shoulder, then turns to face me. “Can I give you one?” He points at the table.

“A…massage?” I ask. Why does he want to massage me?

“Yes,” he confirms, not filling me in on anything else. It’s not that I don’t trust his intentions; I really do. Nate has never been anything but all in. He might be grumbly, but he always seems to have me high on his priorities.

“Okay, can I ask why?”

He pauses his task of retrieving some towels from a cupboard. “Why? To take care of you.” For some reason, he seems to be the confused one. “Need you in your underwear. I can turn around?”

I’m unsurprised he hasn’t offered to leave the room. The more time we spend with one another, the more he seems to worry. I can’t lie and pretend I hate it either. The nervous part of me wants to take him up on the offer, to shimmy out of my clothes and duck under the towels he’s placed onto the bed. But there’s an unfurling spontaneity that’s unfamiliar. That part is demanding I make him watch, to feel his eyes of appreciation on me.

My pulse feels loud, my mouth dry as I don’t respond with words. My hands come up to the zip on my long-sleeved Lycra top. I grip it and try to ignore the fizzle of insecurity.

It’s just clothes. Clothes covering body parts we all have. Just take them off.

Just as I’m about to bail and ask him to turn around, my eyes catch his. His dark brown irises are almost black as they stare into me. His body is tense, and his hands are fisted so tightly the veins curling up his bare arms are bulging, drawing my gaze.

It reminds me…this man is attracted to me. He wants what I have to offer. He doesn’t have the hangups and insecurities I have. He sees me and likes what he sees.

Feeling the confidence trickle back in, I tug on the zipper. The sound is obnoxiously loud in this small space. Peeling off my top, I don’t give myself time to panic again as I slip my thumbs into the waistband of the mauve leggings and wiggle them off too.

“Perfect,” Nate says, his deep voice husky. He taps the bed, indicating for me to lie on it. I get positioned on the padded table, fitting my face comfortably into the gap.

“Can I?” He brushes his finger against my bra clasp, the touch sending a shiver through my back and down to my fingertips.

“Yes,” I consent, trying to stay calm and not fist the towel under me as he undoes the strap, the fabric falling down my sides.