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“Until you and Lawrence came to town.”

Did his hands falter ever so slightly?

“If you can determine where it came from—”

“My father.” Alessandra said it without thinking. But now that it was out there, she knew it to be true. “It had to be him. My father was adopted and never knew his real parents.”

Kenton’s hands froze in place.

“Adopted?” he repeated. A moment later, his hands resumed movement again, ever so slowly.

“Yep. Mom says he never had any desire to find them. His birth parents. And his adopted ones moved to California when he was twelve. He came back, but they didn’t. I’ve never even met them.”

How could his hands work such magic while he looked so unattached to his actions? He didn’t look down at where he kneaded her calves with just the right amount of pressure. Instead, he stared at her, though she couldn’t read his expression.

Cool as a cucumber.

Not at all like when he’d kissed her.

“Can you train me?”

He didn’t appear to hear her, at least, not at first. He’d moved down to her foot, and honestly, Alessandra couldn’t remember ever having a better massage than this one. He was skilled, certainly, but she feared her enjoyment might have something to do with the fact that she’d welcome it if he were to stop right now and crawl on top of her. Despite the fact that Kenton Morley was the most enigmatic man she’d ever met, and she’d thought him a potential stalker or killer just a few days earlier, she had never wanted a man more. Not even close.

“No,” he said. “I cannot train you.”

Kenton replaced the blanket back over her leg. Then, lifting the whole thing into the air, he said, “Turn over,” just as the regular masseur would do.

She should be on her guard. Maybe she should even fear him.

But she did not.

Instead, Alessandra gave him one last Your tone is annoying look before flipping onto her stomach. She was about to pull her hair to the side to lay her face in the cradle when he did it for her, his hand grazing her neck in a very nonprofessional manner. His fingers lingered there for a moment, caressing, before pressing more firmly on both sides of her head.

She couldn’t help it.

Alessandra groaned in pleasure as his thumbs dug into the base of her neck, his hands reaching around to her temples in a double assault.

“Then who can?” she asked.

As good as it felt—and it felt damn good—she still needed answers.

“There is no one . . .” He paused. “You will not need training.”

Again the cool air touched her back as he lifted the blanket from her torso and tucked it under both sides of her waist.

Her back was not the only thing exposed. Allowing him to position her as such was a proclamation of trust. Despite the danger, she was allowing herself to be vulnerable with him.

His hands did not dip back down to touch her.

She thought maybe he’d gone for more oil, but he didn’t move.

“Why not?” she asked, thinking it more appropriate than Why did you stop touching me? or Will you please put your damn hands back where they belong?

“You are not in danger.”

That was simply not true. Even if Lawrence wasn’t a threat to her, Kenton certainly was—she was in very real danger of begging him to touch her.

And she wasn’t the type to beg.