Gray kept one ear and eye on the sliding glass door as he devoured more of the book so he could dispose of it quickly if Michaela came out there.  He should be working, since his laptop booted up fine, but he could not get the story out of his mind.

What five-year-sex-deprived man read this shit? Continue to read it even though he knew it amounted to masochism? 

He did, and until he could find somewhere private to re-read chapter nine, he would be left in the same state of limbo as the hero, Ryker Stone.  Itchy, achy, and needing relief that only Sonia could give him.  But Sonia wouldn’t be giving it up easily.  She was holding out until Ryker admitted he loved her.  Hell, Gray was half in love with Sonia right now too, so Ryker had to be.  He was mentally screaming at the dumbass to just say it already.

He laid on his back with a groan, rested the book on his chest and covered his eyes with his forearm.  So this book is what literary snobs, like himself before now, were calling mommy porn?  Hell, it was tamer than some thrillers and suspense novels he’d read and definitely much less graphic. 

That a writer could use mere words so effectively to bring him to his present agitated state, without using a vulgar word, amazed him.  The build-up had him there, and he couldn’t imagine how the sex scene he knew was coming up would play out. 

The mystery of why women read romance novels was now clearly solved for him.  Those fictional men protected and cherished their women, unlike many men in the world today.  It was an escape from that reality women sought in reading them.

But did these type of books raise the bar to a level that no mortal man could ever reach?

Gray would say no, because he worked with plenty of gruff, alpha types who he knew would lay down their lives in a heartbeat for their country, family, or the woman they loved.  Gray wasn’t gruff or alpha, well mostly, but he would lay down his life for those reasons too.  He almost had when Mona arranged for him to be sent to the border in the middle of a cartel war to shut him up.

Those men were still out there, if a woman was selective and patient.  Maybe that was the point in reading these books, other than sexual titillation.  These stories satisfied those women while they waited for that man, and gave them hope he existed. 

Gray’s motive for continuing to read it was the sexual titillation, and boy was he titillated at the moment.  He glanced at the slider again, then rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow beside his elbow in case he needed to hide the book quickly. 

Before opening it, he studied the cover for a second to compare it to the descriptions the author gave in the story.  The couple on the cover in the passionate clench were spot-on with Ryker and Sonia, with the man’s hard jaw and rippling abs and the short, thin woman’s cropped blonde hair.

That woman had nothing on curvy little Michaela Girabaldi, though.  He suspected if she had been the heroine in this book, the hero, Ryker Stone, wouldn’t have lasted until chapter nine to finally have his way with her.  The three-hundred-page book would’ve ended at chapter two.

Gray realized something else at that moment.  This romance novel was like a playbook to having his way with Michaela Girabaldi, if he ever gave in to that urge.  She’d read this book and probably others like it, so she must be holding out for that fantasy hero, too. 

He doubted that she would find he measured up to the heroic Ryker, but he couldn’t see her with that kind of man anyway.  Her mouth alone would be reason enough that didn’t work out. But Gray liked her sassy mouth, and he could find plenty of good uses for it.  He groaned as he pictured those uses and the thought zipped down his body to his erection and sizzled to the end of his cock.

God, he was being an idiot, he thought, glancing back at the slider again.  He had bigger fish to fry at the moment, but dammit, he deserved a few minutes more to enjoy himself.  He pushed his glasses up on his nose and opened the book again, found his place and picked up where he left off.  The story sucked him right back in and he lost track of time and his surroundings as he raced through chapter nine.

Cool air swept across his upper thigh when the cover over his legs was suddenly flung back.  Gray tensed, froze, then frantically searched for somewhere to hide the book.  His heart raced as he stuffed it under the pillow to his left, before he twisted to look at Michaela, who stood beside the bed with a fluorescent green plastic tumbler in her hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked gruffly, flicking the cover back over his leg.

“My Nonna has a remedy for pulled muscles.  I thought I’d try it to help you,” she replied.  Why did her eyes look so glassy and dilated, he wondered, as she gave him a wobbly grin.

“I, ah, need to get to work,” Gray said, feeling a little guilty that he hadn’t been working. 

He had a feeling if she knew what he’d really been doing, reading her book, she wouldn’t be smiling—or offering to help him.  She’d be embarrassed most likely, and he’d be wearing the contents of that tumbler. 

He held up his hand.  “Really, it’s fine. But thanks for the thought.”

“No, I can tell you’re in pain. Let me do this for you, please, so you can focus.  Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.”

Let me do this for you? 

“Um, what exactly are you going to do?” he asked, looking at the tumbler again. “That’s not for me to drink?” He reached for the glass, but she shook her head.

“Not unless you want to be in the bathroom all night,” she said with a cute snicker. “This is my Nonna’s magical massage oil.  It’s to work the knots out of your muscles.  My brothers and father swear by it.”

Magical massage oil? 

Gray swallowed hard as excitement put every nerve in his body on high alert.  No, this isn’t a good idea filtered from his brain to his lips, but he just couldn’t push the words out.

“So you want to give me a massage?” he asked, his voice rising with each word. 

His muscles tensed, making his hamstring muscle twitch, but not nearly as much as another part of his anatomy was twitching. 

This is a bonehead move, Grayson.  A really bad decision. You know this will not end well.  She’s an employee, remember? A co-worker. 

None of those mental reminders helped a damned thing as she put the tumbler on the table beside the beach bed in order to pick up a smaller glass with amber liquid and ice.  She scraped four pills off of the table into her hand and turned to hold them out to him.

“Here drink this.  The whiskey and ibuprofen will help your muscles relax.”

Before he could change his mind, Gray took the whiskey glass, popped the pills into his mouth and drank it all.  Warmth spread through his body, creating an odd lethargy.  The liquor traveled to his brain, fought with his indecision, and won. 

You deserve this—just enjoy it.  You can control yourself.

Who in the hell was he trying to kid?  Grayson knew good and well, if she put her hands on him, he could not be held accountable for what happened.  Not in the state he was in at the moment.  He felt like he could bore to Australia with his erection, which was already halfway through the soft foam mattress right now.

“You okay?” Michaela asked, the edges of her words soft as she took the hi-ball glass from him.  The ice cubes rattled against the sides of the glass before she plunked it down on the table, which told him her hands were shaking. 

As cool as she was trying to pretend she was with doing this, he knew better when he also noticed even the ends of her thick, dark hair were shaking when she bent to pick up the tumbler of magical massage oil.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, hoping like hell she’d say no and give him an out he wouldn’t take otherwise.  “It’s really not necessary.  It’s just cramping now and again.”  Gray rubbed the muscle in question, which now throbbed much less than his cock.

Michaela nodded as she moved to put a knee on the bed.  “Just roll over on your stomach and relax,” she instructed, and he complied. 

Goosebumps raised on his skin when her soft fingers brushed a trail right above the ace wrap on his thigh.  The tension of the band suddenly released and it unwound quickly, allowing a rush of blood to push up his inner thigh, making matters worse.

Relax?  Yeah, definitely not happening, he thought, as he nudged the pillow farther away, and the sharp edge of the book poked him.  She pulled the throw blanket back more and Gray thought he heard her whimper as she tugged the ace bandage from under his leg. 

A second later, he shivered as she dribbled a line of the oil from his heel up to the top of his thigh.  Drips of oil followed the crease of his ass to slither down the inside of his thigh and coat his balls, which was a very odd sensation. 

“It works out that you haven’t dressed yet,” she said, her voice husky as she wrapped her hands around his ankle.

She squeezed her hands together and pushed the oil up his calf to his knee then stopped to knead it in.  Another odd sensation, which made Gray bite down on the corner of the blanket to stifle his moan.  She smoothed the slick liquid upward with the heels of her hand, then feathered it out over his hamstring in short strokes with her fingers and thumbs. 

He hadn’t dressed because, unlike his laptop, his clothes, in the soft-sided suitcase, a suit, dress shirts, and ties, hadn’t survived the monsoon. It was a good thing he spent the extra money for the sturdy leather briefcase.  Next time, he’d give the same consideration to his luggage.

Wet or not, he regretted not putting on at least underwear when she framed his right cheek with her hands and drove her fingers deep into the space between his thighs.  His balls contracted as his mind willed her fingers just a little lower, and he fought hard against the urge to lift up and put them where he wanted them.

She scooted a little higher, put more weight behind her hands and squeezed his thigh, dug her thumbs deep into his hamstring muscle and circled them outward in short strokes.  She repeated the process, rocking her hands down toward his knee.  Gray moaned when she found the sore spot.  She stopped, dug her thumbs deeper into the muscle and it jumped.  A sharp pain sliced up his body and he sucked in a breath, but it hurt so fucking good there was no way he was going to stop her.

“Am I hurting you?  Do you want me to stop?” she asked, loosening her hands and then moving them away.

“No!  Please don’t stop!” he shouted into the blanket, his breath coming in uneven spurts. Lifting his head, he twisted to look at her.  “You found a sore spot, that’s all.”  But there’s an even more sore spot on the other side that could really use your attention. 

Gray dragged in a few deep breaths to calm himself, and a familiar scent invaded his senses.  “Did you put garlic in that oil?

“Yes and if I tell you the other ingredients, I’ll have to kill you. My Nonna swore me to secrecy, even though everyone in the family knows.”

“Do Italians use garlic for everything?” he asked, biting his lower lip when she found another sore spot and focused there. She worked it until the tightness released a notch. 

“Only those who know what they’re doing,” she replied, her voice sensual as she kneaded, loosening the muscle, but ramping up his tension elsewhere.  “Garlic is one of the best remedies for inflammation.  Witch hazel is the best antiseptic cleanser there is.  I have recipes for all kinds of old country remedies that my Nonna swore by.   I’ve seen them work, so I believe her.”

Whatever she was doing, it seemed to be working. Maybe there was magic in that oil.  Or her fingers.  His thoughts drifted to her touching him with those talented hands in other places and he tightened back up.

“Your Nonna sounds like a very smart woman,” he commented, when she stopped to pour more oil on his leg.

“My grandmother was the smartest, bravest woman who ever lived,” she replied, as her fingers moved over his skin now with a lighter touch. “She could take turkey bones and make orzo soup that you’d swear came from a restaurant.”

The grief-tinged reverence in her voice made him regret bringing her up.  But she mentioned her grandmother so much, he thought she must be missing her or something.  He had no idea it was because she was dead.  He wanted to ask what made her brave, but he didn’t dare. 

When she trickled oil up the back of his uninjured leg, Gray almost threw his back out twisting to look at her. “What are you doing?” he asked, his stomach muscles clenched.

“I’m giving you a massage. I thought that was obvious.” She smiled and rolled her eyes.  “Do you want me to stop?”

Did he want her to stop?  What a stupid question. 

“No, it feels incredible. I, ah, just thought you were going to massage the strained hammy.”

“You’ll find that I don’t do anything halfway, Mr. Jennings.  I noticed you rubbing your neck earlier, so I assume you pulled something there, too?”

Mr. Jennings?  That jerked him right out of his endorphin haze. 

Thoroughness was definitely a bonus in both an employee and a lover.  But Gray had sworn off combining the two five years ago.  Michaela Girabaldi, her magical massage oil, and talented fingers had put a hex on him to make him forget that.  As much as Gray regretted it, he knew it was time to call a halt to this.

“Uh, it’s just a crick in my neck from sleeping on the sofa,” he replied, and flinched because that was just about the weakest example of a cease and desist he could’ve mouthed.

His eyes fell to the scoop neck of her top, where her breasts rose and fell with her short breaths.  A rush of adrenaline surged through him to make him lightheaded.  God, what was this woman doing to him?  Gray was panting, his body buzzing as if electrified, the anticipation of not knowing where she’d go next with this massage a living thing inside him.

“It will be worse once you get on that computer.  Just lay down and let me fix it for you.” 

Instead of waiting for a reply, Michaela straddled him near his waist, flattened him to the mattress with her palm at the center of his back.  With a sigh Gray surrendered as she poured cold oil into the valley between his shoulder blades, because it appeared he was getting a massage whether he wanted one or not.

With quick sweeps of her fingers, she spread the slick liquid to his lower back then moved to the top of the ridge and pressed the heels of her hands into that tight band of muscle.  She kneaded and rocked her way back up to his shoulders and he grunted each time she squeezed, because it felt so damned good.  When she reached his shoulders, her fingers slid over his collarbone and every hair on Gray’s body stood up. 

She squeezed tightly and he groaned loudly as intense pleasure washed through him.  After she squeezed and released several times, she held the last squeeze and he held his breath.  When she finally released the pressure, his breath came out in a whoosh, carrying the tension in his body with it.  She immediately kneaded his nape, smoothed her thumbs outward and swept away the rest of the tension there.  She patted his back before she slid her palms to his shoulders and he moaned when her fingers dug in there.

For a man who didn’t take vacations, he sure felt like he was in the throes of a luxury one right now.  If he could only finish that book while she finished her massage, he’d be a happy man.  Instead, he closed his eyes and replayed those scenes in his head to further torture himself.

“Are you always this tight?” she asked with concern, focusing to knead a particularly sore spot near the left edge of his back.

Tight? Ninety-nine percent of his body felt like a cooked noodle right now.  The other one percent was halfway to Oz.  Gray bit the inside of his cheek as her fingers curled around the cap of his left shoulder and her hands flexed and released.

His body melted into the mattress with a satisfied growl, and her throaty laugh echoed inside his skull, ramping up his pleasure.  She slowly worked her hands inward, then massaged his back with her fingers, the heels of her hands, and the weight of her body.

Between the whiskey, the endorphins, and the herbs in that oil, Gray felt drunk, but on fire, energized but relaxed, his muscles buzzed, but his body felt boneless.  It was a very strange state of consciousness, but definitely not an unpleasant one.  Her hands became hot silk against his skin, his sole focus, as he charted her movement down his back. 

His breaths came quicker, and his heart raced when she reached the center of his back.  A lazy tingle started near his hairline and slithered down his spine as she continued to push the river of endorphins in his body downward.  When she reached the spot on his back that paralleled his navel on the other side of his body, she stopped to scoot her ass back to the base of his spine.

He heard a soft whimper as her hands moved against his back again.  The heat between her legs stroked his lower back as she became more vigorous with her massage.  She moved her hips in time with her hands until Gray felt like she was riding him like a prized horse.  With each sway of her body, she ground his aching cock deeper into the mattress.  His balls contracted, heat scorched up to the head of his cock and he knew he had to stop her now or embarrass himself. 

With a growl, he reached back to grip her thigh and pushed up. She gasped in surprise when he rolled her onto her back and spun to trap her underneath him.  Her glassy eyes met his and her chest heaved against his side.  The pulse pounding at her throat told him she was either scared or as turned on as he was.  Her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks pointed to the second option.

“I shouldn’t do this, but I have to,” Gray growled, breathing hard. “I’m going to kiss you, Jersey, so tell me now if you don’t want that.”

Her molten, hazel eyes met his and with purpose, she grabbed the back of his skull to pull his mouth to hers.  Her hot, plump lips met his and Gray groaned as their warm breath mixed.  He sealed his mouth to hers and teased his tongue into her heat.  She mewled as she curled her sweet tongue around his, wrapped her calf around his knee and moved her hips against him. That’s when Gray knew there was no going back.