The poor guy was sweating.
Then again, it wasn’t like she was being gentle—she was terrified that if she actually spread her fingers wide across that gorgeously muscled back, she’d hop on the table and mount him. It was bad enough that she’d heard him trip when he entered the room—but she needed it dark; otherwise it was hard to focus when she could still see moving colors and parts.
Pitch-black except for the small crack of light from under the door that at least allowed her clients to focus on silly things like her feet as she moved around the table.
And yet she’d give anything to actually be able to see him, to see if he really looked as good as he felt. Her body shivered.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Pain. Pain was the only way she was going to get through this massage, and while she did feel a bit bad that she was making him more tense, the only way she was able to control herself was by using her elbows instead of her hands. Hands felt too personal for him, but elbows felt….technical.
It took her minutes to rub her hands, because every time she thought of touching him again, she wanted to do more than touch.
Bad Nikki.
She tried thinking of Cole’s good-bye kiss. It had left her cold.
And right now? Touching this strange man? She was searing. On fire. Dying inch by inch as she spread her fingers wide and pressed deep into his muscles.
How could a complete stranger elicit such a sexual reaction from her?
Focus. She ran her hands down his back and stopped at his ass. Her hands shook. Cole’s warnings sounded in her head.
She softly ran her hands over his perfection, and she bit down on her lip to keep from saying something stupid to a guy who couldn’t hear her.
Keep it professional, she told herself.
She worked on his gluteus muscles with her elbows, then transitioned to her hands, using her palms against his thigh and sliding up toward one perfect ass cheek.
And then, the man, the man who could quite possibly have the face of a decaying hamster, barked out a curse.
She winced. Maybe she was being a little rough.
When she walked back toward his head and ran her hands down his neck, he trembled beneath her. She sucked in a breath, lips parted, as she leaned closer to his body. He tensed and arched toward her.
This was bad. So bad.
She should stop. Let go. Run.
Instead, she froze.
One hand moved from the table and gripped her right hip, pulling her close. Her mind screamed run, but her body screamed hell yes. If Cole walked in…she wouldn’t just be fired, she’d be mortified.
She’d already been written up once. And this was way worse than having a semidirty work space.
She shuddered as he mimicked the way her hands moved over his neck, softly at first. Then, as she worked the muscles near the back of his head, his right hand dug into her ass while his thumb brushed across her hipbone. She bucked against his hand before her brain could tell her body it was a bad idea. He moaned.
It was a low moan.
Gravelly.
She felt that moan from her pinky toes all the way up to her flushed face.
Her hands slid down his back until she came into contact with his ass, only this time she was basically laying her body across him. His head was almost between her legs, and with their positioning, well, things would be bad if they were naked.
Both of his hands jerked to her hips, sliding up and down, up and down, and then he very slowly dipped his thumb into the band of her black leggings.
This was insanity!
He hesitated. Like he was asking for permission.
And like the hussy she was, she just kept massaging him, and then gave him her answer when she ran her hands down his ass, cupping it once, twice, and squeezing, only to dance her fingertips along the side of his hips and slide underneath.
He hissed out a curse that sounded like he definitely did not have a communication problem, and he shook when her right hand grazed down the front of his hips. She started to move toward the foot of the table, only to have his right hand jerk out and grab her by the wrist, holding her in place, his breathing heavy.
She felt him slowly start to turn onto his back.
What if he thought she was ugly?
What if he could tell she was blind?
Insecurity slammed into her, and she grabbed the hot towel she usually applied at the end of the massage, and dropped it onto his face just in case he had superhuman eyesight.
He made a choking noise.
Crap! Usually she let it cool down a bit.
He tugged her wrist and brought her closer to him, then reached for her hips, pulling half of her body onto the table. She placed her oiled hands on his face. Thank God the hot towel was still in place.
Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted the towel and felt his lips.
The minute her fingers brushed his lips he parted them, slid out his tongue, and slowly licked the tip of her finger.
She moved her shaking fingers over his face, noticing that his face was perfect, at least from what she could feel—it was also—
Familiar.
Warm.
Sexy.
But familiar in a I know I’ve touched this face before sort of way.
Her fingers skimmed a freshly shaved chin only to return to his lips, his tongue.
With a bold caress of his tongue, he licked her finger again, then sucked it into his mouth.
Knees buckling, she had to brace herself against his rock-hard body to keep from falling over. She hissed out a breath when his teeth nibbled where he’d just licked, and then his mouth was on hers. Fused.
He was potent.
Igniting a desire in her she hadn’t felt since—no. She pushed Brant—her past—away and clung to this sexy stranger for dear life. Brant had never been this built, not by a long shot.
Why was she thinking of Brant of all people? She hated him, right? He never came back, he didn’t care.
This, this was real, this was someone who at least wanted her. Even if it was wrong. Morally. Legally.
She was acting crazy!
But he felt so damn good. And it had been four long years since she’d felt anything even close to this.
Pleasure rocked through her as his muscles flexed beneath her touch. Her palm pressed against his hard chest as one of his hands moved to her ass, hauling her against the table just enough for him to grab her leg and pull it over the side of his body—straddling him, she was straddling him! What was she thinking? His kiss deepened with frenzied aggression. His hand continued to move freely from her ass up and down the sides of her rib cage, like he was memorizing every inch of her for later.
How could something so wrong feel so perfect? So right?
She wiggled against him.
He sucked in a breath, breaking off the kiss, before gripping her hips and moving her body against his, the only thing between them the flimsy sheet and her leggings.
It would be so easy. Wrong. But easy.
He tugged at her shirt. She waited with breathless anticipation as his fingers grazed her skin.
A knock sounded at the door. Both of them froze.
Another knock.
With a squeal, she jumped off him, kneeing him in the balls in the process, causing the poor guy to make a whimpering noise.
“Sorry!” she whispered before slamming his body back against the table. She covered him with a blanket to keep whoever was knocking from seeing his tent-building skills. She righted herself, and then very calmly walked to the door and opened it. “Yes?”
It was Cole. She could smell his cologne.
“It was only a sixty-minute massage.” Cole’s voice was angry, holding on by a thread. He tugged her away from the room, closing the door behind them.
“Was it?”
“You know damn well it was.”
“My alarm must not have gone off.” She shrugged, and tried not to sound panicked. Was her hair mussed? Her lip gloss? “It probably needs batteries.”
“It’s digital.”
“Computers these days.” That? She was going with that?
“Damn technology quitting on us just when we need it the most,” he countered. “Maybe I should take a look at it. Wouldn’t want you to be late for our date tonight.”
He said it loud. Too loud. Loud enough for anyone walking down the hall or quietly waiting in the room to hear.
She crossed her arms. “So now you want to go on a date?”
“I liked the kiss.” He tugged her into his arms. She still tasted her client on her lips. And being touched by her client—and now being touched by Cole? Two very different things.
Like being set on fire. Then landing in Antarctica.
“You smell funny,” he commented. “And your hair looks…different. Where’s the hat?”
“Can’t do my job with the hat.” She shoved playfully at his chest. “And I probably smell funny because it’s scorching in there and I’m sweating…but you’re a jackass for commenting on it.”
He was quiet.
“Cole?”
“Be careful, Nik.”
“Huh?”
“Wouldn’t want you…getting heat stroke.”
“In my massage room?”
“Yeah, you could get hurt.” He swore and then leaned in until his face was inches from her. It took everything not to step back. “You’re booked until the cocktail party. Consider that our date.”
“How exciting,” she said in a sarcastic voice. “A date on company grounds. You better watch it—you’re going to totally sweep me off my feet.” She batted her eyelashes.
“Oh, trust me.” He tilted her chin toward him. “I’d rock your world—but something tells me I’m not going to get that chance.”
He walked off.
And she returned to the room completely shaken.
“Sorry,” she said and then felt like an idiot. “I mean, sorry, ugh, why do I keep saying sorry when you can’t even hear me?”
“Who says I can’t hear you?”
The man’s deep voice shocked her so much, she knocked over a small lamp, blanketing them in complete darkness. That voice. She’d heard that voice before.
It haunted her dreams.
But that was impossible. Right?
Damn it. Tears burned her eyes. Would the memory of Brant poison everything? Even what was supposed to be a fun, albeit illegal kiss?
He moved.
She could feel him.
But without light, she was lost in the dark—and a bit terrified, if she were being honest with herself. And a whole lot of disappointed that even now, even when she wanted this man—she wanted Brant more. Still.
“I thought you were deaf.” She felt around for her stick and met something more muscular, bigger, definitely not a stick.
Leg. A man’s leg. His leg.
Her hands inched up to a knee. It was a really nice knee.
Solid. Hard.