Chapter Three
Cecily answered all the deputy’s questions in a fog. Barely registering what he was saying. Her gaze kept drifting to the glass remnants on the floor, glinting in the sunshine pouring through the front windows.
Those shelves had been costly, she’d lost a lot of inventory. And the window would need fixed. She’d never considered a place like Bracken would have a high crime rate or that she needed some major security system in place, but how wrong she’d been.
Deputy Troyer was a big teddy bear of a man with kind brown eyes and a thick beard. He stared at her with a sorrowful expression. “I’m really sorry again, Ms. Baker. It isn’t much of a welcome to Bracken, is it?”
With the effort of Wonder Woman taking out Aries, she choked down her emotion.
“You’re really upset.” Big arms caught her against a broad chest, and Troyer crushed her to his uniform shirt. He smelled like body spray and an underlying spice of wood shavings, like the Slug and Chug. Had he been grabbing a bite to eat when her call had come in?
“I need to get started. So much to clean up. I’ll start with the shelves and get the glass up, and jeez, I don’t even have half my supplies unpacked. Do I start there so I can use the empty boxes to—”
He flexed his arms around her and she had no strength to pull away.
When a strong male voice cleared behind them, Troyer let her go and they broke apart. Cecily took one look at Sheriff Roshannon standing in her ruined space and those tears she’d battled away for the past half hour didn’t just surface—they spurted from her eyes.
What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she be strong around the sheriff too? Suddenly, she was like a raw nerve ending, unable to suck it up and stand tall in the face of trouble. She wasn’t this woman at all. She’d picked up and left the last town without looking back. Never for one minute had she believed there was anything she couldn’t do.
Except stop crying in front of Sheriff Roshannon.
His mouth was grim, his eyes dark as he looked at her.
Somehow it was like someone holding up a mirror to her crushed hopes and dreams, and all she saw was a single woman alone in the world, trying to make her way without friends.
And now with dwindling funds while she waited for the renter’s insurance to come through. That could be weeks.
She gulped back a sob.
Roshannon stepped forward, his features a mask. The man could be thinking of football scores for all she knew by looking at him. “I’ll hear your report when I get to the office, Troyer. Thank you.”
Troyer blinked, and Cecily glanced at the big man. “Thanks for everything,” she said hoarsely.
She swore she heard Roshannon’s jaw creak.
“You’re welcome, Cecily. I’ll come by later and make sure your door’s fixed.”
“I’ll do it.” Sheriff Roshannon’s tone wasn’t one to be argued with.
Troyer shot his boss a long look before taking his leave. She watched him go, wondering if the sheriff treated his deputies this way all the time.
“Cecily.” Roshannon’s rough voice was sandpaper across her raw senses, and she was helpless against her onslaught of tears.
She dashed away the waterworks. “So dumb. It’s just stuff. I don’t know why I’m crying like a big baby.”
He rested a hand on her forearm. Warm, callused fingers wrapped the whole way around her arm as he looked down into her eyes. “Because you’ve been violated.”
That broke her. She quivered at the wave of emotion that washed over her. “To think I was upstairs sleeping away while someone was down here smashing everything!” If only she could actually sleep without the headphones, she would have heard the ruckus.
Roshannon tightened his grip on her arm and she tipped her head back to look at him. He winced—probably because her eyes were as bloodshot as a drunk pig’s. And her face had to be blotchy with redness and her nose snotty.
She rubbed at it helplessly and felt a big cotton cloth pressed into her hand.
“Blow. I’ll get you a drink. Do you have anything upstairs?”
She shook her head. “Just tap water.”
“I’ve got a bottle of water in my truck. Be right back.” She watched him walk out of her shop, her crazy mind latching onto the tight muscles of his backside rather than what was going on around her.
She was losing her ever-lovin’ mind.
When he returned, he carried a water. She’d blown her nose and wadded the hanky and stuffed it into her back pocket. “Here, drink.” He held out the water and she uncapped it. Then he opened his palm to reveal two little white pills. “Something for that headache I know you have.”
She took the pills with a murmured thank-you and swallowed them. She felt marginally better from the self-care and was able to meet his eyes without wanting to bawl all over again.
“Good. Now do you have a broom somewhere?”
“Hanging behind that door.” She pointed.
He crossed the room, his boot heels thudding on the hardwood. She watched him for a long minute as he began to sweep the glass into a pile in the middle of the room.
“You don’t need to dust for prints or anything?” she asked.
He looked up, his gaze steady under the brim of his hat. “Not from these tiny shards. I’ll dust the bigger pieces. But there aren’t many of those, are there? Someone wanted to erase the evidence. You didn’t hear a thing?”
She shook her head.
“You either have a very soundproof apartment space above this shop or you’re a heavy sleeper.”
She gave a quiet moan of regret. “I don’t sleep well and I put on whale music and headphones.”
“Whale music?” he responded.
She nodded.
He looked away and continued sweeping. Great, now he thought she was nuts on top of pathetic.
When he had a good pile, he used the dustpan to pick up the glass. After he’d dumped it into the wastebasket, she reached out for the broom.
“I’ll take over.”
“I’ll get the bigger chunks.” He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and bent to gather a few of the large sections of glass in his hands. She stared in shock. The glass was smeared in hair products, and any type of fingerprints would have been lost anyway.
While he did his job, she continued to sweep up. Then she and the sheriff worked together for ten comfortable minutes. She was pretty sure cleaning up after a crime was beyond his scope of work, but she was glad for the help and his solid presence. She couldn’t deny she wasn’t feeling that safe here anymore.
You were violated. His words echoed to her core. He’d nailed it first try, gotten to the root of her tears in three short words.
She watched his back muscles flex as he lifted more glass and dumped it into the garbage. Sheriff Roshannon was a confusing man. His kindness and domestic abilities warred with his dark glares and straight, unsmiling mouth.
And she shouldn’t be noticing any of it.
* * * * *
“You got some sun.”
Judd paused mid-work and jerked his head up to pierce Cecily in his gaze. She was noticing such a thing at a time like this?
“Spent a while outdoors with my pa this morning.”
“Ah. Does he live around here?”
“No, he and my mother own a ranch about an hour away called Eagle Crest.”
“A ranch… that’s nice. I always wanted to grow up on a ranch. My dad was in insurance and my mother’s a nurse. They can barely handle mowing their lawn and the one time they attempted to grow a garden ended badly.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. The crinkle in her brow was still there, but she looked less strained. Her voice—soft and sing-songing—shouldn’t bury itself under his skin this way. Fuck, if he was honest the sound made his cock hard. Thinking of all those soft pleas coming from her sweet, plump lips—
“My sister lives in Phoenix. She wanted me to open my day spa there.”
He straightened and dumped the glass he held in the can, lips tightening. One turn south would have put her on the road to Phoenix, and she never would have come to Bracken.
“Got a mop someplace?” His voice sounded strangled, and he had no idea why. Sure, he was going the extra mile with her by helping her clean up. That didn’t mean he should feel so damn protective of her.
But he did. It disgusted and embarrassed him that his town had given her such a poor welcome. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to open for business. And the thought of her being asleep upstairs—or listening to whale music?—while someone ransacked her place made him want to shoot something.
“Mop’s upstairs.”
He looked to the stairs leading to her apartment. His blood turned to ice.
Goddammit, every bit of his training had been thrown out the window as soon as he’d spotted those tears.
“Did Troyer check for prints on the door to your apartment?”
Cecily’s eyes grew wide and her face paled. He stepped forward to grab her elbow in case she decided to pass out.
“Sit down here a minute.” He pulled over a crate and settled her on it. “Don’t move, okay?”
“Yeah, I don’t want to mess up your investigation in case there are some fingerprints.”
“I didn’t mean that—I don’t want you to pass out.”
The blood rushed back into her cheeks. Damn, she wasn’t just pretty—she was gorgeous.
“I’m not going to pass out.”
At her haughty tone, a smile tugged at his mouth. “All right then. Just sit tight while I get more gloves from my truck.”
Outside, the fresh air didn’t cool off his libido one iota. If anything, the light scents of fall made him think of her more. Cinnamon and a darker incense note that made him think of sweet burning leaves.
He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, hoping the sting would cut this desire in him. She was too sweet, looked at him too long and in that hungry way.
No, he definitely could not play with Cecily the way he wanted. That part of his life was over, locked away behind ten dead bolts and some iron chain. Never again would he allow his darker leanings to see the light of day.
Seconds later he was back in her shop. She looked up, eyes bright and delivering a punch to his gut. Images of her on her knees swam through his head. Fuck, he could practically feel her hair wrapped around his fist, the dark strands straining as he tugged her head back to take his cock in her mouth.
He had to distract himself—now.
“Troyer got your statement, I assume. What did you tell him?”
“Same as I told you. I was asleep with headphones. When I came down, I saw the window broken and everything trashed. The money from the register gone.” Her voice wobbled.
Great—now he had to distract her.
She got off the box and lifted her fingertips to catch the tears dribbling from the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t quit crying. So silly. It’s not as if someone I loved has died.”
“Puts perspective on it, for sure. But it’s the shock. I’ve seen it before.”
“Have you?”
He nodded. He wasn’t going to add that with the other victims he’d never wanted to kill someone for bringing this stress into their lives. He waved toward the stairs. “Mind if I go up?”
She shook her head, stopping as if she wanted to ask something.
“What is it?”
“Can I come with you? Sir?”
Holy fuck.
His dick jerked in his jeans. Just hearing that one syllable—
Sir—spread a whole new light on this woman. Could she be…
No, of course not. She was just using a formality with him, a show of respect to his position.
Unsure of his voice, he waved for her to follow. Knowing she was close behind made the hairs on his spine prickle. It had been too long since he’d slaked his lust with a woman. Last one had been a country girl two towns over that he’d picked up in a bar. She hadn’t known his name, and he hadn’t worn his sheriff’s star. They’d gone into the deal knowing it was satisfaction for one night only, and he’d never seen her again.
Still, that had just been sex, pure vanilla. No ropes involved and his palm hadn’t even burned to feel the handle of his whip with her. At the time, he’d thought he’d cured himself once and for all. Now he knew she just hadn’t been the kind of girl to inspire that sort of play.
Cecily was.
He dusted her door and collected a few prints, pressing the tape into the contrasting paper.
She stood on the landing, watching. “Think you’ll find any?”
“More than likely, yours. Maybe some old prints from the former renter. There was a store that sold crafts and candles and things here before you.”
“I see.”
He met her gaze. They stood only a foot apart, the landing being small. On her face, he clearly saw the worry that someone might have come to her door and tried to enter her private space while she was sleeping.
The thought might scare her, but it made him feel berserk.
“Might not be a bad idea to have some security cameras. I’ll board up your shop door and make sure the lock’s secure. But I’d recommend more than one lock, maybe with an alarm on it to alert you if it’s forced.”
“You…” she swallowed hard, “think whoever broke in will come back?”
“Unlikely. Probably a one-time crime, someone looking for fast money.” He was lying through his teeth just to wipe that look of fear off her pretty face. If they were looking for money, they wouldn’t have smashed the other things.
He reached for the doorknob. “Mind if I look at your locks on this door?” If he found a cheap lock, he might lose his shit altogether.
She shook her head. Dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, thick and trailing in natural ringlets at the ends.
Before he could do anything like grab her and pin her to a wall to find out if she was as soft as she looked, he opened her apartment door. Several shoes fell over, and his kinky side noted the little number seven imprinted inside one.
Jesus, he wasn’t buying her leather boots to role-play in. He directed his attention to the rest of the apartment.
So this was where her scent had come from—she’d been burning incense.
The new bit of the puzzle that was Cecily made him see her a little differently. Suddenly, he understood that she looked at her day spa services as something that would heal and calm and pamper customers right down to their souls, give them an escape from the stresses of life. That she wanted to do that for people only made her more intriguing.
Damn it to hell.
He stepped into her apartment to examine her lock. It was far from what he wanted to examine.
Like her plump lips.
Plumper ass.
Or the silken heat of her pussy around his fingers, tongue, cock.
Stop.
“The lock doesn’t seem to be in bad shape, but I’d like to see you get a deadbolt installed. I can recommend a guy who does handiwork cheap.”
“Good. I need cheap, now that my inventory’s ruined and my drawer’s empty. I’ve never filed a claim with renter’s insurance before, but I expect it doesn’t happen overnight.”
He stared down into her eyes. The spark of anger was there, the initial tears of shock fading. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Cecily.”
“Me too. Thanks for all your help today. And thank Deputy Troyer for me too, please?”
He nodded. His chest had that tight burning feeling he was not about to recognize for what it was. He’d felt it once before—with his fucking ex-wife the day they’d met. That alone was enough to propel him out the door at a dead run, but he could see Cecily was nothing like Cassie. His ex had pretended to be a country girl while hiding she wanted to be a baroness. He’d thought he had a ride or die kind of woman… and couldn’t have been more wrong.
Looking down into Cecily, he saw that grit inside her, the strength that would make her stand up tall, clean up the mess in her shop and begin again.
Fuck. He had to get out of here fast or he was in big trouble.
* * * * *
Cecily leaned against the doorframe and stared at her empty shop. All cleaned up now, the hair products scraped into a bucket and the boards mopped several times to erase the residue. She was back at square one. Ground zero.
All her efforts of the previous day had been erased, and the morning light was gray and depressing. Some of her heart had gone out of her, but she wasn’t giving up her dream.
She ran down the street and got the biggest coffee they served. After only a few minutes, the caffeine hit her system. Today she’d set up the salon area. It was fast money, and she could open by lunchtime. Her cash had dwindled, so her idea appealed. Besides, she’d come to Bracken to build a new clientele, and she was eager to start.
She put some soothing music on the radio and mentally blocked out where she’d have her hair salon area. The corner near the windows would be perfect for the waiting area, though the lighting would be good for hair. In the end, she pushed and maneuvered the two chairs side by side toward the left of the room. Now she could cut the hair of one client while the other was processing with dye.
Semicircular floor pads to help with back and foot fatigue went around the chairs for her to stand and work. All she needed now were her mirrors. In the back was one sink she could use for the time being, but soon she’d need to give that handyman Sheriff Roshannon had recommended to plumb in a sink.
She hung the mirrors framed in thick weathered wood and stood back to look at her efforts. The small detail was giving her space the brand she was hoping for. A spot of serenity in the country, the pale blue chairs and worn wood laying the foundation for her other ideas.
Her wooden sign, taken down from her last shop, was leaning against the wall, stored in plastic and bubble wrap. Cecily found a utility knife and slit the thick materials protecting the wood.
She smiled at seeing the familiar sign. A big rectangle with raw wood edges and a smear of bright robin’s egg blue paint highlighted the curlicues of gold and black letters. Drift Away Massage and Spa.
She lugged the sign outside and stood back to consider how to hang it on the storefront. It would look great over the windows, but she needed a ladder, and that wasn’t something she was equipped with. Maybe the shop next door—
“Wow, I heard you’re opening a day spa. That’s really exciting. We only have a barber shop in Bracken, and they do okay on women’s hair, but it isn’t that inviting, if you know what I mean.”
Cecily turned to smile in greeting at the young woman standing on the sidewalk. “Yes, I’m opening a day spa. I’m Cecily. Nice to meet you.”
The blonde woman shook her hand in a light, flimsy grip but smiled. “Oh, we’ve met before.”
Cecily stared at her, not placing her at all.
“I was tending bar that first day you were in town. I’m sorry we had a mix-up about your change.”
Heat climbed Cecily’s neck. She hoped she hadn’t been a real bitch to the woman.
“It’s all right. I’m sorry if I was a bit testy. I was tired after a long day of moving boxes.”
“The sheriff kicked out Jake and you really missed a good show.”
So the pair knew each other—but she probably knew everybody in a small town like Bracken. When Cecily didn’t respond, the woman asked, “What services do you provide?”
“I’ll have nails, massage, facials, wrap treatments and of course waxing. But right now I only have it set up for hair.”
The woman’s eyes brightened and she bounced a little on her cowgirl boots. “I’m Audrey. Are you open now? I sure could use these split ends cut off.”
“Of course. Maybe a good deep conditioning treatment pack too?”
The woman nodded excitedly, and Cecily gestured to the door. “Please come in. I’m sorry I don’t have things set up more, but I’ve had a setback.”
“Oh?”
Cecily wasn’t about to invite gossip about her break-in, but for all she knew, the woman had already heard the news. “Have a seat in one of the chairs and I’ll get a few things from the back.”
She left the woman to get comfy in the padded vinyl chair while she went to locate some plush towels and the deep conditioning pack she’d mentioned. All her other tools were in place—scissors, curling wands, brushes, combs and hairdryer. The woman sat facing the mirror, and Cecily’s heart lifted.
This was exactly what she’d wanted. It might not be perfect yet, but it was a start. She had her first customer.
“Let’s get started.” Cecily ran her fingers through Audrey’s hair to learn the texture and then they were off, talking like a house on fire as Cecily washed, treated and trimmed her hair. When she spun her to face the mirror again, her hair gleamed in golden waves.
Audrey gasped. “I look like I just stepped off the red carpet. I didn’t even look this good for prom or my sister’s wedding last summer. Wow.” She turned her head side to side, inspecting herself in the mirror.
Cecily stood back, beaming. “I’m glad you like it. You look beautiful. Now make sure you tell your friends.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m going to call a few right now and tell them you’re open for business. Don’t be surprised if you get a few in here this afternoon.”
“I’d love that.” Cecily hand-wrote her a receipt and received a generous tip. She placed the bills in her empty register drawer. At least she’d made something happen today, and what she’d told Audrey about a setback was just that, a bump in the country road.
As she walked Audrey out of the shop and said her farewell, Cecily found herself smiling, happier than she’d expected to be here in Bracken.
By the time she closed her doors, she’d had three more customers—two ladies and a little boy needing his first haircut. Luckily, Cecily had some lollipops to keep him occupied while his mother held him still in her lap for the trim.
She had loads of energy and was thinking of what improvements she could make upstairs to her apartment before bedtime, but as soon as she sank cross-legged to the floor to think about what to work on next, fatigue hit.
A small tap sounded on her shop door. Before she could leap to her feet to answer it, the door opened and a cowboy hat peeked around the frame.
Judd spotted her on the floor and a grin broke over his face. Well, as much of a grin as the hardened man was capable of.
“Brought you some dinner.” He extended a pizza box.
“How sweet of you. I hope you plan on joining me.”
“Padre’s Pizzas are big, so I hoped you’d say that.”
“You’re welcome to sit in the salon chair, but it’s a little hairy. I haven’t brushed it off yet.”
“Floor looks good enough for me.” Judd sank to the floor and stretched out his long denim-clad legs. The muscles bulged in all the right places, and there was a worn spot on one knee that hadn’t been put there by some clothing designer. This man worked for a living, and he had all the roughness to prove it.
He opened the box and she stared down at the pepperoni and cheese.
“Um, is this dairy-free cheese?”
He gawked at her. “Dairy-free cheese. Is there such a thing?”
She chuckled. “Soy cheese.”
“I doubt it’s soy, coming from Padre’s. Is that a problem?” Watching his long fingers gather up a slice of pizza shouldn’t make her internal temperature skyrocket, but it did. Perspiration broke out on her throat, and suddenly she didn’t give a crap that the pizza wasn’t Vegan.
When he brought the tip of the pizza to his lips, she couldn’t look away from his white teeth biting off a piece. Or the way his strong jaw worked as he chewed.
Damn, the man was a walking ad for hunky lawmen and ooey-gooey pizza. Best of all, he didn’t seem to own an ounce of cockiness.
She looked down and away from his intense stare, a flutter in her belly.
“Okay, let’s say it’s soy cheese and turkey pepperoni. Whatever the hell that is,” he said around a mouthful.
She laughed. “Turkey doesn’t make it better. I don’t eat meat at all.”
“Okay, so the pepperoni’s made of oat. Try some.”
The teasing warmed her. Did this mean they were friends? Sharing pizza on the floor sure seemed a step in that direction.
“Sheriff—”
“Judd.” The single name dropping from his unsmiling lips almost came as a command.
She nodded, trying to ignore the thrill hitting her belly. “Judd. Thanks again for all your help yesterday.”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug as if it was nothing. But it was something. His kindness had meant so much to her, especially in her hour of need. She wanted to do something nice for him in return, but what that could be evaded her right now.
“You’ve cleaned up a lot more, I see.” His lashes were impossibly long for a man. Dark and curling and lush. She found herself staring—and getting hungrier by the minute but not for pizza.
“Between customers I did a bit more unpacking.” She turned a slice of pizza around and bit into the crust.
“What services will you be offering?” he asked, that little muscle in his jaw flickering with each bite.
She ticked them off on her greasy fingers. When she got to massage, he stiffened.
“Massage?”
“Yes. It can help all sorts of ailments, and I also give relaxation massages.”
His gaze drilled into her, and she gave a little nervous laugh to dispel the effervescent energy fizzing inside her.
“What’s wrong with massage? Did you have a bad experience before?”
“No.” His gritty tone rocked her.
Oh yeah, she wasn’t a bit hungry for the pizza on the floor between them, even if it was dripping in soy cheese, avocado and organic tomatoes.
What she wanted came in the six-foot-tall variety clad in denim and a western shirt.
* * * * *
Judd didn’t like the thought of Cecily putting her hands on anyone’s body except his. Those soft fingers working over his skin, up and down, kneading, getting to the root of his tension.
His cock was fully hard, and there was no way she didn’t notice the bulge against his fly.
He got to his feet, the pizza forgotten. Fuck, this view of Cecily was worse—the sweet little morsel seated on the floor looked like a mussed angel.
She stood slowly. Every move graceful and turning him on more. It was as if his boots were nailed to the floor—he couldn’t step away though he knew it was crucial to his sanity.
“You look tense.” Her whispered words sent a tomahawk to his chest.
Swallowing hard, he stared down at the small curls on her forehead. No, that was no good. He dropped his stare to her mouth.
Fuck.
“You have a stressful job, and massage helps work out the kinks. Why don’t you come into my massage room?” As an afterthought, she added, “Sir?”
Oh Jesus.
She caught his forearm, squeezing lightly. When she released him, he looked down at his shirt, expecting to see holes singed in the fabric where her fingers had been.
He looked up to see her ass swaying away from him. Was she trying to seduce him or just being her kindly self by offering a massage? Maybe she was just being a savvy businesswoman—offering her services meant he’d return.
Yeah, that was it.
No way should he follow her. Or walk through that door. A massage room had to come equipped with a bed of sorts, and hell, Judd didn’t need a bed to achieve what he had in mind.
For that matter, he could do just fine without a wall.
For a gut-clenching—ball-clenching—moment, he couldn’t move a muscle to follow Cecily. Or turn and break for the exit.
She sent him a look over her shoulder.
Damn, he had no hope of getting out of this situation. He took one step and then another. At the door of her massage room, he paused. She stood by a padded bed, where she was unfolding thick towels for him to lie on. He gripped the doorframe, watching her work, those nimble hands not having the relaxing effect she was shooting for. He couldn’t get tenser.
Once she finished, she looked up at him with a smile so sweet it made his back teeth ache. She patted the toweled surface. “Have a seat while I light the candles and incense. The smell of it doesn’t bother you, does it?”
He shook his head. Feeling like he was in somebody else’s dream, he perched on the edge of the table. Along the windowsill she’d set up a row of white candles in jars. She took out a lighter and in seconds, flames danced and a small curl of smoke from the incense rose up.
Cecily eyed him. “You have to take off your shirt, silly. If you’re modest, I’ll step out. Unless you want the full body massage.”
Fuck yes.
Oh hell no.
He sucked in a deep breath and reached for his shirt buttons. While he worked the buttons, she fiddled with a tray of oils. “Now this is lavender for calming. This one is for sore muscles. Do you have sore muscles?”
He had stiff muscles.
He shook his head.
“Okay, I think the simple warming oil is what you need.” She ran her gaze over him. Was it his imagination or were her eyes lingering on his chest through his open shirt?
He must have made a noise, because her gaze shot to his—and held.
“You have to take off your hat,” she said quietly. “Unless a sheriff isn’t allowed.”
That raised a chuckle from him, but it was born of pure anxiety. He didn’t know how he’d react to her hands on him. If he started giving her commands, he didn’t know if he could stop.
He removed his hat and she took it from him, setting it carefully on a chair in the corner.
“Lie on your stomach please.”
The table creaked as he stretched out.
“Arms to your sides.” She took him by one wrist and placed him where she wanted him, with fist near his hip. Then she circled the bed and moved his other hand. Somehow the act warmed his insides. For some reason, it seemed intimate.
She remained on that side of the table. When she lifted the bottle of warming oil—whatever the hell that was—the glass stopper clinked. He wanted to watch her filling her palm with all that sensual oil, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t switch her places, strip off her clothes and pour it all over her naked body.
When she placed her warm hands on his spine, he grunted.
“Ohh, you are tense. Okay, just breathe in and out slowly and relax. Let me work my magic.”
Jesus, did she have any clue what a woman like her was doing to him?
In seconds, he realized what the warming oil did. It heated as she worked it into his skin. The tingle took hold and added its own relaxing benefits, at least to those muscles on either side of his spine. Everything else was as hard as stone, especially his cock digging into the toweling.
As she moved her fingers up and down, she hummed. He couldn’t catch the melody of the song, had never heard it before, but the tones only added to the experience.
“Do you always hum as you work?”
She quieted. “Usually I have relaxing music on in here, but I haven’t unpacked the CD player yet. I hope it’s not getting you out of the moment.”
Only thing getting him out of the moment was wanting to hear her hum with pleasure.
He groaned, and luckily Cecily thought she’d hit a sore muscle. She worked it with fluttery movements of her fingers. It felt like she had more than two hands and ten fingers. As she worked up to his neck, he finally started to relax.
He closed his eyes and she began to hum again. Five minutes later, he felt as if he was melting into the table. Had become one with the toweling.
And had no idea where he ended and her hands began.
She rolled her knuckles lightly down his shoulder, over triceps clear to his wrist. When she began massaging his hand, he started.
She made a low noise that might be a laugh. “Does it tickle?” She moved her hand over his palm in a circular motion.
“Little bit.” Really, it was an oddly familiar feeling—like he should know her better. Or now did.
They’d shared pizza—or rather she’d nibbled crust. But was touching him in ways most people never had. Could they get to the part where he tied her up now?
She rubbed each finger down to the tips, finding all the sore spots around his knuckles he didn’t know he had.
“Hands of a cowboy,” she commented.
“Been working my father’s ranch since I could walk. Used to practice roping all the cats and dogs. When I got a little older, I turned to the chickens and pigs.”
She made another humming noise that had the skin prickling on his nape. That sound was definitely something he’d hear from her in the bedroom—pure pleasure.
“Relax,” she said softly.
He tried to focus on that calmness he’d held close just a few minutes before. She laid down his hand and covered it in the toweling. Then she moved to the other side of the bed and began at his shoulder.
“You visit the ranch often?” she asked.
“Often as I can. My brother and his wife as well as my cousin who grew up with us, we all go at least once a month.”
“That sounds nice to have your family around you.”
“When they aren’t being pains in the ass, yeah.”
Her laugh bubbled up, music that filled his chest with a new warmth. “Family does that at times, don’t they?” She worked down to his hand again.
“They wanted to talk to me about my ex.”
She stilled. “That must have been difficult.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m over Cassie big time. But hearing about her again makes me realize how stupid I was.”
As she swirled her hand against his palm, he closed his fingers reflexively, gripping her lightly. She stopped the movement. “It’s never stupid if you loved a person. It’s only tragic if something happens to change that.”
He grunted and released her hand. She resumed the motion, her tiny fist rolling around in his palm until he felt completely boneless. “I should have known Cassie wasn’t the woman she portrayed herself as being.”
“I understand.”
Did she? He believed her. But why was he jabbering away like some woman in the beauty salon anyway? Maybe it was the magic Cecily had mentioned—people opened up to her as she performed her services.
But if he had his way, she’d be opening up to him. Spreading her creamy thighs wide to take him, her lips parted on a gasp.
When she lifted her hand, he snagged it, closing his fingers around her small fist. He turned his head to pierce her in his stare. She was flushed, and he didn’t think it had to do with the warming oil.
“Thank you for the massage, Cecily.”
“Of course.”
He held her another full heartbeat before loosening his grasp. She lifted a big towel and laid it over him like a blanket.
“Rest for a minute or two and I’ll just step out. Come out when you’re ready. No hurry now.”
He listened to her footsteps fading and the door closing softly. The weight of the towel seemed to anchor him to the bed, and he couldn’t muster enough energy to get up. At the same time, his mind whirled with images of Cecily—seated cross-legged eating pizza or her hair swinging forward as she leaned over him to work at his muscles.
Crap on a biscuit, he was in big trouble with this woman. Not only was he interested, and thinking about his rope stash at home, but he had told her things, bared his soul.
He had to be careful from now on and keep his distance.