Until We Touch

Her hands stroked lower and lower on his back. He knew what was next. She would slide down his hip, then come up to the side of his butt and dig in to some pressure point. She would grind until he was about ready to come off the table, and then suddenly it would ease. Pain would flow out of him as if she’d pulled the cork on a bottle.

Sure enough she started on his right side. He wasn’t sure if she used her fingers or knuckles or what, but she unerringly found that damned spot every time and pushed to what felt like the center of his pelvis bone. The pain was sharp and white, almost like a knife. Nerve pain, he thought, recognizing the difference. He began to tense. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, there was a sudden absence of pain and he went limp.

Larissa walked around to the other side of the table and rested her hand on the small of his back, as if silently telling him she was there. Her fingers slipped down the side of his hip then up to his butt where she dug in again. Her free hand rested on the back of his thigh.

Did she always do that? Rest her hand there? Because it felt nice. She had good hands. Strong. The way she moved them. There was a confidence a guy could get used to. If she would just move that other hand a little higher and toward the center. If he parted his legs a little she could—

The sharp pain grew, but it wasn’t enough to distract him, and when it faded, there was a new ache in its place. A growing ache that he couldn’t immediately place. It was as if—

Jack silently swore as he realized he had an erection. What the hell? Now? During a massage? What was he—fifteen?

Stop it, he told himself. No way could he be aroused. Not like this. He never had been before. Okay, maybe a couple of times when it had been a long time between women, but then he thought about his relationship with Larissa and knew that was never going to happen. They were friends. He cared about her. He knew better than to sleep with someone he cared about.

The realization had always been enough to take care of the problem. But it wasn’t today. The more he thought he shouldn’t, the bigger he got. The more he told himself not to, the more he imagined what it would be like. Her hands moving all over him. Him touching her in return. His mouth exploring every part of her before he settled between her thighs and—

Shit!

Without having anything close to a plan, he grabbed the sheet below him and pulled it free of the pad. It came up easily.

“Jack?” Larissa stepped back from the table. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” he said, scrambling to his feet. He was careful to keep the sheet bunched around his raging hard-on and then bolted.

The locker room was across the hall. He raced inside, then headed directly for the showers. He turned on the cold water, then stepped into the spray.

Ten minutes later, order had been restored in his personal universe. Jack dried off and dressed. He picked up the soggy shoulder wrap and wondered how he was going to explain what had happened to Larissa. Maybe he could tell her he got sick. Would she believe that?

The locker room door opened. Jack groaned and turned, prepared to lie his way out of the problem. But luck was with him and instead of Larissa, he saw Kenny strolling toward him.

“What?” his friend demanded. “Larissa is out there, wringing her hands. She says you ran away without an explanation.” Kenny put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Bro, she’s worried. What’s up?”

Not the best choice of words, Jack thought, not sure if he was going to laugh or start swearing again.

He dropped the soggy pack onto the bench and settled next to it. He rested his head in his hands.

“I got a boner during the massage,” he admitted.

Kenny snickered. “Seriously? That’s what all the fuss is about? It happens. It’s no big deal.”

Jack dropped his hands and glanced at his friend. Kenny’s blue eyes were filled with amusement.

“You, too?” Jack asked.

“Sure. Larissa doesn’t care. We joke about it. Eventually it goes away. Why did this time freak you out?”

“Because I don’t usually have that problem.”

“You and Sam,” Kenny said. “You make things too complicated. Look, you’re not seeing anyone, you’re na**d and a beautiful woman is rubbing on you. Biology, man. It’s all about biology.”

Maybe, Jack thought, but that didn’t explain why he felt so strange about it all.

“She’s out there, worrying,” Kenny told him. “Tell her you’re fine.”

“You do it.”

Kenny shook his head. “You’re making this more than it is. If you don’t talk about it now, you’re going to have to explain it later. It’s not going to get easier with time.”

Jack shrugged. That was a problem he would deal with when he had to. Until he figured out what had happened, avoiding Larissa seemed like a damned good plan.

* * *

LARISSA WALKED UP the front walk of Jack’s house. The imposing two-story structure was elegant. One of several sleek custom homes on the golf course. The yard was perfectly manicured, the windows large, the paint fresh. Jack was a big believer in hiring the right person for the job and it showed. Everything in his life was well tended.

So not her style, she thought as she crossed to the front door, knocked once and then let herself in. Because the door was almost never locked.

“It’s me,” she called as she entered. “Jack?”

She knew he was here. His Mercedes was in the driveway. Still, she half expected him not to answer, mostly because he’d been avoiding her all day.

She didn’t like that. Didn’t like him running out of her massage and then not talking to her. To quote her mom’s favorite movie, “There was a great disturbance in the Force.” She’d been restless and on edge. Kenny’s assurances that Jack was fine hadn’t helped at all.

She heard something and looked up. Jack stood on the landing of the second floor. He’d changed into jeans and T-shirt. He looked tired, she thought. And in pain.

She put her hands on her hips. “What?” she demanded. “Tell me what happened. I’m not leaving here until you do.”

He walked down the stairs toward her. For the first time in years, she was unable to read his face. How could she not know what Jack was thinking?

“You’re scaring me,” she admitted. “Are you mad at me or something? We have to talk. This isn’t right.”

He reached the main floor. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but he was still taller than her. And oddly broad across the shoulders. A guy, she thought. Jack, the guy, made her nervous. She did much better with Jack, her friend.

“Say something,” she told him.

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and sighed. “I’m not mad.”

“Okay.” That was good. “So?”

His dark gaze settled on her face. “I got a hard-on during the massage. I don’t usually. I didn’t know what to do, so I left.”

Ran was more like it, she thought before her brain went to a completely different place.

A hard-on? As in an erection? As in arousal? He was still talking but she wasn’t listening. Not when there was so much to process.

She knew the women in Jack’s life. Not personally, of course. While she met them, they didn’t hang out or anything. It probably took too much time to be so beautiful for them to have friends. His women were all models or actresses. There was also the unfortunate two months of him dating a Playboy bunny. She’d been a stunning girl, but not so much in the conversation department.

Larissa got it. Jack liked beautiful women. Why wouldn’t he? They were available. Which was probably why she was having trouble with the idea of him being aroused because of her. She knew that she was pretty enough, but firmly in the normal category. He was used to perfection and she was just kind of...ordinary. So how could he have gotten turned on by her?

She supposed it was because he hadn’t had a girlfriend for a while. He’d been in Fool’s Gold and there was no sneaking around here.

“...asked Kenny to talk to you,” he finished.

She’d missed the middle bit, but figured that was fine.

“That sort of thing happens,” she told him, still confused but willing to go with it. “They cover it in massage school. Sam never does, but Kenny’s pretty regular. We joke about it and then it’s gone. It’s a biological function. I know it’s not personal.”

Jack’s guarded expression started to relax. “You’re okay with that?”

“Sure. I was touching you intimately. We know each other. We’re friends. You’re comfortable. You got a little too relaxed.”

She was saying all the right things. The professional things. But what she was really thinking was that she kind of wouldn’t mind for it to be personal. She’d kind of like him saying he’d been swept away.

Even as the thoughts formed, she mentally retreated from them. What on earth? Where had that come from? She and Jack were friends. She liked him, but not that way.

He touched her arm. Just a light touch, but it seemed to burn all the way to her gut.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely. “Why didn’t I come talk to you earlier?”

“You didn’t come talk to me now. I came to you.”

He flashed her a smile. A sweet sexy smile that made her knees weak.

“Right as always,” he told her. “Come on. I’ll buy you a glass of wine.”

She automatically followed him into his big, open kitchen. He pulled a bottle of merlot from the built-in wine cellar and walked to the drawer that held the opener. She collected glasses. Because they’d done this a thousand times before, they had a ritual. A ritual she liked.

Only tonight she wanted something different. She wanted him to pull her close and kiss her and... Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what they would do next, but she wasn’t feeling that picky. As long as it was Jack, she was happy.

For the second time in as many minutes, she was mentally backtracking. No, she told herself firmly. They weren’t involved. They never had been. She’d learned that lesson early and she’d learned it well. Jack was heartache. Jack wanted the most beautiful woman in the room...for fifteen minutes. And then he was done. He wanted sex and easy conversation—he didn’t want to get involved. And she...she didn’t know what she wanted but it wasn’t that. Was it?

She took the glass of wine he offered and followed him into the big open living room. When they watched movies they went downstairs to the media room. Because Jack had, if not the biggest house in town, then one that was certainly close. Five or six bedrooms, a fully finished basement, a three-car garage. He had space and gadgets and lots of shiny surfaces. But sometimes she wondered if he ever got lonely in his big house.

His place in L.A. had been similar. Maybe that explained all the fast-food women he favored. He got to pretend he was a part of something, even for a few hours, and then didn’t have any relationship messiness.

There was a large curved sofa facing a massive fireplace. Paintings hung on the walls. Real paintings of beaches and trees. Not quasi–pop art representations of him playing football.

She spotted a small oil painting by the antique writing desk in the corner.

“Is that new?” she asked. She put down her glass of wine and walked to study it.

The colors were all shades of the ocean and forest. There was a rough sea and an island beyond. She could barely make out the tiny sign by the boats. “Blackberry Island Marina.”

“When did you get this?” she asked, turning to face him.

He set his wine next to hers and grinned. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“I usually do, but this is unexpected.” Her smile widened. “You have a secret life.”

“I wish. A little privacy in this town would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath.”

She returned to stand next to him. “What would you want to keep private? It’s nice that we know everything about each other.”

“It’s a guy thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “A convenient fallback statement that has no basis in reality. You’re trying to distract me and it’s not going to work.”

“Larissa, if I wanted to distract you, there are better ways.”

He was being fun. Or playful. She knew that, because she knew Jack. But when he made that statement, in a firm voice that was both teasing and slightly sexy, she could only think of one thing.

Her muscles tensed even as her gaze involuntarily settled on his mouth. Breathing was tough and the only thought she could hold on to was an intense desire to have him kiss her. Not on the cheek or the forehead, like he usually did. She wanted him to kiss her on the mouth. Like he meant it.

Jack’s startled expression quickly changed to something she couldn’t read. He took a step back and held up his arms, as if warding her off. But in the next movement, he grabbed her, hauled her against him, then pressed his mouth to hers.

The contact was unexpected and exactly what she wanted. She went willingly into his embrace. Her hands settled on his broad shoulders as her thighs nestled against his. But the best part was how he kissed her.

Gently, at first. Light, barely touching, then more firmly. His mouth lingered. Her eyes sank closed as she melted against him. Yes, he was definitely lingering, she thought. Lingering and moving back and forth. There was a tenderness, but also a hint of something else. Something more.

Heat began to bubble deep in her chest. It flowed in all directions, making her body warm and sensitive to every touch. His fingers stroked her back, holding her with just the right amount of pressure. Thinking became more difficult and the world reduced itself to this man and what he was doing to her.