Touch Me Now

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Layla noticed the subtle tightening of his expression.

“Cousin.”

Kim beamed and wagged her finger. “I knew I spotted a resemblance.” She stuck out her hand. “Kim Fleming. I haven’t seen Rafe in ages. Please tell him hello for me.”

“Sure.”

She opened the door. “Thanks again,” she said to Layla. “You two have a good afternoon.” She offered a knowing smile and walked out.

Layla folded her hands in front of her. “Small world, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Listen maybe we can do this another time.”

He finally focused on her and the raw anger that was reflected in his eyes and the set countenance of his face caused Layla to take an inadvertent step back. His thick brows were drawn tightly together and his full mouth had tightened into a flat line. His chest rose and fell much too rapidly.

Layla’s eyes moved over his face and down to his hand that clenched the handle of his cane in a death grip. She dared to reach out. She covered that hand with her own.

“I can guarantee that after an hour whatever it is that’s bothering you won’t seem quite as important,” she said softly.

Maurice’s gaze dropped down to their hands then slowly up to her face. By degrees the knot in his gut began to loosen. He rocked his jaw from side to side. The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You must be very good.”

She grinned full out. “I am.” She propped her hands on her hips. “And if you are not one hundred percent satisfied…dinner is on me.”

Maurice laughed from deep in his chest. The corner of his eyes crinkled. “You’re on.”

“And I promise not to gloat over how incredible you will feel when I’m done.”

She turned to lead him to the changing room.

“If you’re that good, then dinner and drinks will be on me.”

She nearly stumbled over her own two feet but had the presence of mind to keep walking. “Mojito is my drink of choice,” she said and tossed him a quick look over her shoulder.

Maurice chuckled and followed willingly in her wake.

Chapter 6

“You can change in here,” Layla said, opening a door to a small changing space that included a locker, a bench for sitting and a hook for hanging clothes. “It’s not the Ritz but it’s cozy,” she added with a smile.

Maurice offered a half grin. “It’s more than fine. Thanks.”

“When you’re done, walk straight down this short hall to the steam room.” She indicated the direction to her right. “I’ll have it all set up for you.” She turned and the saloon door swung closed behind her. As she walked toward the steam room all she could think about was that gorgeous man was in the process of taking off his clothes, and the next time that she set eyes on him, there would be not much between them other than a white towel…of surrender, her sex-starved brain whispered. Goose bumps shimmied up her arms.

Layla shook off the tempting visual and hurried into the steam room that housed three spaces for clients. She selected the room on the end and set the temperature, made sure that there were towels and water. She came out and shut the door behind her. When she turned Maurice was standing in front of her and they both heard her gasp.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She ran her tongue nervously across her lips. “It’s nothing…really. Just a little jumpy today for some reason.” In a nanosecond her gaze licked across his face to his muscular bare chest, to the tight stomach, to the hidden gems behind the white towel and down to his legs and back up again. She swallowed. “Your room is ready.”

“Thanks.”

“You can adjust the temperature if you need to. Everything is set for ten minutes. Press the red button on the wall and the steam will start.”

He nodded his head.

She took two steps back. “Shout if you need me…for anything.”

“I will.” His eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled at her.

“Okay. Good.” She took two more back steps then spun away before she really made an idiot out of herself. She had the clarity of mind to point herself in the direction of the massage room. Once inside she sat down on the low-slung chair and dropped her face into her palms. What in the world was wrong with her? Her entire self was behaving as if she’d never been in the presence of a sexy man before. She couldn’t think straight, her heart was racing a mile a minute, and every other word out of her mouth was laced with a sexual undertone. Pushing out an exasperated breath she stood and began preparing the room for her client. This was business, she continued to remind herself as she set out towels, an extra robe, and lit the oil burners to scent the room. She put on a CD that captured the hypnotic sounds of rainfall and the rush of waves against the shore. She checked her watch. Maurice had about three minutes. She dimmed the lighting and went to check on her client.

When she returned to the steam room, Maurice was already out. She could hear the shower water running and her imagination shifted into overdrive. As clear as a spring morning she could see him beyond the frosted glass doors in the outfit that the Lord had given him…long, hard, sleek and drenched in milk chocolate.

The rushing water of the shower stopped. She could clearly hear him humming a soft tune now. Her heart thumped. She couldn’t just stand there like a dummy. But what if he came out with nothing on for instance? Not even the towel. But her feet were stuck on the wood floors.

The frosted glass door swung open. Maurice was securing the towel around his waist. He glanced up. His entire body still glistened from the heat and the water and for a moment Layla refused to breathe, certain that if she did it would disturb the delicate balance between them.

“Oh, hey there. All done.” He used the end of the towel that was draped around his neck to wipe his face.

Layla pushed out a breath. “Great. We can get your massage started.” She turned on her heels and walked back in the direction of the massage room. She could feel the heat of Maurice’s body wrapping itself around her from behind. The massage room was up ahead. She opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit interior. Immediately she busied herself with arranging oils and cloths. Anything to keep her eyes off of Maurice.

“Is the room comfortable enough?”

“Fine.”

“You can get up on the table. If you loosen the towel and turn on your stomach we can get started.” She looked away as he loosened his towel and then stretched out on the massage table.

Layla walked around to the head of the table. “I want to make sure that you’re comfortable. Stretch your arms down your sides, palms up and rest your forehead in the opening of the headrest. Get comfortable.”

Maurice followed her instructions. “Good?” he asked, his voice muffled by the cushion of the head support.

“Perfect. I’m going to begin with a light full-body massage and then a deeper tissue stimulation. I’ll be using a variety of oils. If I’m applying too much pressure or you feel uncomfortable please let me know. If there is an area on your body that you want me to devote special attention, let me know that as well.”

“Hmm, ummm,” he mumbled.

Layla poured some oil onto her palm and rubbed her hands briskly together. For a moment she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Slowly she lowered her hands to his shoulders. Her hands splayed across the heat of his flesh. Her thumbs pressed and connected with hard muscle, and his rugged sigh made her own spine tingle. She forced herself to concentrate on what she did so well—bring heaven to earth through her touch.

She covered every exposed inch of his body with her hands, infusing into every sinew the heat of release. Her trained hands moved down his back, up again and across his wide shoulders. She kneaded his arms, and she’d swear that she heard him almost whimper in rapture when she stroked the inside of his palms.

Applying more oils onto her hands, she started on the odyssey of his upper thighs and then took a slow trip down along his calves to the soles of his feet and back up again. She lingered for a moment along the thick scar that ran like a river down his right leg from above his knee to his midcalf. She felt his body tighten and his easy breathing hitch when her fingertips came in contact with the thickened tissue. But under her gentle manipulations she heard his breathing level off and the tension dissipate.

The soft candlelight bounced off his glistening dark skin, casting enticing shadows along the dips and curves of his body. Layla drew in a slow breath separating his natural scent from that of the oils. A smile of satisfaction teased her mouth.

She let her lids lower to almost closing as she worked. She loved what she did, bringing pleasure and relief to others through the skill of her touch. But this was different. She’d always been able to remain detached from her clients. She simply read their body needs through the tips of her fingers and gave the body what it desired. But this time it was her body that was in need, her body that longed to be touched.

Without effort or apparent intent Maurice had awakened her sleeping sexual giant. And it needed to be fed. The pulse between her thighs quickened. A fire lit in her belly. Heat infused her. Her breathing escalated. She saw herself standing before him. Her robe dropped to the ground. She stretched out her arms. He came to her in the dimness. His mouth brushed the pulse that fluttered at the base of her neck. Her nostrils flared as she tried to breathe. His head moved lower down along the swell of her breasts…

Maurice groaned every so softly.

The sound rippled up her spine. She blinked. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. She ran her tongue across her dry mouth.

The room came into a hazy kind of focus. Damn, she muttered under her breath. She glanced down at the sculpted specimen beneath her fingers.

“All done,” she said softly. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could stay here forever.”

Layla expelled a nervous laugh. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. After you get your things and get dressed I’ll meet you up front.”

“Hmmm,” he murmured unmoving.

Layla slipped out, closing the door silently behind her.

There was one thing that Maurice was totally thankful for, he thought, slowly rising to a sitting position on the table, and that was that she hadn’t asked him to turn over onto his back. He glanced down at the rock-hard rise beneath the towel. That could have been embarrassing for both of them. Or maybe not.

While she ran her hands all over him he was able to forget that he wasn’t whole—forget that he was crippled and scarred. Under the expertise of Layla’s fingertips he felt complete, came alive again, things he had not felt since he woke up in the hospital more than a year ago.

Gingerly he got down off of the table, expecting the usual pain to shoot up his leg into his hip. But nothing happened. All he felt was a soothing warmth deep in his muscles. He took a step and still no real pain. He reached for the robe that hung on the hook and shrugged into it. He took a quick mental inventory of his body. A hint of a smile moved his mouth. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt. His throat clenched and his eyes burned. He didn’t care if the relief only lasted for a minute. But for right now…

Layla was sitting in front of the computer screen when Maurice came up front.

She stopped what she was doing. “So…how was it? Can I add you to my list of satisfied customers?”

He crossed the space and sat down on a stool in front of the desk. “Oh, most definitely.” He grinned.

Layla tried to stay focused on whatever it was she should say next rather than memorize the way his lips moved when he talked and wonder if they were as soft and sweet as they appeared.

“Looks like I owe you a drink and dinner.”

She laughed over her nerves and waved her hand. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“A deal is a deal.”

Layla didn’t breathe for a second. “Drinks and dinner?”

“Mojito, right?” His eyes glowed.

“Um, yes.”

“How about eight?”

She swallowed the last lump of hesitation. “Eight is fine. I can meet you…by the bar.”

Maurice bobbed his head. “See you later.” He started to turn then stopped. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

Layla sat transfixed until the sound of the chimes over the door signaled Maurice’s departure. She shook some sense back into her head. She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. Dinner with Maurice Lawson! She had a little more than an hour to get ready and it would never happen with her sitting there with a goofy grin on her face.

And maybe over dinner and after a drink or two he would tell her a little bit about his very famous family and why that woman’s mentioning them seemed to get under his skin.

Chapter 7

“Hey, Layla!”

Layla glanced over her shoulder to see Desiree hurrying in her direction. “Hey. Whatsup?” she asked barely slowing down.

“I wanted to know how your day went and if you wanted to join me and Lincoln for dinner.”

“Oh,” she stopped short, turned to look at Desiree with a grin on her face. “I’m having dinner with Maurice Lawson.”

Desiree’s brows shot up in perfect symmetry. “Mr. tall, dark and broodingly handsome?”

“Yep.”

“Get outta here. You must have put some of that massage mojo on the brother. I haven’t seen him with a soul since he’s been here. To be truthful other than spotting him alone on the beach or maybe grabbing a drink…” Her voice trailed off.

“Did you know that he was a Lawson cousin?”

Desiree frowned. “No, I didn’t, but I see that you do,” she added with a wry grin. “How did you find out?”

They reached the end to the path before it split up toward the cottages.

“One of your guests, Kim Fleming, came into the salon while he was there. She recognized the family resemblance. Of course she mentioned Rafe.”

Desiree laughed. “Who doesn’t mention Rafe if they know him?”

“Touché. Anyway, it seemed to upset him for some reason.”

“Hmmm, I could probably ask Melanie. She would know. She’s close with the Lawsons. Funny, I never put the family thing together. Like I said, I haven’t really seen him that much and one of the staff checked him in. But even from a distance I can tell that the man is fine—with a capital F.”

Layla laughed. “You are so right.” She checked her watch. “I gotta run. We’re meeting up at eight.”