Jason pulled her into a hug. “You don’t mean that,” he said, stroking her hair.
“Yes, I do!”
Jason kissed the top of her head and ran his hands down her hair. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll practice very hard until I get really good, and then I’ll show you how to do them yourself. Then you can have braids every day and no one will ever laugh at you because they’ll be perfect.”
She sniffed. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay,” Amber said into his chest. After a beat, she added, “Why is Brent so mean, Daddy?”
Jason sighed. “Because he’s sad, sweetie.”
“Because of Mom?”
Jason nodded. “I’m sure that’s a big part of it.”
“But … but I’m sad too, and I don’t …” Her words trailed off.
“People handle things differently, sweetheart.” He continued stroking her hair. “We all just have to do our best and try to get along with each other.” Hearing his own words, he briefly considered apologizing to his son right then, but it was too soon. Trying to talk to him while he was still angry and stoned would only result in more arguing. Maybe even another fit.
Amber sniffed. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“Can we go downstairs and watch Good Witch now?”
Jason kissed her head. “I’d love to.”
“Can I microwave some popcorn?” asked Amber.
“You sure can.” Jason’s head throbbed. He was still upset and had half a mind to crack open Flynn Garvey’s champagne just to calm himself down.
Amber ran to the kitchen and banged around in cupboards for the popcorn while Jason played with the remote, looking for the show.
Just as he found it, a sonorous BONG-DONG-DING-BONG! resounded from an unknown location in the house. He looked around, startled.
“Daddy!” Amber rushed to the living room. “What was that?”
The doorbell? He hadn’t heard it before.
Amber followed him to the door and peered out from behind him. When he answered it, his stomach went cold.
Savannah Sturgess wore a white suede jacket that went past her knees. Her blond hair was curled and swept back on one side, pinned by a sprig of small white flowers. When she saw him, her china blue eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness, Mr. Crandall! Your eye!” She brought her hand to her mouth.
Jason touched it. “Oh, yeah, I-”
“Daddy tripped!” said Amber, repeating the lie he’d told her.
“Oh, no.” Savannah studied his face. “Have you tried an ice pack to take down the swelling?”
“It’s fine,” said Jason. “How can I help you, Savannah?” Her floral scent reached him, caressing him with soft, sweet fingers.
“I heard you take walk-ins.” She smiled. “I told you I was serious about getting a massage.”
Jason hesitated. At least she wasn’t here to discuss Brent and Liam’s pot-smoking adventures - the parents themselves will probably come over for that! - but he didn’t like the idea of being alone with the young woman. “Well … the thing is-”
“I know I don’t have an appointment but … I was hoping you could squeeze me in.” She batted her lashes.
He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to massage her. Even now, he sensed danger around her like an electric current. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight now, and I usually close up shop at six …”
Amber had moved to his side and stared up at Savannah in awe. “I like your jacket! Is it soft?”
Savannah laughed. It wasn’t the lewd laugh from the other night at the bar. It was a rehearsed, comfortable sound that belonged to a 1950s actress. “Yes, it’s very soft.”
Amber reached out and ran her hand along it, fascinated by the jacket and starstruck by Savannah. “Wow.” Then her eyes suddenly widened. “Do you know how to make braids? I don’t but my daddy says he’s going to teach me, but he has to learn how to do them first. He tried to do them tonight but I took them out …” she took a breath. “My friend Stevie Rose has braids almost every day and tomorrow we were going to match, so if you know how to make braids maybe-”
“Amber, that’s enough,” said Jason.
Savannah tipped her head back and laughed. “It just so happens that braids are my specialty.”
“Really?” Amber jumped up and down, clapping her hands.
“Mm-hmm.” Savannah nodded. “And if it’s okay with your daddy, I’ll braid your hair before my massage and that way, you and your friend can match tomorrow.”
Amber tugged at Jason’s arm. “Please, Daddy! Please!”
Before Jason had a chance to argue, Savannah plowed on, making more promises to his daughter. “Maybe we could even put these flowers in your hair.” She unfastened the white sprig and held it out to Amber. “Would you like that?”
“Really? Omigosh, I’d love it!” She looked at Jason. “Please, Daddy? Please, please, please!”
Jason saw no way out. “All right, but after Savannah’s done braiding your hair you have to stay up here by yourself until I’m done with her in the studio.”
“Okay!”
Jason opened the door and stepped aside. Even as she brushed past him - a little too closely - he knew he was going to regret ever letting Savannah Sturgess into his home.
Savannah’s efforts to teach Jason how to braid Amber’s hair weren’t entirely futile. He’d watched her graceful blue-tipped fingers moving with expertise, listening to her breathy tones as she explained what she was doing. As she worked, Jason found himself entertaining ungentlemanly thoughts - thoughts he wasn’t prepared for.
When she was finished, Savannah clipped the sprig of flowers to Amber’s hair. “You can keep this. I have a million just like it.”
Amber was thrilled. Watching her interact so excitedly with Savannah broke another chip off Jason’s heart. It was obvious she yearned for a female role model who could do the things with her that Jason had no head for; he just wished it could be someone besides Savannah Sturgess. But he had to admit, she was great with Amber. Maybe I’m judging her too harshly ...
Jason turned on Good Witch for Amber and told Savannah to follow him.
“I’m very excited about this,” she said as they made their way down the stairs. “I’ve never had a real massage.”
“Well, if you like it, be sure and tell your friends.”
“Oh, I definitely will, Mr. Crandall.”
Jason led her to the massage studio, and opened the door for her, closing it behind them. Watching her dote on his daughter had almost changed Jason’s mind about her, but the moment they were alone, her body language abruptly changed and she was the flirty sexpot he’d seen at the bar. It was in the way she moved through the room, bending over too far to smell the candles and running her fingertips suggestively along the edges of the massage table. She picked some flyers from his desk, slowly licked a finger, and paged through them. “Do you do sensual massage?”
“No.” Jason answered quickly and lit several scented candles, noting a slight tremor in his fingertips.
“That’s too bad. I’ve never had one before.” She leaned against the desk, arms behind her, breasts jutting even beneath the lofty fabric of her jacket.
Jason adjusted the table warmer to a comfortable setting. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Sweat broke out on his lip. “And you’re aware of my pricing?”
She nodded. “I’d like a one-hour Swedish massage.”
“I’ll go warm more towels while you, uh, get ready. Just lie on your stomach under the sheet and relax.” He turned on some music and adjusted the volume. “You can put your clothes on the desk. I’ll hang your jacket, if you’d like.”
“Thank you.” She shrugged out of the coat - a Dolce & Gabbana - and what she wore beneath it brought heat to Jason’s face - and his groin: black suede knee-high boots, a soft cotton miniskirt, and a transparent black blouse over a matching bra that pushed her large breasts up and out to delicious degre
es. “Would you mind unfastening my necklace?” She turned around and lifted her hair.
She could have left it on, but Jason, as if pulled by strings, moved in, unable to resist getting closer to her. Despite himself, he throbbed a little as the scent of her shampoo, her perfume, her skin, worked its way into his brain and hit his bloodstream. His fingers trembled with the latch but at last, he got it.
“There you go.” His voice cracked.
Savannah turned and held out her hand.
He lowered the necklace into her palm.
“It’s a family heirloom,” she said, “passed down from my great-great grandmother.” She moved beside him, pressing her firm breasts against his arm, and pointed to the back of the cross. “See? An S, for Sturgess. But I like to think it stands for Savannah.” She laughed and he felt her breath against his arm.
He swallowed. “It’s … lovely.”
“Thank you.” She placed it on the desk, on top of the stack of flyers.
“I’ll, uh … go warm those towels.” Jason left the room, hung the coat, and threw some towels in the dryer. This was a very bad idea. There was no denying he was attracted to her - he could handle that … but this was ridiculous. What is it about her? I’m as horny as a high schooler! He looked down at himself and grimaced; his anatomy enthusiastically agreed. And I could have her. Right now. He could tell by the way her gaze had lingered over him - and this certainty did nothing to discourage his raging arousal. He felt both hot and cold, bathed in a delicious, hungry need.
He briefly considered taking a quick trip to the bathroom to unload the bullets from the gun - but that would be juvenile. I’m a grown man. I can handle it. Julia’s face crashed into his mind. And it’s far too soon for this kind of thinking. The guilt pierced him like a hot needle. She’s only been gone for six months. How can I even be entertaining this? He took deep breaths and thought professional thoughts until his body began to behave, and when the towels were warmed he took them out of the dryer and gently tapped on the studio door.
“I’m ready for my close up, Mr. Crandall,” she called in a singsong lilt.
Jason opened the door, relieved to find her face-down and fully covered on the massage table.
“I was beginning to think I might have to entertain myself in here.” She giggled.
“Sorry about that.” He quickly warmed lavender oil in his hands and went to work, pointedly ignoring her creamy-white skin ... and its tight smoothness.
Savannah moaned when he touched her.
Jason ignored that, too. He smoothed the oil over her back, clearing his mind and preparing himself for a quiet relaxing session. Her voice interrupted his plans.
“Are you going to the carnival tomorrow night?”
He was grateful for a neutral topic. Anything to keep his mind off Savannah. And her skin. “I am. I’m meeting Coop.” And he wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t want to risk bumping into Travis Delgado - but it was a small town and trying to hide from him would be an endless dance that Jason didn’t have the energy for. He couldn’t hide and he wouldn’t allow himself to cower. On principle alone, he had to go.
“Maybe I’ll see you there,” said Savannah.
“Maybe.” Jason’s hands slicked over her skin with quick, efficient strokes - professional strokes. He used his palm, gently working out the muscles near her shoulders.
“Mmm. That feels so good, Mr. Crandall.”
Jason’s heart did a double beat. The way she said his name - Mr. Crandall, as if she were the naughty teacher’s pet and he the unsuspecting professor - aroused him even more. “Call me Jason.” But he knew she wouldn’t; she seemed to intuit the effect it had on him. He suspected she was an expert at getting the responses she wanted from men.
Jason closed his eyes and tried to find that place within himself where his mind was quiet and his hands intuitively followed the stress - but unlike Marlee Delgado, Savannah Sturgess carried no real tension in her body. And why should she? She was the prettiest girl from the wealthiest family in Shadow Springs, with a successful boyfriend who either didn’t know or didn’t care that she had every man in town at her command. But I’m not going to be one of them.
As he moved down, it became even more difficult to stay focused. Her skin was like silk, the dip of her lower back a delicious valley.
Savannah moaned again as his hands slid down toward the swell of her buttocks, over the twin dimples of Venus. She rocked her hips gently and let out a long, satisfied sigh, then said, “So, tell me, Mr. Crandall, how did a cute guy like you get into massage therapy?”
Cute guy? He cleared his throat. “I got my license while I was in college.” His mouth and throat were dry. “I did it for extra income and realized I was good at it. I put it on hold and went to work for a marketing company in LA, and after about fifteen years of that, I moved here and opened the business.”
“It must be wonderful doing what you love.”
“It is.”
She sighed. “Would you mind doing my front, Mr. Crandall?”
He froze. “Your … front?”
She rolled over. The draping slid to the floor. Her nude body was like an alabaster statue, her perfectly shaped breasts tipped with champagne-pink nipples the silky texture of rose wings. The long line that divided her stomach muscles was visible under her soft white skin, begging to be explored. She stretched out, making no move to retrieve the lost sheet. The sweet scent of her seemed everywhere.
“I …” Jason’s eyes moved lower, taking in the swell of hips and length of thigh - and the light brown thatch of hair between her legs, thinking he could almost feel its soft, silky texture with his eyes. In the amber glow of candlelight, she looked ethereal, her hair a flood of white gold spilling over the table as her breasts heaved with slow deliberate breaths.
“Mr. Crandall.” Her hands traveled over her stomach, across her ribs, and massaged her breasts, rubbing them, and she moaned. “Is this what you want, Mr. Crandall?”
He opened his mouth to say something - anything - but nothing came.
She turned her head, facing his crotch, her lips mere inches from his swelling bulge.
His feet were like blocks of cement; his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Entranced, he stared down at the glint of her hair, the curve of her long black lashes, the wetness of her full pink lips.
She looked back at him, her eyes filled with pornographic greed.
He watched her blue-painted fingertips travel lower on her body, blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating painfully against his ribs.
“Take your cock out, Mr. Crandall,” she breathed.
And he was overcome by the delicious need. His hands flew to his fly, trembling as he unbuttoned and unzipped.
“I’ve wanted to taste it since I first laid eyes on you,” she said - but she could have been talking to anyone.
Jason froze, stopping just short of dropping his pants.
It was his own conscience, but it was also Savannah. She wasn’t there, not really. She seemed like a programmed machine - an actress delivering her lines after the twenty-fifth take.
His head spun and he ached with the need for release … but he couldn’t do it. “We can’t. I can’t.” He zipped himself up.
“What?” Sitting up, she seemed baffled, as if not having sex had simply never occurred to her.
Jason swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Before he could change his mind, he handed over her clothes. “I think you need to leave, Savannah.”
“But I thought … I thought you wanted me?”
Jason wondered if she’d ever been told no in her life. “You’re … beautiful, Savannah, but this isn’t right. We can’t do this.” Even as he said it, a part of him yearned to take her - to succumb to the kind of biting, sweating, pounding gutter ecstasy a woman like Savannah promised. But he didn’t. With strength he didn’t know he had, he retrieved her jacket, and once she was dressed, handed it to her.
There was some
thing heartbreaking about her as she silently dressed that quelled his hunger - the way her head hung, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, the uncertainty of her fingers as she buttoned her coat, as if she’d never been rejected before in her life. And maybe she hadn’t. But the longer he watched her, the more certain he was he’d done the right thing - not just for him, but for her, too. She seemed no more than a child - a child who’d been told somewhere along the way that this was how women behaved - that this was how they measured their worth - and he wondered who had told her such lies.
When she was done, she tried to meet his eyes, but couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crandall. I just thought-” She stared at the floor. “I just thought that’s what you wanted.”
Jason watched her. “But is it what you wanted, Savannah?” Now he felt like a father again - and that was more proper.
“Yes. You’re very attractive, and … I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She smiled uncertainly. “I’d better go.”
“Have a good night, Savannah.” Jason watched her walk to the door.
“Savannah?”
She turned and he saw the tears in her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Crandall?”
It took him a moment to find the right words. “There’s more to you than this. You know that, don’t you?”
She blinked.
“I mean, you don’t have to … it isn’t your duty to, uh, do this - with men - if you don’t want to. You have the right to say no.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I know.”
But he didn’t think she did.
She lingered in the doorway a moment with an air of indecision, then said, “Goodnight, Mr. Crandall.” And Savannah Sturgess was gone.
Jason stood there, staring at the blank face of the door, bewildered. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself had he gone through with it, yet there was a part of him that still wanted her. A selfish, stupid part of him that he suspected existed in all men and was likely responsible for millions and millions of very bad decisions throughout history.
With the buzz of need still humming under his skin and an aching, nearly-painful fullness in his balls, he blew out the candles, locked the door, and shut off the music. He went to switch off the desk lamp and that’s when he saw Savannah’s gold cross necklace, forgotten on the stack of flyers. He picked it up, studied it a moment, then put it in the top drawer. Family heirloom or not, he wasn’t about to hunt her down to return it. He couldn’t trust himself with her. He’d have to think of a way to return it without having to see her again.
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