Summer Indiscretions

by Tamara Mataya

“What does that mean?”

  “I’m an independent contractor with them, so I’m not technically an employee. I don’t have to deal with them and their day-to-day operations as much. They’re totally useless when it comes to running things smoothly. To make sure they understood, I left a note and told both of the owners in person that I’m on vacation for the next two weeks. They still keep scheduling appointments for me. My phone’s blowing up with messages from Ziggy telling me about the new appointments, and others from the new receptionist telling me she’s rescheduled those for when I’m back.”

  Melanie grimaces. “I’ve got a situation of my own like that. It’s annoying.”

  “It is, but Fern and Ziggy pay well.” I shrug. “I’m trying to get through this last year of school without crippling debt hanging over my head.”

  “Why not keep massaging instead of going into physical therapy? I thought you loved it.”

  “I do. People’s bodies tell me so much more than they realize.”

  Her phone dings and she checks it, frowning before turning it off and tossing it back in her purse. “I’d like to pitch this phone into the ocean.”

  “I hear that.”

  “What do people’s bodies tell you?”

  I take another sip of water. “For example? I know your right shoulder is bugging you from the way you’re holding your arm slightly closer to your side. Probably from the way you hold the mouse when using a computer. I can tell your back hurts right in the middle by the way you hunched your shoulders and stiffened when you adjusted the umbrella.”

  “You could tell all that from the few minutes we’ve been together?”

  “I also know exactly how to make it feel better.”

  Her mouth softens as her lips part in surprise.

  I smile. “I love massage, but it doesn’t love me. It’s too hard on the body. PT is still in the area of what I want to do, and it’s something I can do full-time for a couple decades—even longer when people work under me and I can reduce my hours. Massaging as a career has a lit fuse, and I’ve already been doing it for nearly a decade.

  “My hands have suffered and changed over the seven years I’ve done it. There’s a reason you don’t see many older massage therapists. From the first massage we give, our years are numbered. My thumbs used to stand straight up; now they bend back more severely.” I give her a thumbs-up to demonstrate. “Besides, the money’s better in physical therapy.”

  Mel slides on an oversize pair of sunglasses, blocking her eyes. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “Nah, but I have a solid plan and that counts for a lot. What about you?”

  “What about me?” She crosses her arms, but it’s more like she’s trying to hide than be confrontational.

  “Are you happy where you are?” I ask.

  “Kind of heavy conversation for a day at the nude beach.”

  “Maybe. Still, are you where you want to be in life?” I gently prod.

  Her chest rises and falls three times. “Right now, I think I am.”

  I need to see her eyes. She doesn’t move when I lean in and slide her glasses down the bridge of her nose. I want to kiss her, but I don’t. Her expression tells me she wants me to, but her brother would probably kill me.

  So I swallow and sit back instead. “Good.”

  A volleyball hits the sand between us—which I take as confirmation to back off. Mel grabs it and looks around for the owner before bumping it over to her.

  “Hey,” the tall, blond woman says. “You want to join my boyfriend and me in a game of doubles?”

  Mel shakes her head. “I don’t really play.”

  I stand and brush the sand from my shorts. “Stop trying to hustle the woman, Mel.” I look at the woman while offering my hand to Mel. “She played in high school.”

  Mel reluctantly takes my hand. “Not beach volleyball.”

  I shrug and pull her up. “So maybe they’ll have a chance.”

  She shakes her head all the way to the net, where we shake hands with Ruth and Xander—our competition. Mel tells me to go up front, so I do.

  Her assertiveness is kind of sexy.

  Ruth serves a hard one to the back of our side. Mel bumps it up to me and yells, “You!” which makes me pause, and the ball hits the ground on our side.

  She laughs. “What was that, Wilde?”

  “You?”

  She tosses the ball back to Ruth. “That means it’s yours. You were supposed to set it up so I could spike it.”

  “I know. It’s just that your Amazonian cry startled me. I thought we were going for a slow hustle by lulling them into a false sense of security.”

  Mel moves back to her position. “You know what I’ve realized about myself? I don’t like playing games. I like winning them.”

  My own competitive spirit rises to match hers. I also played a lot of sports in school, so this should be interesting. Ruth lobs one that Mel smacks toward the net, and I set it straight up just in time for Mel to come screaming up to spike it beside Xander. We slam a vicious high five and get back into position.

  We don’t get a point, but we get to serve.

  I’d forgotten how intense Mel can get. Her focus is like a laser beam, and she throws herself around the sand with reckless disregard for her own well-being, but it is something to watch. No hesitation. She goes for it all, outmaneuvering me—and I’m definitely not a slouch physically. Soon we’re both glistening with sweat and five points up.

  I can’t help but notice how well we work together after that initial misfire, angling around each other without a word spoken like we’re made of magnets that snap automatically in place, or pushing each other where we need to go with a single touch of a hand on a shoulder or hip.

  Xander counters Mel’s blistering serve with a bump that brings it back to our side instead of setting it up for a spike. It soars through the air in a lazy arc.

  We shout “mine” at the same time and collide, ending up in a tangle of limbs on the ground with me on top, pressed fully against her. Her face is flushed from the game, and we’re both sweating… And all at once I can no longer keep myself from seeing her as the strong, vibrantly beautiful woman she is instead of who she’s always been to me.

  I lick my lips and her smile softens, her hands caressing my shoulders.

  I definitely can’t kiss her.

  Chapter 5

  Melanie

  I want him to kiss me.

  The sand burns my back and Blake burns my front, and I want him to make me feel good with those hands and that amazing attention to physical details. With barely a glance, he knew every ache in my body earlier. Well, every ache except the very insistent one between my legs. It hammers away at my common sense, demanding I remove every stitch of our clothing and explore his body with my tongue. Kiss me? No. I want him to make love to me.

  From the way he’s looking down at me with his pupils dilating even in this light, I’m pretty sure he wants that as much as I do, but something holds him back.

  He gets up and helps me to my feet. We thank Ruth and Xander and excuse ourselves from the game while brushing sand off our bodies. As we head back to our towels, all I can think about is how good he just felt.

  I smile at him, hoping to keep it friendly and not raise suspicion—at least until we’re behind closed doors. “You should come over for supper. Check out my Switch partner’s house.”

  “Yeah? What are you having?”

  You? In my dreams. But hey, I sat topless on a nude beach. Maybe today I can do other things I always assumed were impossible. A slow, wicked smile crawls over my face. “I’ll have to see when we get there.”

  We pack up the towels, and he insists on carrying my bag back to Shelby’s. I pretend I’m enjoying the silence. Really, I’m afraid I’ll fall back into old habits and chicken out
if we talk too much.

  And I need this to happen. New York Melanie would never ignore calls from work. New York Melanie would never take off her top in public.

  New York Melanie is way too responsible and levelheaded to sleep with her brother’s best friend—no matter how hot he is, with his six-pack and pecs and chiseled V-muscles. And that smile that’s made me tingle since middle school.

  But I’m not in New York. I’m on vacation. I’ve Switched.

  Maybe it’s the heat, or maybe it’s the nudity going to my brain, but I’m not going to chicken out of this.

  He clears his throat. “Shawn seems impressed with your Switch woman.”

  “I’m impressed with her.” I unlock the front door and lead Blake inside. “There are these pictures in her bedroom—I’ll show you.” I walk him through the living room, not pointing out all my handiwork that suddenly seems fussy and uptight.

  “Wow, it’s bright in here. Airy.”

  I grin. “Like a furniture catalog. I can’t believe how much space they get down here. It nearly makes me agoraphobic.”

  “I’m used to being crammed in tiny rooms massaging people. This much space is obnoxious. I’d become a compulsive hoarder, buying things just so I didn’t feel so exposed.”

  “I know what you mean.” I walk faster and face forward so he can’t see my silly smile. His presence here feels like a sign, a gift. One I hope to unwrap in the very near future.

  God, maybe vitamin D enters the nipples and goes straight to your brain. “Bathroom to the right, an office in here.” I swing the white door open to reveal yet another huge room with a desk and shelves in complete disarray. I won’t touch this room. Going through someone’s personal files and papers is inappropriate.

  Not to mention that there definitely isn’t enough space in those drawers for this much paperwork. If I started, I’d be collating and sorting for weeks until I was forced to buy her more furniture for storage.

  Finally, I push open the door to the bedroom and walk to the pictures on the wall. “Here we are.”

  “Surfboard in the bedroom? Kinky.”

  I laugh. “Grinding on that wood like Beyoncé? It’s not just for decoration.” I point at one of the many gorgeous shots of Shelby. “There she is.”

  Blake’s body heat radiates against my arm as he moves closer to look at the pictures. “Ah, yeah. She’s definitely Shawn’s type. I can see why he’s so interested in playing tour guide for her.”

  Jealousy twists in my stomach like a shrieking eel, but I keep my voice level. “She’s gorgeous. She could be a model. She eats like one too.”

  “Fridge full of twigs and berries?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I should start eating those things.”

  “Only if you like the taste. It would be a crime to lose those curves because you think you should.”

  Pure lust radiates from his eyes, and I step toward him—but he shakes his head as though clearing it and smiles blandly at me. “So, what’s for supper?”

  Looks like I’ll be having sexual frustration. “Let’s go have a look in her cupboard.”

  I grabbed a few things—mostly carbs—at the store yesterday after the beach. Nothing makes you feel better about a nude beach fiasco than stress eating mini cupcakes over the sink. I also threw together a light pasta salad for supper today.

  I dish the pasta onto our plates while Blake tears up greens for a salad. God, he’s got nice hands. Powerful, large, and yet elegantly shaped instead of being meaty mitts. Who am I kidding? They could look like he was wearing ham hocks, and I’d want them all over my body.

  “Do you like it so far?”

  I blink, shaking away the image of his hands sliding up my thigh. “What?”

  “Florida.”

  My shoulder twinges a little when I reach for two plates. “It’s different.”

  He bumps his hip against mine. “You’re overwhelming me with details.”

  I’d give more, but my head spins from his casual proximity. “The people are different. They’re not manically rushing from place to place and fighting for another inch of standing room on the train. I didn’t think ambling happened outside Western novels, but it seems to be the default pace.”

  He laughs and dishes the salad onto our plates. I hold up a bottle of sparkling wine and he nods, so I pour us each a glass. “Do you want to eat in here or on the patio?”

  “She’s got a patio too?” He shakes his head. “She’s got to be shrinking in on herself, trying to combat the claustrophobia of your apartment.”

  Shelby’s place feels cozier now that Blake’s here. I grab my plate and head to the patio. “It’s cramped, but it’s homey. Besides, you only saw it once for about three minutes when Shawn helped me move.”

  “And you’ve probably got even more bookshelves crammed in there now.” He pauses and adds, “What a view.”

  I follow his appreciative gaze to the sliver of ocean peeking through the buildings, crowned with a section of blue sky being painted ombré by the sunset. “Yeah, I’d be OK with keeping this view. How’s your hotel?”

  He shrugs and digs into his pasta. “It’s OK. Nice pasta, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Everything he does makes my thighs clench and makes me wish I was what he was touching, tasting.

  Putting in his mouth.

  I can think of a few things I’d like him to put into mine.

  My cheeks flame and I focus on my plate, unsure how to act on these feelings. I’ve known Blake for so many years, and I’m sure he’s never seen me as more than Shawn’s annoying kid sister. Despite my vicious crush on him, I used to tattle on them to Mom and Dad.

  I sneak glances at him while he eats and enjoys the view, wishing for a bridge from “annoying teen with a crush” to “bold temptress.” Even when interviewing Sarah, I got tongue-tied thinking about him. I ended up telling her we hadn’t seen each other in years, which wasn’t correct. I was trying to downplay and that came out. It’s ridiculous how he makes me feel like an awkward kid. I felt so confident at the beach. How is that possible? I was half-naked, but now I’m way more awkward and vulnerable with my clothes on.

  Is that the solution? If I stood up and took my top off, giving him a sensuous striptease, there’d be no mistaking my signals.

  And I’d die of mortification if he wasn’t into me.

  But letting this go isn’t the answer either. My breaths increase. I can do this. I can be the temptress.

  Waiting until he makes eye contact again, I slowly stretch my arms to the sides and bring my hands back to my hair, lazily, sensually touching the nape of my neck.

  “Shoulders bothering you again? Look, I can see you’re hurting. I’d be an asshole not to offer you a massage.” He holds his hands up. “Purely therapeutic.”

  Whomp, whomp. So much for sexy.

  But he’ll be touching me. I’d prefer a massage with a “happy ending,” but the battle’s not over yet. “Well, you’ve already seen my breasts today. A massage can’t be any more embarrassing than that.” I carry our empty dishes back inside and set them on the counter to deal with later.

  “Embarrassing isn’t the word I’d choose.” His voice comes out an octave lower than normal.

  My belly flutters at the want in it. “What word would you use?”

  “I…shouldn’t say.”

  Shivers crawl up my back. Maybe I should turn and kiss him, but a strange new part of me wants to drive him a little wild and draw this out. I’ve wanted Blake for, well, ever. I move to Shelby’s couch and peel off my top, keeping my back to him. I lower myself to the cushions. “I’m ready.” I don’t hear him move closer, so I wiggle my ass, ostensibly to get more comfortable. Hopefully this looks more tempting than it feels. “Blake?”

  “Yeah.” He stands to my left side. “So, sometimes we get pain in one area because muscles f
arther away are tense, and it pulls everything slightly out of alignment.”

  “OK.”

  “I’m going to start on your legs and work my way up.”

  “Whatever you think is best. My body’s yours.” Was that too lame and obvious? I press my face against the pillow, hiding the blush. Does he understand how much I want him? I’m being as brazen as I can be.

  He slips a pillow under my shins and lights my calves on fire with strong, steady strokes of his hands. Now that his hands are on me, sending jolts of heat through my core, I realize how deeply in trouble I am.

  I smile and try not to purr. By the time he moves up to my hamstrings, I’m basically a puddle.

  An incredibly horny puddle.

  “Is it tender there?” His fingers knead my inner thighs, and my breath catches in my throat.

  “What?” I croak, paralyzed by his hands. I want them on every inch of my skin.

  “You’re tensing up. Does it hurt there?”

  “A little,” I say. It’s easier than the truth.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” I look at him over my shoulder. “Don’t stop.”

  Chapter 6

  Blake

  Touching her when I feel this attraction isn’t right. It’s a false pretense. I know her shoulder hurts and I want to ease that, but I also want so much more. She accepted a massage, nothing more. I’m going to keep the rest to myself.

  But what if she wants more too?

  No. I’ll give her a massage, but I definitely won’t kiss her. That would be crossing a line, and I’m a professional. There’s no reason this can’t just be like another day at the office. I’ve seen hundreds—thousands—of nearly naked women on my massage table. It’s no big deal.

  Except she’s got the cutest little dimples on her lower back, right above her heart-shaped ass. God, I love a woman with curves. I press my thumbs gently into the dimples and roll them up her spine. She arches against me like a cat, and my cock stiffens.

  It’s just Mel. She’s not a real woman—she’s basically family. She annoyed me half to death at least three hundred times growing up, just like a real sister. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t seen her for a few months. We know each other too well for this to be sexy. We’re friends. It’s just skin and muscles. Focus on the trapezius.