Rub Me, Love Me

by Marina Lander

  Rub Me, Love Me

  Marina Lander

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Other Books By Marina Lander

  Chapter 1

  It was just another day at the massage parlor, and Nolan was not looking forward to his three o’clock appointment. Leo’s coughs and pallid complexion did nothing to improve his mood.

  "You look like shit," Nolan observed from his spot on the other side of the break room, hoping the germs wouldn't travel that far.

  "Fuck off." Leo lay listlessly sprawled on the lone sofa, his pallor a sicklier shade than the foam green of the upholstery. He'd been insisting all day that he wasn't coming down with the flu.

  Nolan suspected he might have the plague. "No one's going to want you touching them," he pointed out, quite reasonably.

  "You're just trying to steal my three o'clock appointment!" Leo insisted, hoarse and miserable.

  Nolan snorted. "Please."

  He'd heard enough about this infamous Three O'clock to know that this was just about the last person he'd ever want to give a massage, because 1) Nolan didn't enjoy being sexually harassed; 2) He was a professional who didn't get involved with his clients; and 3) Even if #2 hadn't been true, anyone Leo found attractive would only make Nolan feel like there wasn't enough Lysol in the world.

  Charming, Nolan had found from unfortunate personal experience, was almost always synonymous with asshole.

  "Where the hell is everyone? Are you trying to put me out of business?" Marco appeared in the doorway, wild-eyed and frazzled.

  He'd always been a little prone to drama, but opening the Eastman Spa, the spa he'd been planning since his first day in the business, had ratcheted up the crazy to a whole new level. Not that Nolan would consider working for anyone else, of course.

  "Leo, your three o'clock is here. Why aren't you—what the fuck?" He made a horrified face. "I thought you said you were feeling better!"

  "I am," Leo said weakly, trying to push himself up into a sitting position, only to flop back down feebly.

  "Nobody's going to want you touching them," Marco said, and Nolan shot Leo a triumphant smirk, which promptly disappeared when Marco added, "You'll have to take him, Nolan."

  "What? I'm not—" Nolan tried to protest, but he was drowned out by Leo's nasal, outraged cry of, "It's a fucking conspiracy!"

  Marco ignored them both. "He's in room two. Don't keep him waiting." He promptly disappeared, before Nolan could argue further.

  "You're going to steal him away from me," Leo moaned pathetically.

  "Don't be so fucking melodramatic," Nolan snapped.

  The door to massage room number two stood ajar, and Nolan started in, because in the ordinary course of things an open door signaled: It's okay, nobody's naked yet. As he took a step across the threshold, though, it occurred to him that the ordinary course of things might not mean much where Leo's infamous Three O'Clock was concerned. He stopped short, ready to bolt if necessary, but fortunately, no clothes had hit the floor yet.

  Three O'clock was tallish, broad-shouldered, good-looking if you were into tattoos and porn lips, which Nolan would adamantly insist he wasn't.

  "Well, aren't you delicious." The man's gaze flicked up the length of Nolan's body, appreciative and more than a little lewd.

  "I'm Nolan," he said, in the cool, professional tone he used with problem clients. Obviously, it was going to be important to establish firm boundaries from the beginning.

  The man's mouth turned up with an amused smirk, which left Nolan indignant. Professionalism was nothing to be laughed at. "I'm Liam." The man reached for Nolan's hand and held on too long, stroking his thumb insinuatingly over Nolan's skin.

  Nolan snatched his hand back, scowling, which just made Liam smirk more gleefully. "Get undressed, lie face down with the sheet over you. I'll be back in a few minutes." He turned on his heel and left, already annoyed, and they hadn't even started yet.

  He loitered out in the hallway, waiting longer than usual because this Liam had "exhibitionist" written all over him. But when he knocked and stepped back inside, Liam had, against all odds, done as he was told, and was safely tucked away beneath the sheet.

  "I am capable of following instructions on occasion." Liam smiled up at Nolan as if he'd read his mind.

  "I'm glad to hear that, Liam," Nolan answered primly, making his dubiousness clear.

  Liam smiled with even greater delight. "Oh, you are just perfect. How is it we've never met before?"

  "Face down, Liam."

  "I'm yours to command, love."

  Nolan bit back a request to stop with the pet names. Better just to get to work. This was a one-time thing, and then Nolan would happily hand Liam back over to Leo.

  His training had taught him to see bodies in therapeutic terms, as collections of muscle and bone and sinew, and it was in this purely professional capacity that he appreciated the body beneath his hands. He dug his fingers into Liam's shoulders, spreading oil over his skin, the dark curls of ink glistening in the soft light. He'd never seen more elegant deltoids in his life.

  Unfortunately, the man attached to them was nothing but a nuisance. Massage was a meditative experience, and most clients went quiet at the first touch. Liam, on the other hand, would not shut up.

  "Oh, darling, you're a so talented. That feels heavenly." He emphasized the point with a low, guttural moan that could have come straight out of porn.

  It was going to be a long hour, Nolan could see that already.

  "Mm," Liam purred as Nolan kneaded his hands down his back. "Seriously, darling, where have you been all my life?"

  "I've worked here for three years," Nolan told him dryly.

  "And what were you doing before that?"

  "That's none of your business, Liam."

  "Would it also be out of bounds if I asked what your taste in men runs to?"

  "Let's just keep this professional."

  "So that's a yes to out of bounds?"

  "Yes!"

  "I'll tell you about myself then, yeah?"

  "I'm not a bartender!"

  This didn't stop Liam from chattering on about how he'd come to New York to open his own art gallery. Apparently, the business didn't take up all that much of his time since he regularly scheduled appointments in the middle of the afternoon.

  "Okay, time to turn over," Nolan announced. "I'll hold up the sheet—" Liam moved before Nolan could finish the sentence. He barely managed to get the sheet up in time to avoid getting an eyeful of bare body. Once the sheet was tucked back into place, it was impossible to miss that Liam had found the massage rather stimulating.

  "You have quite the effect on me." Liam smirked up at him.

  In massage school, they'd covered how to tactfully reassure male clients that there was nothing to be embarrassed about if they became aroused during a massage. Sadly, no one had ever mentioned what to do when a client was positively brazen about it.

  Nolan determinedly set to work on Liam's arms, doing his best to ignore everything else. Liam stared up at him, with a sharp expression of interest. Most clients felt too vulnerable in this position to keep their eyes open, and Nolan had never fully appreciated how much easier it was to work without such scrutiny.

  "I could get a mask for your eyes," Nolan offered, purely out of self-interest.

  Liam's mouth curved into a smile. "And miss this view? Not a chance. Tell me, do you have those fetching white trousers t
ailored to fit so snugly?"

  "It's a uniform," Nolan said, gritting his teeth.

  "Is that a no then?"

  "What would you even know about tailoring?" Nolan snapped. "Those plaid pants you had on were clearly straight off the rack at the Salvation Army."

  Liam arched an eyebrow in a way that managed to be unutterably filthy. "Were you checking me out, pet?"

  "Clothing that hideous is impossible to ignore."

  Probably this was crossing a line, even with a client as obnoxious as this one, but Liam just laughed delightedly. "Mm, you have edges. Has anyone ever mentioned how attractive that is?"

  "You're insufferable, Liam. Has anyone ever mentioned that?"

  "Usually blokes who end up sleeping with me." Liam winked slyly. "I do enjoy having my chest massaged if you'd oblige me."

  Nolan bit back the sigh that wanted to escape. He edged the sheet down and refreshed the oil on his hands. The sooner he got on with it, the sooner he could send Liam on his way. He felt a warm puff of breath against his cheek as he leaned over. Liam's gaze fastened on him.

  "Lovely," Liam murmured.

  Nolan made the mistake of meeting his eyes, dark and bright and intently focused. Liam licked his lips. His porn lips. That Nolan absolutely had no weakness for. At all. He quickly dropped his gaze. Trapezius, pectoralis, abdominis. He concentrated on each muscle as he touched it.

  "You have no idea how beautiful you look doing that."

  "You have no idea how annoying you are."

  "Oh, I have some idea, darling." Liam grinned broadly.

  Nolan had been keeping watch on the clock out of the corner of his eye, and when the minute hand finally hit the hour, he took a big step back from the table. "Time's up." He didn't even try not to sound glad about it.

  Liam smiled lazily and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "You've wrecked me. Positively ruined me for all other massage therapists. I think I may even need a cigarette."

  And the thing was: he did look wrecked. Messy haired and loose-limbed, skin glistening, the same way he'd look after—

  "Drink plenty of fluids, shower's down the hall, take all the time you need," Nolan fired off the usual post-massage instructions and strode out of the room.

  Strode. Not fled.

  This was one client he'd be all too happy to hand back over to Leo.

  Chapter 2

  Unfortunately, it seemed Liam had other plans.

  The next afternoon when Nolan was hanging out at the front desk talking to Anna while between clients, he stumbled across the diabolical plot.

  "What the hell is this?" he demanded, torn between outrage and slow, creeping horror.

  Anna raised an eyebrow at him. "The appointment book?"

  "No! This! Why do I have Liam scheduled for three o'clock on Thursday?"

  "Because he made an appointment?"

  "He's Leo's client!"

  "Was Leo's client," she corrected. "Apparently, once you've had Nolan, you never go back. That's a direct quote, actually. And why are you complaining? Tattoos and porn lips, that's totally your type."

  "Is not! And what part of being a professional do people around here not understand? Also: is not!" He sucked in a much-needed breath. "I'm going to talk to Marco about this."

  "Is too," Anna muttered as Nolan walked away. Possibly there was also some snickering involved, which Nolan pointedly ignored.

  "Did you know that Liam has booked me instead of Leo for his next massage?" Nolan burst into Marco's office without bothering to knock.

  Marco had been deep in contemplation over a stack of bills, and Nolan would admit that there had perhaps been a bit of an edge to his voice. The paperwork went shooting off the desk as Marco startled, which earned Nolan a death glare.

  "It may surprise you to learn that I don't actually memorize every detail about everything that happens in this spa," Marco said snippily.

  Frankly, Nolan suspected this was a big, fat lie. He was pretty sure that Marco could reel off the exact shade of the hideous minty green paint in the breakroom, the number of cracks in the ceiling of massage room two, and the name of the ghastly perfume Mrs. Kleinbaum always showed up to her appointments drenched in.

  "Although—" Marco paused weightily, darting a glance up at Nolan.

  "What?"

  "It's not exactly the most surprising thing that's ever happened. Leo is kind of a hack, and you're—you."

  Nolan scowled. "If he's a hack, why did you hire him?"

  Marco shrugged. "The salon was new. I needed people."

  "You needed people," Nolan repeated in a flat voice which he hoped conveyed: Oh my God, what kind of shitty place do I work?

  Marco sighed. "Can you get to the point of your freakout? I've got invoices to pay."

  "You have to tell Liam that I'm not available. Make him go back to Leo," Nolan said very firmly, in the no-nonsense voice he used during salary negotiations and to ward off elderly female clients who liked to pinch his dimples.

  Marco made a chastising face that Nolan suspected he routinely used on his children. "What do I always say, Nolan?"

  "That the state of New York obviously has it in for small businesses, because why else would there be so many Byzantine regulations and enough taxes to choke all of Staten Island?"

  Marco sighed again. "The other thing."

  Nolan pressed his mouth together stubbornly. Repeating Marco's half-insane rants had amusement value, but he refused to be a party to his ridiculous clichés.

  "The customer is always right, Nolan," Marco said in such a fervent tone that it was a little scary. "And anyway—" His brow furrowed. "I really thought you'd—I mean, he's kind of, you know, your—"

  "Don't say it! Why does everyone keep saying that?"

  Marco shrugged in a way that heavily implied, Because it's true, and Nolan stomped away.

  Manfully. Not in a snit.

  Of course, the first person he passed in the hall was Leo because the universe just loved Nolan like that.[1][2]

  Leo looked only slightly less like death warmed over today, and his face puckered up at the sight of Nolan. "I have two kidneys. You want one of those too?"

  "Do not even start with me," Nolan warned him.

  But this was Leo, so he promptly did a u-turn, and followed Nolan down the hall to continue hectoring him. "You planned this, didn't you? I don't know how, but you infected me on purpose. All to steal my Three O'clock!"

  Nolan stopped and whirled and glared. "Oh my God, are you delirious or just a fucking lunatic? And for the record, I don't even want your stupid client!"

  "Everybody wants him!"

  "Are you two trying to bankrupt me?" came floating out of Marco's office. "Get back to work!"

  Nolan shot one last glare of "I wish I had given you the plague" at Leo and stomped off to room two, because he had a job to do and he was going to be a fucking professional about it, even if he was the only one who knew what that meant in this whole stupid spa.

  Chapter 3

  By the time Thursday rolled around—way too quickly by Nolan's measure—he'd managed to convince himself that maybe Liam hadn't been quite as obnoxious as he'd remembered. Maybe Nolan had been predisposed to dislike him simply because he was Leo's favorite client. Maybe he'd hallucinated those god-awful plaid trousers.

  But no. Two seconds into their next meeting was more than enough to convince Nolan that his memory of their previous encounter had been perfectly precise.

  "Darling!" Liam's eyes lit up as Nolan stepped into the room, and he loomed in a way that suggested he was considering some physical contact.

  Nolan carefully sidestepped, moving out of touching range. "Liam," he said coolly, trying to avert his eyes from the lime-green monstrosity of a shirt the man was wearing.

  "Who knew we'd meet again so soon?" Liam beamed delightedly.

  "You made an appointment," Nolan reminded him.

  "And I see you've worn those charming white trousers I like so much." Liam slid an appreciat
ive gaze over Nolan.

  "It's a uniform!"

  "Shouldn't you be leaving me to it now?" Liam yanked his shirt up over his head and flung it down. "Or were you planning to stay for this bit?"

  Nolan managed to get through the door before more clothing hit the floor, but it was a close thing.

  The session went much the same as the last one had: Liam made enough pornographic sounds to put all of XTube to shame and had the temerity to be utterly gorgeous beneath Nolan's hands, and Nolan worked him over just a little more viciously than he would have done anyone else. When it came time to turn over, Liam pulled the same move-before-the-sheet-is-up trick, and Nolan just—let him. If a man was well and truly determined to show you his junk, you were eventually going to see it. Might as well get it over with, Nolan reasoned, and then they could stop playing this stupid game.

  "I suppose you have to admire a man who's not afraid to reveal his inadequacies," Nolan said dryly, settling the sheet back into place.

  Liam grinned up at him, as if he knew just how much Nolan was lying.

  Finally, finally, Nolan finished up the session and sent Liam packing. He loitered around in the breakroom long enough that he felt sure Liam must have gone by now. Only when he went out front to check on his next appointment, Liam was lounging casually against the desk, chatting up Anna. Against all odds, an irrational flash of jealousy shot up Nolan's spine.

  It vanished the moment Liam spotted him and boomed out, "Darling!" He swooped in before Nolan could dodge and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I'd say I hoped it was as good for you too, but maybe someday I'll have the opportunity to return the favor." He winked and gave Anna a jaunty wave and left Nolan all alone to face the half-dozen incredulous faces staring at him from the waiting area.

  Several of the ladies smiled as if he were fucking adorable, and he thought Mrs. Wollenski had taken a picture on her camera phone, and Mr. Rudolph looked put out that he hadn't been receiving such personal service. Mr. Rudolph who was 110 years old if he was a day.

  And then there was Anna, who practically radiated smugness. "Told you he was your type."

  As if all this weren't bad enough, Liam decided that tormenting Nolan twice a week wasn't sufficient and began to invent excuses to come in between times. Wrenched back. A strained calf muscle that Liam insisted he'd gotten training for a triathlon, which made Nolan snort with disbelief. Work tension, and there was no way Nolan could let that one go.