“Good to meet you, Abram.”
His stretch across the counter pulls the sleeve of his suit up, revealing a canvas of tattoos ending at his wrist. When my attention falls to his exposed skin, he withdraws his hand and tugs down the suit.
“I was told as long as my tattoos stay covered, it’s not a problem.”
I shrug. “I don’t have an issue with it either way. How many you got?”
“Both sleeves, most of my back.” He grins. “I went through a phase where I wanted to get the whites of my eyes tattooed black, but my sister wouldn’t let me.”
One of my eyebrows raises. Dude is hardcore. “Well, good to meet you Abram. I’m going to head upstairs, check out the spa and yoga studio. You got my number if you need me for anything?”
He glances down, studying the paperwork on the low ledge in front of him. “Yep, right here. And this morning, Eli told anyone on staff to use the spa to get the workers all warmed up for the real guests. If you want a massage or a damn manicure, get in there first before word gets out and they’re overrun.”
“Oh, sweet.” Turning, I rotate my sore shoulder, then shoot a look back at Abram. “For the record, I’m getting a massage, not the manicure.”
A brilliant smile unleashes from him. “Whatever you say, pretty boy,” he shoots back with a challenging air.
I breathe out a short laugh in response, while equally wondering if Abram is just brawn, or does he have fighting skills? If he’s employed at the hub of this place, my guess is that he’s extremely competent.
My hand slides up the smooth wood bannister. Wrought iron spindles connect to the ash wood steps. The top of the stairs opens into another common seating area. To my left, the yoga studio sits silent, lights off, and only minimally lit from the narrow windows. Across from the yoga studio, I see my destination, marked by a shapely leaf logo with the words Green Leaf Spa etched into the glass.
A short, curvy woman with short blond hair stands at the desk, unloading bottles of product and placing them on open glass shelving along the wall. I reach for a door handle, but the door slides to the side automatically.
Fancy.
The woman turns and greets me with a smile. “Oh, good. We’ve been waiting for someone to work on today. I’m Grace, and I work as both the receptionist and nail technician.”
I frown. Maybe we’re understaffed. “If you’re doing nails, then who’s at the front?”
“Myself and the massage therapist take turns at the front desk this week, and we alternate working days with the other staff. We’ll be fully staffed upon launch.”
“Okay, that’s reassuring.”
“What’ll it be for you, then? We do facials, manicures, pedicures, and massage.”
“Definitely massage.”
“Great.” She moves to the wall behind her desk and selects a clipboard, before pushing it over to me. “Name, date, and then fill this out. Circle whatever you’d like the therapist to work on, and then I’ll show you to the room.”
Lips pursed, I look over the diagram of the body, front and back. “Can I just circle the whole thing?”
She snorts. “Go for it.”
I write only my first name, not wanting to draw attention to my last name, then circle the whole body. On second thought, I draw another circle around my left trapezius. Two nights ago, Hero’s big head was glued directly to my shoulder socket all night, and I woke with my arm practically numb. It still hurts to move.
After handing the clipboard back to the receptionist, she beckons me with a little wave forward. “Right this way.”
Grace leads me to a hallway just right of the desk. Three doors line both sides of the short hallway, making for a total of six rooms. The first door has an obvious bathroom sign, and across from that door is one marked Employee Lounge. Numbers mark the rest. She opens the second door to the right.
In the center of the space lay a massage table on top of a plush white sheepskin rug. Gentle, soothing music plays from a speaker embedded in the ceiling. On a built-in ledge, various gemstones and flickering flameless candles line the small shelf. The room smells of lavender and honey, and with that last note of fragrance, the image of a woman I could have loved shimmers like a mirage in my memory.
Grace pulls back the top sheet on the table. “Get undressed, remove any jewelry or a watch, and then lie face down under the sheet. Are you okay if the massage therapist uses a sleeping mask on your eyes while working on the front of your body?” She points overhead. “Even though the light is dim, it can still ruin the relaxing atmosphere.”
Distractedly, I shrug out of my suit jacket. “Sure, that’s fine.”
Grace slips the clipboard in a plastic pocket on the outside of the door. “Enjoy.” She closes the door behind her.
I hang my navy jacket on the cherrywood wardrobe valet in the corner. After removing my wedding band and watch, I set them inside the green velvet lined drawer in the middle of the stand.
Once all my clothing is removed and hung neatly, I slide under the sheet, setting my face inside a pillow shaped like a toilet seat. The cut-out center allows me to breathe easily and gives me a view of the floor.
After a few minutes, I hear the scrape of the clipboard against the door, and then a soft knock sounds.
“Ready?” says a muffled voice from the other side.
“Ready,” I call.
The door opens and my ears follow the near silent footsteps around the room. I hear the clipboard get laid down on the counter, and then a pair of sock clad feet and tanned, shapely calves appear in my line of vision.
After folding the sheet away from my right shoulder, I hear the low sound of liquid being pumped from a container. The woman must wear a belt holding her supplies. Warm hands spread oil over my back using firm pressure. I nearly groan aloud in relief as I virtually melt into the table under the therapist’s competent hands. She moves confidently over my muscles with just the right amount of attention given to each area.
Once she finishes that side, she moves to my painful side. Her intensity starts out light, then gets deeper as the muscle heats. My breathing goes shallow as she works out the knotted trapezius.
“Breathe,” she says over my inhale of pain. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
There’s a soothing quality to her low and throaty voice, but something in my brain sparks at hearing it. I lift my head to look at her, and my face is immediately pressed back into the donut hole cushion.
Well then.
She pulls the sheet up to cover my back, then moves the lower half of the sheet away from my leg and begins working my hamstring. I close my eyes and relax as she kneads, but then my eyes pop open as she starts working on my gluteal muscle. Once I get over the fact that my butt is getting kneaded like bread dough, it actually feels pretty fantastic.
When she finishes my opposite side, she gently lifts my head and wraps a sleeping mask around my eyes.
“Turn over,” she says softly.
Briefly, I think about how awkward it’s going to be for her to see my bulge at half mast, but I know she’s a professional and likely used to seeing the male body’s natural reaction to a good massage.
I flip onto my back, waiting in silence under the thin cotton sheet. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear I can feel her gaze move over me. She inhales softly, then pulls up a chair beside me and begins working on my hand. She glides up my arm, then strokes her hands over my chest before moving to the other side.
It’s been so long since I’ve been gently touched by a woman, and the faint honey scent has my mind all muddled. I know my dick is probably more than half mast at this point, but frankly, this feels so damn good that I don’t care.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or it’s just a side effect of my sexuality being starved by celibacy, but a strong sensual energy seems to flow from her hands through my body. The slow glide of her palms over my skin seems to promise something I shouldn’t be imagining. She moves to my head and works the back of my neck, then altern
ating hands slide over my throat, each of her fingers gliding over my Adam’s apple.
God. Damn.
Why does this feel so good?
Her face hovers over mine for a moment, then lowers to the side. Right next to my ear, I can hear her short labored breaths as the result of her working on my body. A shiver runs down my spine at her closeness.
Then she speaks softly into my ear. “When was the last time a woman made you come, Fernando?”
My name rolls off her tongue in a familiar cadence and the bold words spark a memory of a time I said a similar line to Aida. My arms jerk off the table to pull the mask away from my face, but her hands wrap around my wrists firmly.
She tsks softly as she exerts the smallest pressure on my arms to lower them to my sides. I could easily resist, but with my mind racing and heartbeat thudding, I comply. As my fists come to rest on the table, warm breasts covered in thin cotton press into my face and I inhale the familiar scent of the woman.
My throat bobs on a swallow as she releases my wrists and lifts herself away from me.
“Don’t move,” she says in a low, confident voice. “I still have to get your feet.”
At this point, I’ve pretty much erected a Barnum and Bailey circus tent under this sheet. If she lifted it she’d probably find flying monkeys, Hagrid, and all sorts of stuff fantasies are made of.
Her fingers move over the sheet, trailing down my chest then over my ribs and abdomen. My lungs start working double time, expanding and contracting in an effort to get oxygen to my brain. My head spins, dizzy with three years of arousal and longing. Once her fingers move down my thigh and shin, she settles at my feet and folds the sheet back some. She begins rubbing her thumbs into my sole, and my body releases some of the tightly held tension.
I figure Why the hell not? and pull off the mask. Lifting onto my elbows, I blink as my eyes grow accustomed to the light.
My eyes lock with Aida’s golden-brown gaze.
She smiles. “Hey there, handsome.”
Chapter 3
A GRIN SPREADS ACROSS his face, turning Fernando from hot as sin to sexy as hell. If this were three and a half years ago, I’d be rubbing a very different part of his body.
Gladly.
This man would be getting a happy ending, and I would bask in every minute of it.
But I’m not that woman anymore.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say, sliding my thumb over the ball of his foot.
His smile fades and he sits up all the way and scoots toward me, bringing his bottom to the edge of the table. The sheet puddles around his waist, revealing the full beauty of the broad chest and abdomen I just had my hands all over. His bronze skin glistens with massage oil.
He reaches for me and pulls me to stand between his legs, then wraps his arms around my shoulders, holding me shockingly tight.
“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” he murmurs, turning his face into my neck.
Closing my eyes, I allow myself to enjoy his closeness for a few seconds before pulling away. He laces the fingers of his right hand with my left hand.
He looks down at our touching tattoos, smiling. “Sun and moon, together again.”
It’s sweet, but I can’t fall for it. Instead, I grab his left hand and bring it to eye level, pointing to the pale band of skin around his ring finger. “Married man trying to holler again, so … ”
A solemn look comes onto his face. “I’m also a father.”
I wince and back out from between his spread thighs. “I tried to stop it, Fernando,” I whisper. “I swear.”
His hand comes to rest on the side of my neck, and I close my eyes as he exerts a gentle pull on me. The rough sensation of his fingers moves across my skin. He spans my jaw before he rubs his thumb over my lower lip.
“I know you did. She told me. The thing is, we didn’t know she was already pregnant.”
I stiffen under his touch. I’d been under the impression that Fernando and Jewel had a sexless marriage prior to Virginia. Knowing they were intimate beforehand stabs spears of painful agony in my chest.
His eyes study mine as his lips curve into a knowing smile. “The month before, she had climbed into bed with me naked and started something. I’m a heavy sleeper and woke up just as I was about to come. I thought I pulled out in time.”
My brows lower. “Damn, that woman is unrelenting.”
Nodding his head, he chuckles softly. “You could say that. Our daughter is just as stubborn.”
Hearing him speak of something he and Jewel share in such an intimate and everlasting way causes tiny cracks to widen in my heart.
“How old is she now?”
“Hero is three.”
“Are you happy, Fernando?” I stare up at him with unblinking eyes, running my gaze over his features, memorizing his face with open appreciation.
A gentle smile tilts up the corner of his mouth, sadness tinging the edges. “Happier than I ever imagined I could be.”
That’s all I ever wished for, his happiness. The ache in my chest expands, moving up to my throat and pushing hot tears from my eyes. Swallowing, I lower my head and try to pull away, but he holds tight.
“I miss you,” he says.
“No, that’s not allowed.” A sob escapes my throat as a tear snakes down my cheek. “You’re married.”
“Aida, please,” he pulls me closer, pressing his lips to the side of my face, running his nose along my hairline. “Just hear me out. Yes, I stuck to my promise and while she was pregnant, we were a married couple in every sense. Her memory began to return when Hero was two months old. But we haven’t touched one another in over three years. I’ve been celibate as a monk.”
My lips tremble. “But you’re married. Do you still live together?”
“We do. It’s what’s best for Hero.”
I shake my head and back away. “I won’t be the other woman ever again. Please respect that.”
His hand falls to his side as defeat cloaks his eyes.
I wrap my arms around myself. “What are you doing here anyway? Do you work here?”
“I’m an investor.” He tosses a question back at me. “So, you went to massage school?”
Ducking my chin, I move to the cabinet and set my bottle of massage oil inside. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s not a lucrative career that’s guaranteed to have me financially stable—”
“Don’t make excuses. I’m proud of you. You’re a badass masseuse.”
His words of praise light up my heart, and I curse the wave of vulnerability that moves through me. “It’s a good income. At least I don’t have to give heartless blowjobs anymore.”
One side of his mouth lifts as his eyes sparkle. “What’s a heartless blowjob?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease.
His eyes lock on mine, confirmation bubbling up from his lips, but then he glances away. I can’t ignore the disappointment in my chest that he didn’t get hooked by my flirty banter.
“Just so you know, my name here is Ana. Don’t call me Aida in front of anyone. I’ve … separated myself from who I used to be.”
He nods.
I unclip my massage tool belt. “This is an incredible opportunity for me. Massage is just temporary while I figure things out. I’ll be able to get some secretarial training while I’m here, maybe learn the concierge business.”
An odd look passes over his face. “Nah, you don’t want to be a concierge.”
I laugh. “I take it you’ve met the concierge.” Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall trying to confirm if the expression I noticed was, in fact, jealousy.
Fernando scoffs and glances at the carpet. He lifts his chin and slants his eyes toward me. “Is he your type?”
Raising my fingers, I examine my blunt nails casually. “I definitely like tall, dark-haired guys. Did you see his tattoos?”
Fernando quietly seethes, his light brown eyes narrowing.
Good.
Now he can feel just
a portion of what I felt all those years ago. After I left that letter (which I regretted) with the concierge at the hotel, I cried as I climbed into the taxi. Granted, it had been a job for which I got handsomely paid, but I’d developed actual feelings for a man for the first time in a long time. This came after years of viewing men merely as objects I could use for money or jewelry. Thinking of a man as a person I could trust or rely on had never crossed my mind.
But when Fernando kneeled outside the car and hugged me as I’d wept in shame and regret, for once I’d felt the strength and comfort a man’s body could provide. Not menace, not lust, not fear. Something foreign and frightening, and yet it sparked a feeling in me I couldn’t explain, like I was starving and had been given a morsel of sustenance.
Then I left at his wife’s request, imagining what it must have been like for Jewel to be with her husband that night. Was he rough and perfect as I imagined he’d be? I tortured myself with those thoughts more than I’d like to admit. Fernando got under my skin, and I couldn’t forget him.
And now, here he sits, gloriously nude on the table at my new job, only a sheet between him and me. But no, it’s not destiny bringing us together. It’s yet another job.
A small smile touches my lips. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure. Be sure to grab a bottle of water at the front and drink it to flush all the toxins the massage stirred up in your body.”
When I turn to leave, his hand lashes out and wraps around my wrist. My head cocks at him with a question in my eye.
“Stay away from Abram,” he says in a commanding tone.
The back of my neck bristles at his audacity. Turning fully to him, I raise myself to my full height of 5’9.
My lips harden as I spit out my anger. “Never tell me what to do, Fernando.”
His jaw tightens, one thick brow rising. With a quick flick, he turns me to face forward, grabbing my other wrist and enclosing both in one of his hands. Gently, he tugs me backward. My breathing quickens as my feet stumble back. My shoulders touch his chest and his thighs meet my hips, cradling me between his spread knees.
Calloused fingers sweep against my cheek as he pulls my ponytail away from my neck, then lays the entire mass of dark curls over my one shoulder. His lips press against the top of my spine, tender and soft.
Bad Sons Page 2
