Double Exposure

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Does that hurt?” she murmured.

  “No.” His nerve endings registered the sting, but he was so busy dealing with his growing arousal that he barely noticed.

  “You wouldn’t tell me if it did, would you?”

  “No.”

  She sighed, which caused her breasts to tremble invitingly. “That’s what I thought. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’d hate for these scratches to get infected. You of all people shouldn’t let that happen. You’ll set a bad example.”

  He wasn’t sure exactly why an infected scratch would set any kind of example to anyone, but he decided not to question her reasoning. Now wasn’t the time to disagree with this wonderful creature and risk spoiling the mood. “Don’t worry. I heal fast.”

  “Good.” She set the soapy cloth down, picked up the other one and rinsed the soap off his forehead. She wiped carefully, making sure she didn’t allow soapy water to drip into his eyes.

  He gripped his knees harder. He’d never been this close to a woman he wanted without acting on his impulses.

  Then she blew softly on the scratch, her breath sweet and cool, driving him right out of what was left of his mind. He closed his eyes and a sound escaped him—part moan, part whimper.

  “I’m hurting you.”

  “No.” What hurt was his penis, which was protesting the confinement of his jeans. He rested his left hand casually in his lap to disguise the evidence.

  “Let me put the ointment on. That will take the sting out.” She smoothed something creamy over the scratch.

  She must have leaned closer because he could feel her heat. He was afraid to open his eyes for fear he’d be looking directly into the scooped neckline of her T-shirt. A guy could only take so much before he cracked.

  “That’s better,” she murmured. “Now for your arm.”

  From the movement of air, he knew she was no longer hovering quite so close, so he dared to open his eyes.

  She held the soapy washcloth in her right hand. “I guess you can stand, now.”

  No, he couldn’t. Not without major groin pain. “How about if I just prop my arm on the counter?” He leaned over and rested his right forearm on the cool marble.

  “That works.”

  Instead of watching her doctor the scratch on his arm, he stared straight ahead and tried to will his erection back down. After the first aid would come the massage, and he’d better not start that procedure already fully aroused.

  He tried to remember the last time he’d had such a quick response to a woman and he couldn’t think back that far. Maybe it was the environment he worked in. He’d heard that people who worked in a doughnut shop quickly got sick of the doughnuts because they were always available. Beautiful women were always available on a movie set.

  Still, it didn’t make sense that he’d fly across the country and become instantly attracted to Kate simply because she lived and worked in Providence instead of L.A. He had to go back to the pheromone theory. She smelled…perfect. And he was so turned on he was about to embarrass both of them.

  She leaned closer, and he caught his breath.

  “There, I knew it. I’m hurting you.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Her gaze penetrated his. “Then why did you gasp?”

  4

  HUGH THOUGHT IT WAS TOO soon to tell Kate how much she turned him on. In the movie business he’d learned the value of pacing, and his internal clock told him they needed to spend more time getting to know each other before sex came into it.

  That left him with only one explanation for that gasp, and he didn’t like it one bit. Still, it was the only option he could think of. “Okay, maybe having you wash out those scratches hurt more than I thought it would.” Boy, this was tough, pretending to be a baby.

  Her expression warmed. “It’s okay to admit to a weakness,” she said softly. “We all have them, you know.”

  “I can’t see that you have any.” And he sure wished he could.

  She shook her head as she recapped the ointment, but she looked pleased, all the same. “Sure I do. I already told you that I run late all the time.”

  “That doesn’t seem so terrible. You’ll have to do better than that if you want to convince me you’re full of faults.”

  She leaned her hips against the counter and gazed at him. “I drive too fast. My insurance is through the roof because of my lead foot.”

  “Mine, too.” This didn’t seem to be getting them anywhere. The more she revealed, the more he could see that they had matching flaws, so she wouldn’t get on his nerves at all.

  She put down the ointment and crossed her arms. “I despise working with figures, so I don’t balance my checkbook. Kim hates that about me. I keep a general total in my head, and when I get my statement each month I just put in that amount, so I can know approximately where I am. Can you believe anyone would be so undisciplined?”

  He could, because he was. “How do you keep from being overdrawn?” He wondered if she used the same method he did.

  “I always keep a cushion. Kim says that’s wasted money, but I don’t care. See? I’m a terrible money manager.”

  “Terrible,” he said, smiling.

  “You don’t look properly horrified.”

  “Believe me, I’m horrified.” Horrified to discover they were way too much alike. Match that up with the pheromone thing, and he was heading for disaster.

  “If you say so.” She pushed away from the counter. “Anyway, it’s time for your massage. Why don’t you get undressed in here?”

  Ah, yes. Disaster squared. He should skip the massage, skip the evening he had hoped to enjoy with this tempting woman. True, she lived clear across the continent from him, but the way he was feeling, that wouldn’t be far enough. He could go crazy with this one. The danger signs were all there.

  “You’re hesitating.” Her expression grew uncertain. “Have you reconsidered?”

  He should definitely reconsider. He might have happened upon the one woman he couldn’t protect himself against.

  “It’s okay.” She valiantly tried to keep her disappointment from showing. “I can understand that you wouldn’t want to trust your body to an amateur. And we don’t have a regular table, so we’d have to use the bed, which isn’t as good, I’ll admit.”

  The bed would be outstanding. He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than be massaged by Kate on a king-size bed.

  “Maybe the whirlpool will work out better all the way around.” She headed for the bathroom door.

  He should just let her go. That would be the best for everyone concerned. He knew that. But pheromones wiped out his reasoning ability. “I’d really rather have you give me a massage,” he said. “I hesitated because I’m…shy.” Shy? Where the hell had that come from? And what a load of bull it was! His friends in L.A. would split a gut laughing if they heard that one.

  Kate didn’t laugh. Her expression became tender and sweet. “I sensed that about you.”

  Then her sensors had left the building. Harry, now there was a shy guy. Hugh had fixed him up dozens of times back in high school. But Hugh had been hell on wheels with women from the age of fourteen.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m too bold, offering to do this,” she said.

  “No, I think it’s a wonderful gesture. I need it desperately.” Uh-huh. Like he needed another hole in the head. He might be making the biggest mistake of his life.

  She held his gaze. “You might not think so from my attitude, but I have a shy streak, too.”

  “Really.” He could believe that, though. Most of the women he’d known in Hollywood wouldn’t have blushed when they proposed to give him a massage. By Rhode Island standards Kate might be a risk-taker, but not by the yardstick used on the Coast.

  “I don’t usually let people know that I’m a little shy,” she said, “because they might take it for a lack of confidence. In my business you need to project confidence.”

  “Mine, too,” he said.

>   “Well, your secret’s safe with me.”

  He stared at her, and slowly the truth of it penetrated his sensual haze. He was shy—shy about opening up to people and letting his feelings show. His reputation as a bad boy had always preceded him, so no one had ever suspected that he had a tender underbelly of insecurity. But Kate knew nothing about him, and for some reason she’d zeroed right in on the part of his personality he kept hidden, and barely acknowledged himself.

  Now that was scary.

  “I’ll go into the other room and get the massage oil I bought.” Her voice was gentle. “Just take off your jeans and your socks and shoes. You can use a towel around your waist if that will make you more comfortable. Then you can stretch out on the bed.”

  “Okay.” A towel would help disguise his condition. “I’d like you to work on my back and shoulders first, if you could.” That way he could start the massage on his stomach. What he’d do when she wanted him to turn over was anybody’s guess.

  “That’s fine. I’ll be right back.”

  As she walked out of the bathroom, adrenaline poured through him at the thought of her hands kneading his body. He hadn’t been this keyed up since he’d jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge. That time he’d had a net. This time he didn’t see one anywhere around.

  HE’S THE ONE. Kate trembled as she ripped the shrink-wrap off the basket of massage oils. She had no doubt that she’d finally found her soul mate. She’d told him everything bad about her personality, and he hadn’t flinched. In fact, he’d reacted as if he understood all her little quirks perfectly.

  On top of that, he was shy. She could imagine as a doctor he had to constantly pretend otherwise or his patients wouldn’t trust him to take care of them. But he’d told her the truth, and looking into his eyes she could tell he was a little surprised that he had.

  He probably didn’t realize yet that they were meant for each other. All he understood, and this was so typical of a man, was that he wanted her. She thought it was so cute the way he tried to hide his sexual interest. Maybe, being shy, he was afraid she wouldn’t return his lusty feelings.

  She had to let him know that she definitely would. They had so little time alone, and they had to make the most of it. As she pulled the bottle of almond oil from the basket, she thought of the package of condoms in the bottom of her purse. They might be star-crossed lovers, but that didn’t mean she should abandon all caution.

  Digging through her purse, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t standing in the bedroom doorway watching her. He wasn’t. No doubt he was already stretched out on the canopy bed, six-feet-plus of pure hero, waiting for her to give him a massage.

  She quickly opened the box and took out a condom. Shoving the box back into her purse, she stood and slid the condom into the front pocket of her jeans. Because her jeans were tight, she could feel the round impression against her hip. She looked to see if it showed and, fortunately, it didn’t. Being prepared was one thing. Walking into the bedroom with a distinctive package outlined by her jeans pocket was quite another.

  Before starting into the bedroom, she reviewed what she’d learned in her massage class. The excitement of the moment made concentrating on her lessons difficult. Besides, the routine had already been disrupted by her hero insisting that she start with him lying facedown. Usually she began with her subject face up, and she began by massaging fingers and hands, not back and shoulders.

  This wouldn’t be a textbook massage, then. Nothing wrong with that. No one was here to grade her. Removing her bracelets and her rings, she laid them on the table. Then she drew in a long, shaky breath before walking toward the bedroom. With every step she tried to mentally prepare herself for the sight of him lying on the four-poster.

  He would look gorgeous, muscled, and—most irresistible of all—vulnerable. She would have to keep her cool, no matter how tempting he looked, because he really did need the best massage she could manage under the circumstances. So she had to think about massage technique, and remember how to—

  Dear sweet heaven, there he was. At her first view of his sculpted body draped casually with a towel, the blood left her head in a rush, coursing through her and settling with a sweet heaviness between her thighs. She’d never had such an instant reaction to a man’s seminaked state, which only confirmed that this was the person she’d waited a lifetime to find.

  Her man. Her magnificent man. Her hero. He’d tossed the pillows to the floor and he lay flat on the bed with his eyes closed and his breathing steady. Damn, he might already be asleep. Tactical error on her part. She shouldn’t have told him to lie down, because she didn’t want him asleep yet. Yes, that was selfish, but how could they bond if he was asleep? Considering what he’d been through, he could easily sleep until morning.

  His skin was golden from the sun, something she hadn’t noticed until she saw it contrasted against the ivory lace coverlet on the canopy bed. Gazing in fascination at his strong legs, she traced the pattern of the dark hair sprinkled liberally on his calves and more sparsely on his thighs. His toes were long and elegant. Moving closer, she noticed a curved purple scar on his left ankle and another jagged scar on the back of his right knee.

  He was obviously a man who took chances, and these scars were the evidence. She’d always wanted a man like that, yet now that she’d found one, the evidence of his daring made her question how well she’d handle the risks he was destined to take. For the first time she wondered if Grandpa Charlie’s bravery had seemed reckless and unnecessary to his grieving wife.

  One thing was for sure—when a woman got her hands on a bonafide hero, she had to live for the moment. Kate moved closer to the bed while she debated touching him lightly to see if he’d wake up. The edge of the towel had settled between his partially open thighs. She studied the drape of the towel and tried to guess whether or not he’d kept on his underwear. Being shy, he might have done that. She wondered what kind of underwear he might prefer.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  Her glance flew to his face. His eyes were open. A flush heated her cheeks as she realized he’d been watching her watching him. “I…I thought you were asleep.”

  “No.” His voice was husky and his eyes were that same smoky blue they’d been when she’d roused him from sleep in the car.

  All she could think about was sliding onto the bed beside him and snuggling into his arms.

  “Am I positioned right?” he asked.

  A massage. She was supposed to give him a massage. “You’re fine,” she said. “Just fine.” She slipped out of her mules. “I’ll—um—need to climb up there with you in order to get the right leverage.”

  “I figured.”

  She looked into his eyes and thought about destiny. If she was right, and all her instincts told her she was, she’d spend a lifetime touching this man. Now was the beginning. She wanted it to be special. “I hope you like the scent of almonds.”

  He held her gaze. “Love it.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. “G-good. That’s good. That’s what I have. Almond oil.” So she was babbling like an idiot, which was marginally better than what she really wanted to do—swoop down and kiss him right on those moist, parted lips. His mouth looked so…so capable of giving pleasure.

  “Need help getting it open?”

  “What?”

  “The oil.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the bottle, the bottle she was clenching so tightly that her knuckles showed white beneath her skin. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” She twisted off the cap in one motion, releasing the heady scent of almonds into the air. With the adrenaline flooding her system, she could probably unscrew the lug nuts on a tire with her bare hands.

  And the way she was quivering, she’d spill the oil all over him as she climbed up on the bed. “Could you hold the bottle for a minute?” It wasn’t the smoothest move, to ask the massage subject to hold his own bottle of oil, but at least he wouldn’t have to reach far to accomplish it.


  “Sure thing.” He took the bottle and their hands brushed.

  Her stomach dipped again. Whew. If touching by chance brought that reaction, an intentional caress would reduce her to jelly. As often as she’d dreamed of meeting her perfect match, she’d never expected to feel so helplessly attracted that she could barely function. It was embarrassing.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  He continued to watch her with those warm, smoky eyes. “Whenever you are.”

  “I’ll need to straddle you.” And damned if that didn’t sound far more suggestive than she’d intended.

  “Whatever works.”

  “That’s the best way.” She’d talked the procedure to death. Now it was time to just do it. Her heart beat so fast that her ears rang, but she worked up her courage and placed one knee on the bed. Then she braced her arms on either side of his waist and swung her other knee over his hips.

  There she was, crouched over the most delectable expanse of male muscles she’d ever encountered. She could imagine only two improvements she’d like to make—removing the towel and turning him face up.

  “Ready for the oil?”

  Right. The oil. She was several miles ahead of herself. She reached for the bottle. “Yes.” The brief touch of his hand still affected her, but it was overshadowed by her keen anticipation of smoothing oil over that glorious body. The prospect made her mouth water.

  Settling back on her heels, she poured a quarter-sized circle of oil in the palm of her hand, the way she’d been taught. Then she realized she still had a problem with the bottle. She couldn’t make him hold it during the massage. Yes, she could ask him to take it back and put it on the nightstand, but he’d have to prop himself up and lean over to do that.

  Then she’d have the same problem when she needed more oil. He’d be constantly handing her the bottle. Involving a massage subject in the process to that extent wasn’t good form. She was trying to build a mood, and all this bottle business wouldn’t help. Time for a little improvisation.