by A. J. Pine
Grace groaned. God, what a difference there was between twenty-one and twenty-five. Had Grace been that bubbly and optimistic only four years ago?
She nearly snorted as she laughed to herself. She’d been that bubbly and optimistic four months ago. And where had it gotten her? That’s right—driving across state lines for a second job to make ends meet—and to put distance between herself and a family that asked too many questions. Forget replenishing the eight grand that had been funneled out of her savings account. Life was what happened between paychecks, and there was no longer room for bubbly optimism when biweekly direct deposits were the happiest words she could think of.
“Is he on the table yet?” Grace asked, staring longingly at her juice.
Kaylee shook her head.
“I gave him a robe, slippers, and an eye mask and then sent him to change and rest in the waiting area. I poured him a glass of juice and told him his massage therapist would be there soon. And now I’m here to get you!”
Grace blew out a breath and put her juice in the fridge. Looked like she’d be getting that tip after all—unless Mr. Gorgeous was decidedly cheap. Not that she’d ever been stiffed before, but there was a first time for everything. She opted for the belief that she was taking control, though, that each step she took away from her old life was a step closer to something new. Something better.
She redid her ponytail, going for the partial bun on the last loop rather than pulling it all the way through. She brushed wrinkles out of her Madison House Resort and Spa white polo and made sure the zipper on her khaki shorts was, in fact, zipped.
“I guess it’s showtime, huh?” she asked, but Kaylee bit her lip. “What?” Grace added.
The girl inhaled slowly, then let out her breath. It was the most Grace had ever seen her slow down, and she’d only been working with her for a couple of months.
“Anton said if I really wanted to go to massage therapy school, that I should maybe observe some of the therapists and see what it’s all about, and—”
“No,” Grace interrupted, with a little more edge in her voice than she meant.
“But—”
Grace held up a hand to stop her this time, not wanting to come off too harsh. She was just a kid, after all.
“Look, Kaylee. You’re sweet, and maybe if you hadn’t made inappropriate remarks about the client, I’d have considered it. But I just don’t feel right having you in the room now. I’ve got Mrs. Abelli at seven. How about you observe then?”
Kaylee wrinkled her nose. “The old woman who walks laps in the far lane of the pool?”
Grace nodded. “She has an artificial hip. The buoyancy of the water makes exercise easier for her. You’d like her. She’s pretty sharp for seventy-eight.”
She wrinkled her nose again.
“It’s an open invitation,” Grace said. “Always good to get to know a regular client—and to realize that if you do get into the profession, not all patrons are going to be hot guys.”
In fact, Grace would be happy with a full clientele of nothing but Mrs. Abellis.
Kaylee groaned. “You just don’t want to share,” she mumbled under her breath and walked out in a huff.
Good. Better to put a slow leak in that bubble now. She didn’t wish Kaylee any misfortune, but that everything is awesome attitude would be her eventual downfall. So if Grace was less than generous with the observation request, she chalked it up to looking out for the girl and rationalized that one day Kaylee would thank her.
Besides, Mrs. Abelli was top-notch. Plus, she tipped Grace not only with much-needed cash but also with a small GladWare container filled with pizzelle, those delicious waffle cookies that were fast becoming an addiction. If she would break her cleanse for anything, it would be one of Mrs. Abelli’s pizzelle.
She gave Kaylee a thirty-second head start, enough to get her back to the reception desk, before she made her way to the waiting room. When she poked her head into the doorway, she found exactly what she’d expected: a man in a robe sitting on the long leather bench, head tilted against the quilted backrest and lavender eye mask covering a good portion of his face.
She cleared her throat softly, and the man flinched but didn’t move any more than that.
“I’m sorry if I startled you, Mr. Denning. I just wanted to make sure you were awake. Clients have a tendency to doze off.”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a grin, and though the lights were dim, she thought she saw a dusting of stubble coating his jaw.
“A few more minutes and I would have been out,” he said, his voice deep with what could only be described as a hint of mischief. “But you have my full attention now, Miss…”
“Grace,” she blurted. “My name is Grace, and I’ll be your therapist this evening. When you’re ready, and your eyes have adjusted to the light, you can head into the first room on your right. I’ll give you a few minutes to hang up your robe and cover yourself with the sheet on the massage table. Kaylee said you’re doing the full-body massage, so we’ll start with you on your stomach, facedown.”
His smile broadened, but he made no move to take off the mask yet.
“Are you as pretty as you sound?” he asked.
Grace’s stupid body chemistry and fair skin betrayed her, blushing at a man who must be the biggest flirt around if Kaylee was so hot and bothered just from checking him in.
“I’m just your massage therapist, Mr. Denning. And you’re my client. I’ll see you in the first room on your right in a few.”
She backed out of the doorway, not waiting for a response.
Jerk, but she wasn’t sure where she was directing the thought, at herself—or him.
Grace waited for five minutes before heading to the room. She knocked softly on the door and then paused with her hand on the knob until she heard his muffled “Come in,” which meant he was ready and lying facedown on the table.
She entered quietly, stepping around the table and toward the counter at the back wall.
“Hi, Mr. Denning,” she said, adopting a soothing tone despite the way his flirting had ruffled her so easily.
“It’s Jeremy,” he said, his voice no longer muffled, which caused her to turn and inspect why.
Well, duh. He’d lifted his head, and now she saw what Kaylee was fussing about. Because apparently Michael Fassbender—probably circa 2005—was peering up from her massage table. His dark ginger waves stuck out wildly from where the face cradle had pushed them from his forehead and temples. But those blue eyes were almost too much to bear, especially since they bore a glint of mischief.
He gave her a crooked grin. “Figured if I knew yours, you should know mine. Plus, my dad was a teacher in my high school. He was Mr. Denning.”
She turned back toward the counter, arranging various lotions and oils she pulled from the cabinet.
“Have you ever had an allergic reaction to anything on your skin, Mr.—I mean, Jeremy?”
“Nope,” he answered, his voice still clear, which meant that while she kept her eyes on what she was doing, he was keeping his eyes on her.
“Good,” she said, pulling her favorite scent from the mix and then facing her client once more. “Do you have any specific problem areas you’d like me to work on? Even when a client requests a full-body massage, I like to make sure I target the areas in need of the most care.”
He let out a long breath. “Everything hurts,” he said. “Like, fucking everything. Sorry for the language. But I just sat through an eight-hour lecture on the most uncomfortable chair, went back to my hotel room to take a nap only to find my ex doing the weather in Chicago instead of Florida, so yeah—let’s just say it all hurts. But my lower back is probably the worst.”
He dropped his face into the cradle, and she watched his shoulders relax.
“I’m at your mercy,” he said.
Grace couldn’t help it. She smiled, though grateful he couldn’t see. If there was anything she could relate to, it was ex issues.
; She draped the sheet so she had full access to his upper body, all the way down to the small of his back. A tattoo ran the length between his shoulder blades, a deep blue feather, its tip breaking into black flecks that led to a small black bird, flying alone on his otherwise empty shoulder.
“I’m going to start by warming up your muscles and your skin,” she said. “Let me know if this is too hot.”
She opened a small pot that sat plugged into the counter outlet and retrieved three stones. She deposited one atop each shoulder and one on the small of his back.
He let out a soft groan.
“Okay?” she asked.
“Unbelievable,” he said. “Seriously, if things between us went no further than this, I’d be a changed man.”
She stifled a laugh, which instead made her snort.
How graceful, Grace.
“Is this—is this your first time?” she asked.
He nodded into the face cradle.
“But don’t worry,” he said. “You don’t need to be gentle with me. I can take anything you want to dish out.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Denning.”
She readied a lotion pump in one belt holster and an oil pump in the other. She removed the cooled stones from his skin and placed them back in the heated pot. Two pumps of oil was how she began, rubbing the substance between her palms to warm her skin. And then she got to work.
“Eucalyptus,” he said softly.
“And spearmint. It’s my favorite scent.”
He took in a slow, measured breath and let it out. “And lime. I like the lime.”
Grace coughed, nearly choking on her own saliva. There was no lime in any of the scented oils or lotions she used. But it was in her shampoo. How the hell could he smell her hair, and better yet, why the hell did she like that he could?
Focus, Grace. You are a professional who can separate what you do from who you do.
“Is it okay?” she asked. “The scent of the oils? And…and the pressure? Is the pressure okay?”
She was good at her job. She knew that. But something about this guy already threw her off. When she’d thought to herself that there was a first time for everything, she hadn’t counted on finding a client…distracting. She thought about the book she was reading, and yes, it was a self-help book, but Grace felt no shame. She’d gotten herself into the mess she was in, and she would get herself out of it. Which meant staying away from distraction.
The first half of the cleanse is the hardest, she reminded herself. At least that’s what the book said. And Grace trusted the book because it was her only chance to learn how to trust herself.
She rubbed slow, circular strokes with her thumb over the knots she found in his shoulders and neck.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Everything is perfect.”
And that was the last they spoke until she’d finished with his legs thirty minutes later and asked him to roll over onto his back so she could work on his head and neck from underneath.
She adjusted the sheet so he was covered from the midtorso down to his feet, his arms free at his sides. She’d draped men and women alike, and yes she’d found others attractive. There was nothing wrong with appreciating a body whose owner treated it well. Whatever Jeremy Denning did, he did it well. He was toned and defined without being bulky. Freckles accentuated the dusting of red hair on his chest, a combination she both enjoyed and condemned herself for said enjoyment.
He was every bit as gorgeous as Kaylee let on, even more so in his groggy state, and the fact that she felt an immediate physical attraction to him told her he was 100 percent the type of guy to avoid outside of any professional boundaries.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked.
“I’m never leaving,” he said dreamily, and she laughed.
“Tell that to Mrs. Abelli, my seven o’clock. She’ll have you out of here faster than you’ll know what hit you.”
“Then I’m booking you before I leave tomorrow,” he countered, eyes closed and voice still far off in that relaxed state.
“Sorry,” she said, sitting down on a stool behind his head and burying her hands under his hair. “I’m off tomorrow. Maybe next time.” Her fingers went to work massaging his scalp.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
She grinned. “It’s called cranial sacral massage. I promise I saved the best for last. Though if you’re going anywhere later, you’ll want to shower. I’m going to get a lot of oil in your hair.”
A soft smile spread across his lips.
“Do you sell a shampoo in this scent? Because that’s the only way I’m ever bathing again.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, letting her mind drift to the idea of washing his hair in a shower, before shaking her head like a cartoon character who’d just had an anvil dropped on her. “Kaylee can grab that for you on the way out.”
He must have dozed off after that because their conversation ceased, and his head grew heavier in her palms.
When she was done, she decided to let Kaylee be the one to rouse him and give him something to drink. Grace had to wash her hands. Mrs. Abelli preferred an unscented lotion, and she’d be arriving soon.
That was the only reason she didn’t want to wake Jeremy. It was a timing thing. It certainly wasn’t the desire to see that tattoo again, to ask him what it meant. It wasn’t the wish to hold his head in her hands once more, his thick locks between her fingers. And it certainly wasn’t the need to just be close to another body after she’d sworn off that need twelve weeks ago.
“It’s inappropriate. You just reminded Kaylee of that. Plus, you’re on a cleanse,” she said to herself in the ladies’ room as she scrubbed her hands under too-hot water. “Clean foods and clean drinks for six months. And no sex,” she reminded herself. “That’s what got you into trouble in the first place. Physical attraction does not equal trust or…or an emotional connection.” She continued mumbling to herself as she dried her hands, only to be startled by a toilet flushing in a stall at the far end of the room. She’d thought she was alone.
Mrs. Abelli emerged from the stall, her short dark hair still wet from the swim she probably just took. She narrowed her eyes at Grace.
“You starve yourself, bella Gracie,” she said. “Of the food and the men?”
Grace shrugged. It’s not like she was going to lie about it.
“I always make room for your pizzelle,” she said as the elderly woman began to wash her hands.
Mrs. Abelli shook her head.
“Pizzelle alone is not enough to fill you in here.”
She toweled off her hands and then poked two fingers above Grace’s heart.
The woman was right. But letting men into her bed wasn’t enough, either.
She had to learn how to fill that space on her own.
Chapter Three
Jeremy nursed his third beer. He’d chosen this hotel—or rather, Jamie had chosen it for him—because the bar served nothing but local brews. Normally a Spotted Cow or three went down easily, the perfect beer to kick off an evening, but a dull ache throbbed at the base of his skull, and his burger sat in front of him half eaten, another sign that something was off. Because the beer and burger combo was a win-win, yet his body felt anything but triumphant even after that phenomenal massage.
His phone sat next to him on the bar. Eight fifteen. He and Kaylee didn’t have an official date, yet on any other night he would have been disappointed at being stood up, so to speak. But a man who was ready to forgo a bacon cheeseburger and a tasty brew was apparently ready to forgo other things as well.
He rubbed the back of his neck and was about to flag down the bartender to settle up his tab when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“You should be drinking water instead of beer.”
Grace, the woman who’d had her hands all over his body only two short hours ago, sat on the stool next to him.
“Hey, Pete,” she said as the bartender placed a beverage napkin in front of her.
/>
“The usual?” Pete asked, and she nodded. “And get my friend here your tallest glass of water.”
Pete winked at her. “You got it, Grace.”
Jeremy grimaced, and not just because his headache seemed to be going from threatening to a clear and present danger. Pete the bartender was Jeremy’s bud when he first sat down, but now he had the sudden urge to deck the guy, and Jeremy wasn’t a hitter. Unless you counted that one time he discovered his best friend was sleeping with his sister behind his back, but that was all water under the bridge now that Wes and Annie were engaged.
But he didn’t like that Pete got to wink at the beautiful woman sitting next to him. And he sure as hell didn’t like how shitty he felt.
Grace grabbed his pint glass, which was three-quarters empty, and slid it to the far edge of the bar.
“Kaylee was supposed to tell you,” she said. “Only water after a massage—and lots of it. She didn’t say anything?”
Jeremy bit his lip. “I was pretty groggy when she came into the room,” he said. “It’s not like she didn’t say anything. She just…uh…might not have mentioned the water.”
Grace rolled her eyes as Pete returned with Jeremy’s water and something green and pulpy looking in a to-go cup with a straw for her.
“Thanks, Pete,” she said, and the bartender nodded before moving on to the next customer. She turned to Jeremy and stood from her barstool.
“Massage releases toxins and increases circulation. Water helps flush out those toxins. Alcohol not only adds to them, but because of the whole circulation thing, it also expedites the effects.” She eyed his burger. “It wouldn’t hurt your body to eat a little cleaner, too.”
Then she strode off toward the bar’s exit.
“Hey,” he called after her, standing quickly and then losing his footing, the blood seemingly rushing to his lower extremities. His head swam, and he grabbed for purchase—finding it on the edge of the bar but not before his elbow landed on his dinner plate, flipping it over and sending it crashing to the floor.
