by Megan Hart
"Oh," Laila repeated. Of course.
They opened the door and faced the enemy. Erm, her family. She saw two empty spots in the lineup on the other side of the net, and she directed Hal toward them.
"I hope you're better at this than you were last time," he remarked loudly as they ducked beneath the net and took their spots.
The game started without preamble. Her brother, Michael, served for the other team. "Zero serving zero!"
The ball rocketed over the net, coming down directly over Laila's head. She put her hands up to hit it, but misjudged the distance and it undershot her. She watched it bounce mere inches from her feet, earning the other team its first point.
"That's my Laila," Hal said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Way to go.”
She ignored him, shaking off the urge to defend herself. Hal was just playing a character. He didn't, she reassured herself, really mean anything by it.
"One serving zero!"
The game began in earnest with both sides playing hard. The spirit in the room was competitive, but fun. Laila's younger cousins ribbed each other good-naturedly when anyone goofed up, and since the skill levels of those playing went from athletic genius to fumbling klutz, there was a lot of ribbing. Bubbe and Zayde watched from the glass-protected loft above the room, calling out encouragement and video taping the entire thing.
"Nice one, Lil," Hal said sarcastically when Laila's attempt at spiking the ball sent it flying into the net. "Real nice."
Though the same words had come out of her cousin Charlie's mouth just moments before, from Hal, the comment bit and stung. Again Laila shrugged it off, knowing he was only doing as she'd asked. The ball flew toward her again, but Hal stepped in front of her to slam it back across the net. And he'd said he wasn't any good at the game?
"I was going to get that," Laila blurted.
"Sure you were, sweetheart," Hal said and rolled his eyes. "Just like you got the last one. Here's a clue, baby. The ball's suppose to go over the net."
Laila bit her tongue to stop a sharp retort. She wasn't a bad player. In fact, once she got warmed up, she bordered on being pretty darn good.
He was only doing what she’d told him, she reminded herself. She searched Hal's eyes for a flicker of warmth, of the man who'd kissed her under the stars. All she saw was patronizing contempt.
The game got more intense with people flying all over the court trying to outdo one another. The ball sprang off walls and ricocheted around the room as the players got better at the game. Laila, despite Hal's repeated jibes, really began to enjoy herself.
However, the better she got, the worse Hal's comments became. When she finally managed to spike a ball, she turned to high-five Charlie and her other teammates. Hal merely said, "It's about time."
He called her butterfingers when she fumbled a serve. He told everyone to make sure they covered their eyes so they wouldn't go blind at the sight of her “wide load” when she bent over to retrieve a ball that had gone out of bounds. Worst of all, he laughed when she slipped and fell during one particularly valiant attempt at returning a serve.
With every comment, Laila grew angrier. Now he was just being downright nasty. Though they didn't say much, she could tell her family members weren't appreciating Hal's acid remarks either. Eli in particular kept scowling at him. Laila hoped her brother wasn't going to take it upon herself to be her defender.
The second game, if possible, was worse than the first. Though everyone else laughed and joked, Hal kept berating her. If she missed a shot, he mocked her. If she made a shot, he told her how she could have done it better.
"Why not just stand there and let me do all the work?" he asked her after she'd stepped back to let him take a shot she knew she wasn't going to reach. "Oh, wait. That's just what you're doing already."
Hot tears burned her eyes and she fought them back. She'd told him to be mean, and he was giving her what she'd asked for. She rolled her shoulders and her neck, trying to relieve the tension. Her earlier enjoyment was rapidly fading. She was glad the game was almost over.
"Fourteen to thirteen!" Eli called, setting up the serve.
The ball sailed over the net like it had wings. It came straight toward her, and Laila put up her hands. She was in perfect form, ready to slam that ball over the net and earn her team the next serve.
She never had the chance. Hal barreled into her, his own hands in the air. His feet trod on her toes, filling her with a pain so intense it was almost sublime. His weight knocked her to the floor on her hands and knees.
"Yes!" Hal yelled, pumping his fist in the air. He'd slammed the ball down on the other side of the net and nobody had gone after it.
Everyone rushed to Laila's side, helping her to her feet. If she ever forgot why she loved her family, Laila thought a little blearily, she’d remember this day.
One of her cousins pressed a paper cup of water into her hand. Another helped her limp over the bench along the wall. Still others gathered around to ask her questions about how she felt.
"You shouldn't be playing such a rough game in your condition," clucked her normally quiet sister-in-law, Sarah.
Laila would have asked her what she meant, but she didn't have a chance with the rest of her cousins clamoring to help her lift her feet, lower her head, or vice versa.
She wasn't bleeding anywhere and even the pain in her toes had begun to fade. Laila finally waved away all the helping hands, saying she was fine. She was fine. The game was over, though, the fun mood spoiled, and she did regret she'd been the cause of that.
"I'm fine, really!" she said for what felt like the hundredth time. At last she convinced the crowd to disperse, which they did reluctantly.
"Bubbeleh, come with us to the movie lounge," Bubbe urged. "We're going to watch that little cutie Keanu Reeves in that football movie."
Laila didn't have the heart to tell her bubbe that the actor's name was not pronounced “canoe.” Besides, she really didn't want to watch a movie right now. She really just wanted to go back to her room, take a long, hot bath, and curl up in bed. As gracefully as she could, she declined Bubbe's offer, then looked around for Hal.
He was gone.
The fallen leaves crunched crisply under Hal's feet as he trudged along the path. He had no scarf or gloves, but he had his humiliation to keep him warm. He passed the fork in the path that would take him back to Bramblewood's main building and kept going. He needed to think.
Since Cassie ran off with his ex-partner John, Hal's only brush with real romance had been with the client who'd bought him the book of love poems. Other than that, the dates he'd had were work, not pleasure. Until meeting Laila, none of the LoveMatch women had been anything more than a way to pay the bills.
She's just a client, he told himself fiercely. This is just a job. She wanted him to be a jerk, so he had been. But he hadn't meant to knock her down, not during the game or any of the times his clumsiness had gotten the best of him.
And why had she been so upset when he hadn't tried to seduce her? It was strict LoveMatch policy that no escort was to make a sexual advance unless the client clearly stated that was what she wanted. No escort was required to provide sexual services, either, unless he wanted to.
He thought guiltily of the kiss he'd given her after the carriage ride. It was certainly a mistake. He'd allowed himself to forget he was working. He'd let himself believe what he was pretending to have with Laila was the real thing. But it wasn't the real thing, Hal thought, with a kick to a pile of leaves that connected with a hidden tree root and started him hopping in pain.
Hal limped down the path. If he'd met Laila someplace else, some other way? But who was he kidding? He had nothing to offer any woman, much less one like Laila. He had no real job, no car; he lived in a one-bedroom apartment with shabby furniture and not much more than mold and water in the refrigerator.
Once he'd owned his own business, had a nice house, and driven an expensive car. Losing Cassie, he lost all that, too. Alon
e, it hadn't mattered. He'd gone back to school to finally do something he thought he'd enjoy.
But now--now he looked at the bleak existence he'd been eking out for the past year, and wondered how he even dared imagine that he could start a relationship with someone he truly cared about. He could barely afford to take her to a fast food burger joint, much less a nice restaurant.
Hal finally turned back toward Bramblewood's main grounds. Night was falling fast, and he was getting cold. He'd go back and face Laila, apologize once again for being such an incredible klutz, and hope she'd forgive him. Yet again.
Fortunately, he didn't pass any of the Alster clan on the way back to the room. He didn't think he could face any of them right now. Since Laila had the only room key, he hoped she was in. He knocked.
After a few minutes, she answered. To his relief, there were no fresh bruises he could see. She must have been in the bath because she wore the room's thick, complimentary robe and had bundled her hair into a towel.
"Where have you been?" she asked, letting him in. "I've been worried."
"I went for a walk," Hal told her. He slipped off his coat and hung it up. He looked around the room, wincing. It was a mess. Half the contents of his suitcase lay scattered all over the floor. He started picking things up and shoving them back in the overburdened case.
"It's getting dark," Laila said quietly. "I was afraid you'd gotten lost or something."
"Yeah, that would be just like me, wouldn't it?" Hal said bitterly, shoving a pair of jeans into the suitcase. "Big idiot that I am."
"That's not what I meant."
He paused, shoulders drooping. "You really hired the wrong man for this job, Laila."
"You think so?" She sat down on the bed to watch him stuff the suitcase. "I don't. I needed someone to make my family happy I was still single. I'd say you did a great job of that today."
He risked a glance at her. "You're not mad?"
She bit her lip, a gesture he found unbelieveably appealing. "I was. You said some pretty rude things. Again."
Hal sighed and went back to the task of tidying the room. "I'm only trying to do what you asked me to."
"I know that." Laila smiled. "And I am grateful."
"Even though I've nearly killed you a bunch of times already?"
Now she laughed out loud. "I could've done without that. I'm still sore."
"I could give you a massage." The offer slipped out without him thinking about it. Once the words were out, though, all that filled his mind were thoughts of Laila, naked and covered in oil under his hands.
"Could you?" She rolled her neck, wincing. "That would really be great!"
"I need the practice," Hal admitted. "Especially since I'm missing some classes this week."
"Where do you want me?" Laila patted the bed. "Here?"
Oh, that sure would be a good place to start. Hal gave himself a mental shake. "Sure."
She paused. "Clothes on? Or off?"
"Most people prefer to wear a towel," Hal said, forcing his voice not to betray the way her question had sent his heart pounding.
Laila pulled the one from her head, letting her hair down. "Okay."
"Wait just a minute." Hal rifled through the suitcase until he found what he wanted. "My oil."
"You really do have everything in there," she marveled.
"I'll go into the bathroom," Hal offered. "Just let me know when you're ready."
He was only in the room a minute when she called for him to return. She'd turned out all the lights but one, and turned the radio to a station playing light classical music. She'd pulled the covers back and now lay face down on the robe, covered by a towel from her waist to her knees.
Hal put an extra towel next to her head. "I brought this for you."
"See, that's what I like about you, Hal," Laila said almost sleepily. "You think of everything."
He started by drizzling some oil onto her bare back. Laila gasped at the chill of it; it had been in his suitcase and not a warmer. Not the way his instructors would like, but the best he could do under the circumstances.
It warmed quickly beneath his fingers. Hal rubbed Laila's back in long, firm strokes, concentrating on running his thumbs just beside the ridge of her spine. She let out a little groan/moan, a sound so filled with pure pleasure it made Hal's mouth go dry.
"That is excellent," Laila said. "Wow. Wow!"
"This is why I want to be a massage therapist," Hal said. "I want to make people feel good."
"It's working," she mumbled.
He kept up the massage, using all the techniques they'd gone over in class. Somehow, performing the massage on his classmates was incredibly different from working on Laila. For one thing, she was a lot more vocal with her appreciation.
"Oh, yes," she moaned.
Hal's mind wanted to imagine her saying those words in that tone while his hands performed a different sort of massage. He forced the thoughts away. If he wanted to be a professional, he couldn't let his attraction to the client affect his performance.
It was hard to ignore Laila's low moans of pleasure, though, or to not imagine them as coming from a different source. She practically started purring when he began working her shoulders and neck, easing the tension out of them with strong, smooth strokes. Concentrate on the hands, Hal thought. Concentrate.
"You've got magic hands." Laila's voice had gone low and throaty. "God, Hal, you're good!"
She wriggled a little under his touch. Her back had taken on a sheer, rosy glow from all his ministrations. That was how her skin would look flushed with passion, too.
He had to stop or he'd embarrass himself. "I think that's it."
"No," she wailed in complaint, sitting up.
She clutched the towel Hal had given her to her chest, but he still knew she was naked. He backed off the bed hastily, turning around. He made a great pretense of putting away the oil and wiping his hands before daring to turn around.
She hadn't put her robe back on. Her dark hair caressed her shoulders. Laila's eyes were glazed, her lips as plump and pink as if she'd just been kissed.
Baseball, Hal thought furiously. Hockey. World Series. Stanley Cup. Games on the big screen TV at Hooters--hooters--no! Cold showers. Aunt Millie in her bathing suit--
"Hal," Laila said. "Come here."
His mind screamed no, but his feet said yes. They led him to where Laila sat. She patted the bed, and he sat where she wanted him.
"I know the LoveMatch rules," she said in a husky voice. "Ms. Whitehead was very clear about what an escort will and will not do."
Hal coughed. "Uh-huh."
Laila smiled enigmatically. He could see the euphoria of the massage still lingering in the glaze of her eyes and the way she licked her lips. She looked a little drunk. I did that, Hal thought, and his body responded.
"Hal?"
"Yes, Laila."
"Why did you kiss me after the carriage ride?"
He found it hard to speak with a mouth that wanted nothing else but to kiss her again. "Because I wanted to."
"Do you want to now?" Laila asked.
He nodded, unable to answer.
"Then do it," Laila breathed. "Please."
If he'd had any other ideas, they fled from his mind as if they were shadows facing the noonday sun. Kissing Laila was better than eating ice cream on a summer day. Slipping between flannel sheets on a cold night. Having his hair washed by a beautician with strong fingers. Every pleasure in Hal's life paled in comparison to the feeling of Laila's lips on his.
"Are you sure?" He found the strength to ask, needing to hear the confirmation.
She didn't say anything. Instead, she dropped her towel. Hal took that as a yes.
Chapter 8
When Hal kissed Laila, he did it as though they were the only two people in the entire world. He made it easy for her to block everything out, to lose herself in the sensations sweeping over her. That was what Laila wanted to do. Lose herself.
He paused onl
y briefly to take his glasses off and put them on the nightstand. Laila took the opportunity to catch her breath. That was when she noticed she was completely naked and he was still fully clothed.
"This won't work," she said.
Hal sighed. His shoulders slumped. "I knew you were going to say that."
He did? Laila shook her head and reached out to tug on the front of his shirt. "No, Hal. I mean that this won't work with you still dressed."
She figured she must be nothing more than a vague blur to him, so she moved closer. His mouth was sweet, his lips full and soft. She loved the feeling of his smoothly shaved face against her own.
Alone in the steaming hot bathtub, waiting for Hal to return, she'd thought about doing this. Since Ian's death, Laila's life had been devoid of passion, of intimacy. Making love to Hal would finally set her free from the cage of guilt she'd trapped herself in three years before.
His mouth left hers to trail along her jaw, then down to the exquisitely tender spot just below her ear. Laila shivered, clutching at his shoulders. He knew just where to kiss her, how to touch her, just as if he'd taken classes. And who knows? she thought a little foolishly. Maybe he had.
"Laila," Hal whispered in her ear. "I need to know you're sure about this."
"I'm sure."
She'd never been more certain about anything in her life. She couldn't go on living in the past, grieving for a love that hadn't blossomed. The guilt she felt over Ian's death had far too long kept her from seeking and finding joy. What she and Hal might have tonight wouldn't-- couldn't--be permanent. It wasn't love. But it would be close enough.
Now his mouth trailed along the curve of her collarbone, and when he flicked his tongue along her skin, Laila could not stifle a cry. He pulled away, working at the buttons on his shirt with fumbling fingers. A button popped off, hitting her spang in the chest.
"Let me," Laila said. "Let's get through this without injury, okay?"
He did laugh, and that was one of the reasons Laila knew her decision to open herself to him had been right. Hal was a good man. A kind man. She could let him love her, just for tonight, and know that even though it wasn't the real thing, he would be able to make her believe it was. It was the LoveMatch guarantee.
