Touch Me Now

by Donna Hill

  “Oh, hey there. All done.” He used the end of the towel that was draped around his neck to wipe his face.

  Layla pushed out a breath. “Great. We can get your massage started.” She turned on her heels and walked back in the direction of the massage room. She could feel the heat of Maurice’s body wrapping itself around her from behind. The massage room was up ahead. She opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit interior. Immediately she busied herself with arranging oils and cloths. Anything to keep her eyes off of Maurice.

  “Is the room comfortable enough?”

  “Fine.”

  “You can get up on the table. If you loosen the towel and turn on your stomach we can get started.” She looked away as he loosened his towel and then stretched out on the massage table.

  Layla walked around to the head of the table. “I want to make sure that you’re comfortable. Stretch your arms down your sides, palms up and rest your forehead in the opening of the headrest. Get comfortable.”

  Maurice followed her instructions. “Good?” he asked, his voice muffled by the cushion of the head support.

  “Perfect. I’m going to begin with a light full-body massage and then a deeper tissue stimulation. I’ll be using a variety of oils. If I’m applying too much pressure or you feel uncomfortable please let me know. If there is an area on your body that you want me to devote special attention, let me know that as well.”

  “Hmm, ummm,” he mumbled.

  Layla poured some oil onto her palm and rubbed her hands briskly together. For a moment she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Slowly she lowered her hands to his shoulders. Her hands splayed across the heat of his flesh. Her thumbs pressed and connected with hard muscle, and his rugged sigh made her own spine tingle. She forced herself to concentrate on what she did so well—bring heaven to earth through her touch.

  She covered every exposed inch of his body with her hands, infusing into every sinew the heat of release. Her trained hands moved down his back, up again and across his wide shoulders. She kneaded his arms, and she’d swear that she heard him almost whimper in rapture when she stroked the inside of his palms.

  Applying more oils onto her hands, she started on the odyssey of his upper thighs and then took a slow trip down along his calves to the soles of his feet and back up again. She lingered for a moment along the thick scar that ran like a river down his right leg from above his knee to his midcalf. She felt his body tighten and his easy breathing hitch when her fingertips came in contact with the thickened tissue. But under her gentle manipulations she heard his breathing level off and the tension dissipate.

  The soft candlelight bounced off his glistening dark skin, casting enticing shadows along the dips and curves of his body. Layla drew in a slow breath separating his natural scent from that of the oils. A smile of satisfaction teased her mouth.

  She let her lids lower to almost closing as she worked. She loved what she did, bringing pleasure and relief to others through the skill of her touch. But this was different. She’d always been able to remain detached from her clients. She simply read their body needs through the tips of her fingers and gave the body what it desired. But this time it was her body that was in need, her body that longed to be touched.

  Without effort or apparent intent Maurice had awakened her sleeping sexual giant. And it needed to be fed. The pulse between her thighs quickened. A fire lit in her belly. Heat infused her. Her breathing escalated. She saw herself standing before him. Her robe dropped to the ground. She stretched out her arms. He came to her in the dimness. His mouth brushed the pulse that fluttered at the base of her neck. Her nostrils flared as she tried to breathe. His head moved lower down along the swell of her breasts…

  Maurice groaned every so softly.

  The sound rippled up her spine. She blinked. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. She ran her tongue across her dry mouth.

  The room came into a hazy kind of focus. Damn, she muttered under her breath. She glanced down at the sculpted specimen beneath her fingers.

  “All done,” she said softly. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I could stay here forever.”

  Layla expelled a nervous laugh. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. After you get your things and get dressed I’ll meet you up front.”

  “Hmmm,” he murmured unmoving.

  Layla slipped out, closing the door silently behind her.

  There was one thing that Maurice was totally thankful for, he thought, slowly rising to a sitting position on the table, and that was that she hadn’t asked him to turn over onto his back. He glanced down at the rock-hard rise beneath the towel. That could have been embarrassing for both of them. Or maybe not.

  While she ran her hands all over him he was able to forget that he wasn’t whole—forget that he was crippled and scarred. Under the expertise of Layla’s fingertips he felt complete, came alive again, things he had not felt since he woke up in the hospital more than a year ago.

  Gingerly he got down off of the table, expecting the usual pain to shoot up his leg into his hip. But nothing happened. All he felt was a soothing warmth deep in his muscles. He took a step and still no real pain. He reached for the robe that hung on the hook and shrugged into it. He took a quick mental inventory of his body. A hint of a smile moved his mouth. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt. His throat clenched and his eyes burned. He didn’t care if the relief only lasted for a minute. But for right now…

  Layla was sitting in front of the computer screen when Maurice came up front.

  She stopped what she was doing. “So…how was it? Can I add you to my list of satisfied customers?”

  He crossed the space and sat down on a stool in front of the desk. “Oh, most definitely.” He grinned.

  Layla tried to stay focused on whatever it was she should say next rather than memorize the way his lips moved when he talked and wonder if they were as soft and sweet as they appeared.

  “Looks like I owe you a drink and dinner.”

  She laughed over her nerves and waved her hand. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

  “A deal is a deal.”

  Layla didn’t breathe for a second. “Drinks and dinner?”

  “Mojito, right?” His eyes glowed.

  “Um, yes.”

  “How about eight?”

  She swallowed the last lump of hesitation. “Eight is fine. I can meet you…by the bar.”

  Maurice bobbed his head. “See you later.” He started to turn then stopped. “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  Layla sat transfixed until the sound of the chimes over the door signaled Maurice’s departure. She shook some sense back into her head. She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. Dinner with Maurice Lawson! She had a little more than an hour to get ready and it would never happen with her sitting there with a goofy grin on her face.

  And maybe over dinner and after a drink or two he would tell her a little bit about his very famous family and why that woman’s mentioning them seemed to get under his skin.

  Chapter 7

  “Hey, Layla!”

  Layla glanced over her shoulder to see Desiree hurrying in her direction. “Hey. Whatsup?” she asked barely slowing down.

  “I wanted to know how your day went and if you wanted to join me and Lincoln for dinner.”

  “Oh,” she stopped short, turned to look at Desiree with a grin on her face. “I’m having dinner with Maurice Lawson.”

  Desiree’s brows shot up in perfect symmetry. “Mr. tall, dark and broodingly handsome?”

  “Yep.”

  “Get outta here. You must have put some of that massage mojo on the brother. I haven’t seen him with a soul since he’s been here. To be truthful other than spotting him alone on the beach or maybe
grabbing a drink…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Did you know that he was a Lawson cousin?”

  Desiree frowned. “No, I didn’t, but I see that you do,” she added with a wry grin. “How did you find out?”

  They reached the end to the path before it split up toward the cottages.

  “One of your guests, Kim Fleming, came into the salon while he was there. She recognized the family resemblance. Of course she mentioned Rafe.”

  Desiree laughed. “Who doesn’t mention Rafe if they know him?”

  “Touché. Anyway, it seemed to upset him for some reason.”

  “Hmmm, I could probably ask Melanie. She would know. She’s close with the Lawsons. Funny, I never put the family thing together. Like I said, I haven’t really seen him that much and one of the staff checked him in. But even from a distance I can tell that the man is fine—with a capital F.”

  Layla laughed. “You are so right.” She checked her watch. “I gotta run. We’re meeting up at eight.”

  “Do you, girl. We’ll catch up later. And have fun tonight. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” She hurried along the path and around the short bend to her cottage.

  Layla tossed her tote bag on the club chair in her bedroom and then darted into the bathroom to get the shower going while she figured out what she was going to wear. Something simple, but classy and definitely not too sexy, she mused as she sifted through her very sparse wardrobe. When she’d finally decided to come to Sag Harbor for the summer, her thoughts had been wrapped around getting out of the city, being in a beach environment, i.e., shorts and T-shirts, and working at the salon. In other words, her wardrobe lacked that “date night ready appeal.”

  Sighing, she finally settled on a pair of chocolate-colored capri pants and a draped neck sleeveless top in the same shade. She did have the presence of mind to pack a few accessories. She found her multi-strand silver chain necklace to add another dimension to the chocolate soufflé colors she had going on and she added her novelty bracelets. With that major chore out of the way, she darted into the bathroom for a quick shower.

  Maurice sat at the bar, sipping on a glass of bourbon on the rocks. This was a mistake. He knew that she only said yes because she was being nice and felt sorry for him. He sipped his drink. He winced as the throb pulsed in his thigh—building like a storm on the horizon. His hand shook ever so slightly. It was too good to be true—the two hours of freedom from his hell. He needed to get back to his room and take his pain medicine before it got too bad. If that happened there would be nothing the little white pills could do for him. He’d have to go to the hospital for morphine.

  He placed a ten dollar bill on the bar and turned on his stool. He pushed himself up, shut his eyes for an instant and gritted his teeth against the growing agony. When he opened them Layla was standing right in front of him.

  “Hey,” she said softly, immediately seeing the expression of agony on his face and sensing the physical discomfort he was in. Beads of perspiration dotted his hairline. She took his arm. “Let’s sit at that table.” She slid an arm around his waist and held him securely, forcing him to allow her to take some of his weight.

  They made it over to the table and Maurice managed to slide onto the banquet seating. Layla scooted in next to him and told him to take deep breaths in that throaty, hypnotic voice of hers.

  “Slow and easy,” she coaxed before placing her hands on his upper thigh.

  Maurice flinched. “What—”

  “Sssh, just relax and breathe,” she said with a smile, “or you’ll have everyone thinking I’m doing something kinky under the table.”

  He managed a laugh through his grimace.

  The heat from her palms radiated through the fabric of his slacks and seeped beneath the surface of his flesh to the epicenter of his pain. The soothing warmth emanating from her hands was a magic balm. The throbbing was still present but the intensity had dwindled. She applied just the slightest amount of pressure while she reminded him to breathe slowly and deeply.

  She watched that tight, pinched expression on his face begin to relax. The grip he had on the edge of the table loosened and the rapid pulse beat at his temple began to return to normal.

  “Whatever, you’re doing under that table,” he turned and looked at her with such heat in his eyes that the muscles in her stomach quivered. “Don’t stop. At least not anytime soon.” He groaned in relief.

  Layla blinked rapidly. She knew he was in pain. Her hands were trained to soothe pain. But she also knew what touching him did to her. It was making her wet and that was crazy. “Better?” she breathed.

  Maurice nodded slowly. “Much. Thank you. Really.”

  “Don’t mention it. I may have to refund your credit card. The therapy should have lasted more than two hours,” she said, trying to make her voice sound light and noncommittal while her heart thudded. She linked her fingers together on top of the table and tried not to notice how long and thick his lashes were.

  “No refunds. To be honest, the last couple of hours have been the best in more than a year.”

  She studied his carved profile—perfect angles and strong lines. He reached for his drink and took a swallow. She watched the warm brown liquid trail down his throat.

  Maurice set his glass down and turned those maple brown eyes with flecks of cinnamon on her. “You want to order a drink or something first?”

  “Sure.”

  Maurice raised his hand to get the waitress’s attention.

  “What can I get for you tonight?” She placed a menu in front of each of them.

  Layla looked up at the young waitress. “A mojito.”

  “Right away. Can I get you a refill, sir?”

  “No. Thanks. I’m good for a while. Give us a minute to look over the menu.”

  She bobbed her head. “Be right back with your drink.”

  Layla turned, taking in the room before studying the menu. She looked everywhere but at Maurice. Where all of her bravado of moments ago had gone was a mystery to her. Now she was brain dead and all thumbs. She couldn’t think of one thing to say and for the life of her she couldn’t make out a word on the menu. Every time she was around him, she got all nutty. Mercifully the waitress returned with her drink. It was barely on the table before she took a long sip.

  Maurice chuckled. “Thirsty?”

  Layla sputtered. “You noticed, huh?”

  “I’ve been trained to notice things.” His steady gaze rattled hers.

  Layla zeroed in on her drink for a moment, regained her composure then asked him what kind of training.

  It was his turn to hesitate. “Special Operations.” His jaw clenched.

  “What branch?”

  “Navy. SEALs.”

  Her heart tripped. A Navy SEAL. “Oh. How long?” She brought the glass to her lips and took a short sip.

  “Ten years.” He slowly turned his glass in a small circle on the table.

  “You must have seen the world.”

  His mouth warmed into a smile. “That I have. Not the way most people do, but I’ve seen my share.”

  Layla leaned forward. “Tell me about it,” she said softly.

  He looked at her. “Naw.” He shook his head in refusal. “You don’t want to hear all that macho testosterone stuff.”

  She poked his rock-hard biceps with the tip of her finger. “Yes, I do. Don’t try to get out of it.”

  His long lashes fanned over his eyes several times before he spoke. He pushed out a breath and looked slightly away. “The first year was hard, grueling, mind and body altering training.” He shook his head. “There were nights I would fall out from exhaustion and wonder what the hell I was doing. Then I’d get up and do it all over again.” He finished off his drink. “It’s dangerous work. It’s honorable and only
the best of the best make it and get the SEAL pin.”

  “What little I’ve heard about the Navy SEALs was always connected to some secret clandestine operation.”

  His eyes moved slowly across her face. “We get brought in when the stakes are very high and special tactical skills are needed to achieve a mission’s success.”

  Layla was sure she knew what he meant. It was simply the way he said the words, the way his voice dipped down and stirred her center.

  “Ready to order?”

  Layla dragged her gaze away from Maurice and looked up at the waitress. It took a moment for her to put together in her head what the woman was saying.

  “What do you recommend?” Maurice asked the waitress, but his focus was on Layla.

  “The chef prepared an incredible lobster bisque that I would highly recommend as a starter.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Layla said needing to say something to distract her from the way Maurice was looking at her. Her body flushed with heat.

  “Make that two.”

  The young woman nodded. “For your main course?” She looked from one to the other.

  “I’ll let the lady decide.” He wrapped his long fingers around his glass.

  “The, uh, grilled salmon salad sounds good.”

  “It is.”

  “Make that two,” Maurice said again.

  “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

  Layla cleared her throat and glanced around. Why did she feel so unlike herself when she was around him? One minute she felt confident and secure and then he would look at her or there’d be something deep and dark in his voice and the earth would shift under her feet. “You were telling me about being a Navy SEAL. Where are some of the places you’ve been?”

  His expression darkened. She watched his jaw set as if doused in cement. “Let’s talk about something else. You. How did you wind up here giving massages?”

  Layla leaned back a bit in her seat, willing herself to relax, thrown off once again by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Well,” she said on a breath, “Desiree is my soror. She’s been asking me to come out for a while and I’d been putting it off.”