“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Andre Silvain said through a charming smile. “It seems the gym is locked and I was wondering if you could show me through the facilities.”
“Of course,” she answered, willing her heartbeat back to some semblance of normality. “Usually we provide our guests with their own swipe key to access the pool and gym. Why don’t we go to reception? I’ll get that sorted out for you right now.”
In a matter of minutes, Mia had organized a key for both Andre and Benedict and was leading Andre through the glass corridor that connected the accommodation wing of the hotel and the purpose-built gym she’d added to the already existing indoor swimming pool. The pool had been another of her father’s extravagances—an extravagance she’d been grateful he’d indulged in as she’d never have been able to afford to have a pool installed with her current financial position.
Andre made several noises of appreciation as she showed him the facilities together with her treatment rooms.
“Since it will only be yourself and Mr. del Castillo here for the month, my usual gym and spa staff have been given a leave of absence. I will be attending to Mr. del Castillo’s treatments myself.”
It was a decision that had seemed like a good idea at the time, and the staff involved had accepted the offer of a month’s leave, at what was usually their busiest time, with alacrity. However, now she’d learned exactly who her guest was, Mia was ruing her decision to provide the therapy herself.
“That’s fine. As his trainer, I won’t need anyone else in the gym. I’ve worked up a mixed bag of programs for him, starting tomorrow with swimming in the morning and then a gentle hike later in the afternoon, if he’s up to it,” Andre said. “After the hike he’ll probably need some work on those muscles of his. I understand he was pretty fit before his accident, and despite his injuries I don’t think it’ll take too long before he’s almost back to normal again.”
Mia’s stomach pitched on the thought of the type of injuries Benedict had sustained.
“Were they severe?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Yes—mostly internal and tissue damage. His knee was also dislocated.”
“Dislocated? That’s unusual in a car accident, isn’t it?”
“From what I’ve learned, it’s a minor miracle he didn’t break any bones. The driver’s side of his car bore the full impact of the accident. It was only due to the safety features of the car that he survived at all. That and the fact that emergency services got to him in time. If they hadn’t found him when they did, he could have lost his leg. A dislocation like that can do untold damage to nerves and cause blood supply to the foot to be interrupted. And that’s not taking into account the internal bleeding from his injuries.”
A chill ran through Mia’s body. Ben could have died. She’d never really stopped to consider that before. While she’d never expected to see Jasper’s father again, she had also never considered how she’d feel if she knew he didn’t walk the face of the earth anymore, either. It didn’t bear thinking about, she told herself sternly.
“He seems to have made a remarkable recovery. It’s been, what, six or seven weeks since the accident?”
“Probably closer to five, and yes, he’s one stubborn piece of work. We started his recovery program shortly before he was released from hospital. Of course, he was still getting over abdominal surgery at that stage and his knee was still splinted. He’s a proud man, though, which makes it hard work. He doesn’t like anyone to see him struggle or witness his pain.”
Mia nodded. That made perfect sense. Even when she’d first met him, Ben had carried himself with an air of pride and entitlement that had been instantly appealing to her. After all, she’d borne herself in much the same way. She knew what a struggle it was emotionally to come to terms with a massive change in circumstances, and felt a begrudging respect for how far Ben had come with his physical recovery from the accident. Perhaps his victory over death had given him that dark edge she now sensed hung around him like an invisible cloak.
“Well, this all looks really good,” Andre continued. “I didn’t expect your facilities to be as comprehensive as this but I’m impressed.”
“We aim to please,” Mia said, smiling. “And I like to believe that most of the time, we succeed. A lot of our business is now by referral or from returning clientele. Mr. del Castillo’s booking certainly threw a bit of a spanner in the works but fortunately we were able to accommodate everything and everyone. I have to say I was surprised he was prepared to come all this way, though. Surely he could have completed his recovery at home, or at least nearer to home.”
“The media wouldn’t leave him alone long enough, and like I said before, he’s a proud man. He didn’t want pictures of himself plastered through the European papers looking anything less than his old self. Plus, he’s made it quite clear to me that when he returns to Sagradan society he wants to do so in peak fitness.”
Just privately, she didn’t blame Ben one bit for seeking anonymity. In the aftermath of her father’s death, his shame had been broadcast the length and breadth of the country. Her mother had retreated from the public eye, refusing to work on the charities that had once been a part of her life and slowly but surely severing all ties with her old friends. It had been up to Mia to hold her head high and to meet the public gaze upon their lives. She hadn’t liked it one bit, but one of them at least had had to hold it all together.
She wondered whether Ben had a special someone waiting in the wings for him when he went back home. Someone who’d appreciate that peak fitness. Someone he was perhaps too proud to allow to see him less than perfect. Somehow the thought of another woman waiting for him rankled her on a level she really didn’t want to acknowledge, because doing so would mean she had feelings for him, wouldn’t it? And she couldn’t afford that. Not under any circumstances.
Three
Mia moved around her treatment room, dimming the lights and ensuring the room temperature was comfortable. Once she was satisfied, she lit a candle in the oil diffuser she used to permeate the air with relaxing scents. Whether that relaxation was more for her benefit or for Ben’s she couldn’t honestly answer. The prospect of having his prone form beneath her hands while she gave him a massage was something she’d been working to keep from her mind all day.
She’d seen the two men return from their hike about an hour ago. Ben was limping more than he had when she’d caught a glimpse of him earlier today. When she’d mentioned it to Andre, he’d merely rolled his eyes and said that his client had been unimpressed with the gentle workout Andre’d mapped out for him and had insisted they take a more arduous trek. Nothing he’d been able to say had swayed Benedict’s insistence and rather than leave him to go off and potentially hurt himself again, Andre had gone along with him in an attempt to at least temper the hike with enough rest stops and stretches to ensure he didn’t undo any of the work they’d achieved to date.
Clearly Ben was driven to get well again as fast as he could. She carefully blended the cold-pressed carrier oil she preferred to use for massage with a few drops of pure essential oil that would aid his muscle recovery. As she did so, she wondered what drove him so hard. Was it just typical male stubbornness, or was it the prospect of returning home and getting back to his old life, and whoever was a part of that life?
Either way, it was none of her business. All she was here for today was to ensure that his workouts didn’t leave him with painfully tight muscles that would keep him from his program for the next few days. Although she doubted that anything would sway him from his task. She’d seen the determination in his eyes as he’d gone through to the pool this morning and then later as he and Andre had set out for their hike. But despite the fact it wasn’t her business, she couldn’t deny that this new, more serious Benedict del Castillo was infinitely more appealing than the fun-loving guy she’d met the first time around.
If he’d been any other kind of man she would have thought he was pushing himself too
hard. Risking further damage to an already traumatized body. But she had a feeling he knew his boundaries and that he was merely determined to extend those boundaries as far as possible.
“Where do you want me?”
Mia whirled around at Ben’s voice, startled he’d managed to sneak up behind her and surprise her like that. She composed her features into what she hoped was a serene expression. He looked tired, she thought as she made eye contact with him for the first time since yesterday, and there were fine lines of strain about his eyes and mouth.
By all appearances, he was not in the mood to make small talk.
“Please, remove your clothes and then lie facedown on the table with the covers up to your waist. You can leave your briefs on. I’ll leave you to get comfortable and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Without giving him a chance to respond she slipped out of her treatment room and closed the door behind her. The instant there was a solid barrier between them, Mia put a hand to her throat and took a deep breath. She could do this. She absolutely could do this—and without allowing it to affect her equilibrium. She’d remain professional at all times.
After waiting what she felt should be long enough for him to disrobe and position himself on the table, she knocked gently on the treatment room door and let herself back in. Her gaze flicked over the exposed expanse of skin of his shoulders and back and down to the tapered narrow width of his waist. He’d yanked the covers up unevenly so she took a moment to straighten them before facing the moment of truth where she would have to touch him.
“Have you had an aromatherapy massage before?” she asked, keeping her voice low as she cupped her left hand firmly over the base of his skull, while pressing her right hand flat against his upper back. She repeated the movement and pressure in segments down his back to his lumbar region. His skin was smooth and hot to touch. Achingly familiar, yet foreign at the same time.
“Not the kind you’re thinking of,” Ben said, his voice muffled in the purpose-built cavity for his face.
Mia fought a smile. She got that kind of comment a lot from guests using the spa. Some serious, some definitely not so.
“Then just let yourself relax. I think you’ll find you’ll enjoy it.”
“You’re touching me, aren’t you? Of course I’ll enjoy it.”
There was a note to his voice, something unspoken, and just like that her mind filled with images of them enjoying one another. Mia shook her head slightly, and willed the images away. It was just mind over matter.
She released the gentle pressure she’d applied to his neck and used her fingertips to press individual points leading up to his skull. Beneath her touch she felt the tension in the corded muscles of his neck slowly release. Silently nodding to herself, she slid her fingers along his skull up to the tip of his head, her fingers dragging through the dark silk of his hair, before withdrawing her touch completely.
“Is that it?” he groused from on the table.
“That’s just the beginning. Relax, Mr. del Castillo. Try and focus on your breathing and let your mind go.”
“Ben. I told you to call me Ben.”
“Fine,” she breathed out a soft sigh of capitulation. “Ben, it is.”
She turned from the table briefly to pour a measure of the blended massage oil into her palm, and then warmed it in her hands before applying her hands to his back. Immediately, she began the movements that now came to her as instinctively as breathing. Bit by bit, as she worked first in long sliding strokes, she could feel him respond to the soothing touch.
His muscle tissue became more malleable, his breathing deepened—and her fingers felt as if a warm buzz was building up beneath them. A warm buzz that tingled and crackled up her arms and charged her entire body. It had been so long since she’d touched him, and yet the sensations it evoked came pouring back from deep within her.
She shook her head slightly, determined to rid herself of her pitiful lack of personal control, but she couldn’t deny the heated heaviness that now built inside her, or the glowing ember of need that smoldered at her core.
Mia worked her hands up from his lower back and to his shoulders, remembering the first time she’d felt his strength beneath her hands. Despite the injuries he’d sustained in the car wreck he still had pretty good muscle definition, she noted in the dim lighting of the room. His shoulders were still broad and strong—the muscles leading from his neck to the tops of his shoulders defined yet not overpowering. She let her hand slide down one arm, her fingers stimulating pressure points inside his elbow and wrist as she worked before mirroring her actions on his other side.
In fact, she was surprised not to have seen any scar tissue on his body. So far, she’d only seen the starburst tattoo he bore on the back of his right shoulder—the same tattoo she’d traced intimately with the tip of her tongue the last time he’d lain prone before her.
Her inner muscles clenched tight and an almost all-consuming flood of heat washed over her body. She always kept her treatment rooms warm but the temperature that radiated off her now had nothing to do with central heating. A demanding tremor of need shot through her, making her hands tremble ever so slightly in their ministrations.
Focus on the work, she all but shouted in her mind. The work and not the man, and most definitely not the past.
But her focus became blurred as she completed her work on his upper body and she shifted the covers to expose his legs. She worked for longer than usual on his feet and calves, avoiding the moment when she’d run her hands up along the backs of his thighs and higher, almost to his buttocks. Somehow she managed to hold it together—to regulate her breathing and to keep herself from combusting internally.
She was temporarily distracted by his knee, and took special care around the site of the damage—some residual swelling and bruising reminding her of the severity of the injury. To think he may have lost his lower leg completely if his circulation had been cut off completely to his foot. She couldn’t imagine how devastating that would have been for him. A constant physical reminder of the crash.
Despite what Andre had told her of his injuries, Ben did seem to have gotten off very lightly, she thought—until she bade him to roll over while she held the covers a circumspect distance from his body. As she settled the covers in a fold down below his waist she fought to hold back a gasp at the livid lines of scarring that bisected his abdomen and crept, in lightning bolts of knotted tissue, to his hip on one side and lower, beneath the blanket, on the other.
“What happened to you?” she asked, before she could stop the words ejecting from her mouth.
Ben opened his eyes and their darkness glittered in the soft lighting of the room. His hands grasped the edge of the covers and eased them over his scars, hiding them from view.
“It’s in the past. I do not wish to discuss it,” he said, the words clipped and leaving her in no doubt he meant every one of them.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Are you comfortable with me continuing the massage or are you still abdominally tender?”
“Stay above the blanket. I’ll let you know if I want you to stop.”
He closed his eyes again and she studied him for a moment before adding another measure of oil to her hands and positioning herself at the head of the table. She took a deep steadying breath and began anew, trying not to think about the damage that had been wrought on his body. While some of his scars were clearly surgical, others looked as if he’d been torn into by a wild beast.
She fought back a shudder as she imagined what it must have been like to be trapped in a jumble of metal—in pain and alone, wondering when, or even if, rescue would come. The mental toughness required to survive such a thing was monumental.
As would be the mental toughness she’d need to get through the next month. Already, touching him was proving to be a torture all of its own. The long, slow strokes reminded her of another time—a time when all their attention had been solely for one another. When those strokes had led
to other kinds of intimacies that had brought each of them immeasurable pleasure. Again she felt that tautening deep in her belly, that undeniable pull that ached with emptiness—ached for him. And not just for the intimate memories they had shared, but for what she wanted now. The very thought saw Mia nearly halt in her movements but she forced herself to continue, and forced her mind away from the treacherous thoughts that could lead only to more trouble than she could deal with right now.
By the time she neared the end of his massage, she was a mass of knotted nerves herself. Normally a full body massage left her wrung out, both physically and mentally. But for some reason, touching Benedict today, working out the knots under his skin, had energized her. Instead of her usual reviving cup of herbal tea, she wanted to do nothing more than swim off all this vitality now coursing through her veins.
Mia concentrated on the circular movements of her fingers around his ankles and then up across the tops of his legs, finally bringing the session to an end by placing her hands flat on the soles of Ben’s feet.
“We’re all done for today,” she said softly. “If you’d like a few minutes to gather your thoughts before heading back to your suite, feel free to take your time. I’ll go and get you a glass of water to have before you go. Keep drinking plenty of water through the rest of today—it’ll help you flush away the toxins that were released by the massage. Now, is there anything else you’d like from me?”
Ben pushed himself upright and swung his legs over the side of the table, the covers sliding down past his waist and revealing the hollow lines of definition that started at the top of each side of his hips. Mia rapidly averted her gaze.
“Before you go, there is just one more thing,” he said.
Before she could ask what that was, Ben caught one of her hands in his and tugged her toward him, nestling her between his legs. His free hand caught the back of her neck, his fingers curling gently into the knot of hair at her nape and pulling free the clip that secured it.
For the Sake of the Secret Child Page 3
