It was far too hot to talk, and silence descended over them. Ambra massaged her shoulder with one hand. She was glistening with sweat now. Strong, slender fingers continued to knead her shoulder and neck. Bare arms, sweaty hair, pale skin. It was arousing, Tom thought, drowsy with the heat. This was his first ever sauna with women; he hadn’t realized how different it could be, how sensual a woman’s skin could look when it slowly started to glow in the heat, to glisten with sweat.
He shifted in his seat, would rather not get an erection. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the burning hot wall, heard the noise of the women breathing in and out; he could make out Ambra if he really focused—her breathing was quicker than Jill’s. Mattias made barely a sound. He was trained to be silent, just like Tom. The sound of the crackling heater was relaxing, the hiss when a drop of water turned to steam hypnotizing. He was aware of a number of scents, too—the steam, the wooden benches heating up and giving off a smell of resin. And then Ambra. Every time she moved, he caught the gentle fragrance of her skin.
Tom’s muscles started to relax, and with that relaxation his stress and constant alertness dimmed slightly. It felt restful. For months, he had forced himself not to feel a thing, had turned off his body to enable himself to cope. But now he felt more full of life than he had in a long time. He’d barely thought of sex once since his period in captivity, and hardly since he’d returned home either. But now . . . With his head against the wall, he allowed himself to sink into his fantasies.
It was like a slow-motion film playing behind his eyelids, small scenes appearing to him. In his mind, he leaned forward until the scent of Ambra surrounded him, until he was so close that he could stick out his tongue. Carefully, he licked her warm skin, tasted the salt of her sweat, maybe even the soap from the shower, a residue of her perfume.
He opened his eyes, rubbed his chin. Shit, he was starting to get turned on by his fantasies.
Ambra’s chest rose and fell; a bead of sweat formed on her temple, ran down her jaw and over her breastbone, disappearing into the tempting cleft above the top of her towel. She made the same movement again, massaged a tendon or muscle. Tom moved down onto her bench. She jumped, and he moved away from her, sitting with his back against the wall. She did the same, moved over to the opposite wall so that they were sitting opposite one another. She rearranged her towel, but he managed to catch a glimpse of a thigh, a hint of a dark shadow.
“Warm?” he asked, trying to make himself as harmless as possible. They were trained in that kind of thing in the special forces. In how to vanish into the background, to avoid drawing attention, how not to provoke.
“Yeah, but it’s nice.” Her eyes moved over his body, swift but definitely noticeable. Tom knew what she could see. The scars.
“Sorry,” she said, looking away.
“Don’t worry. Ask if you like.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s totally fine,” he said. Mattias glanced at him, but he kept quiet. “It’s fine,” Tom repeated, with emphasis this time.
She nodded to his shoulder, and Tom’s fingers moved to the scar.
“That’s one of the least heroic ones. We were out marching, running, with our weapons drawn. I tripped and managed to shoot myself.”
He was nineteen when it happened, hadn’t know anything about anything. Everything was simpler back then, even if it had hurt like hell. His pride had also taken a thorough beating.
“This one’s from a wild dog,” he said, turning his calf to show her two long, pale scars. “Machete. Knife. Stiletto,” he continued, pointing to wound after wound. “I don’t even remember what this one was,” he said, showing her a scar on the back of one hand.
“Looks like an axe,” Mattias said.
“Right, exactly, an axe.” Tom nodded.
He wiped his forehead. He’d barely drunk any wine, stuck to water at dinner, but he felt sick, almost dizzy. Could this talk of his old wounds really be the cause?
He’d realized Ambra was curious and hadn’t realized it could be tough for him. But talking about his scars, memories of how he had been shot, stabbed, year after year, memories that never used to bother him in the past, made his pulse pick up. He tried to breathe calmly, couldn’t embarrass himself by having an attack now.
“Jesus, what exactly do you do?” Jill asked. She was propped up on her elbows, staring at him with wide eyes. He’d forgotten about her while he was talking. But now his heart was beating so hard that he couldn’t hear properly; blood was coursing toward his primed muscles. The sauna suddenly felt much, much warmer, almost unbearably so. As though through a tunnel, Tom looked down at his legs. One of them had started to shake against the bench. Shit, not now. Jill said something else, but Tom didn’t hear her. He got up from the bench in a quick, jerky movement.
Mattias looked at him, concerned. “Tom . . .”
“I need to cool off,” he said, hating the way Mattias kept an eye on him like that, hating that he wasn’t himself.
“Me too, I’m way too sticky,” said Ambra.
She got up, and he forced himself to stand still and hold the door for her, but then he hurried into one of the showers, closed the screen, leaned forward, and breathed deeply.
He felt better already. The heat in the sauna must have made things worse. He turned on the shower and raised his face to the cooling water. This was even better. The shaking was gone, his heart was calmer.
He could hear Ambra splashing around, and that too had a soothing effect. The cool tiles beneath his feet, the gentle jets of water, the sound of another person. He let out a deep sigh. God, that was good; it was over.
“Tom?” Her voice sounded worried on the other side of the wall.
How much of the attack had she noticed?
“Yeah?” he replied
Silence.
She was in there, naked, he suddenly realized. On the other side of the wall. The water he could hear over there, it was hitting her body, sloshing down her shoulders, arms, stomach, thighs.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
He grabbed the shower gel and worked it into a lather. So, she had noticed something. Of course. She was observant. “Don’t worry,” he replied, making his voice steady and loud to calm her down and to be heard over the water. He waited to see whether she would say anything else. While he waited, he had no problem imagining her in his mind. It helped to think about her. He lathered himself quickly and roughly, felt his body return to some kind of normal state. He’d made it.
“I’m fine,” he said, rinsing himself off. Hopefully that was it for this time.
* * *
Ambra listened to Tom on the other side of the thin wall. He was still in the shower. He’d had another of those attacks. Mattias had seen it, too, but Jill hadn’t noticed a thing.
She shouldn’t have brought up his scars. There had to be a whole load of trauma there; she’d seen red circles that looked like scars from cigarette burns, for example, but she hadn’t been thinking. He was like a map of battles fought and attacks survived. And torture.
She listened to the noise of his shower and felt herself perking up under the cool jets of water. She pumped soap from a luxurious-looking bottle and started to lather herself up. The soap was creamy and the foam thick, and she ran her hands across her body. It felt good. With her eyes closed, she gave herself over to the feeling of the jets of water and the fragrant soap. She slowly massaged the lather beneath her arms, took her time washing her stomach, thighs, thought about Tom.
She smiled at the sensual feeling, left one hand to linger between her legs. It was so long since she last felt anyone else’s hands on her body, and so she allowed herself to stand there like that, lazily moving her fingers and bringing up an image of Tom, his glistening muscles as he sat there on the bench in the sauna. Broad shoulders and black strands of hair on his chest, a narrow trail that disappeared beneath his towel. To pull down that towel, follow the dark trail with her fingers . . . God, she
was actually quite turned on now. She brought one hand to her breast, lathered it up, touched herself gently. Tom had been checking her out in the sauna, she was sure of it. For a moment, she could have sworn it was hunger she saw in his eyes. Jesus, it was so erotic, feeling as if someone was hungering for you. In her mind, she allowed Tom to stare at her while she slowly let the towel drop to the floor, saw him admire her body, desire it. And then he came toward her as she slowly lay down on the bench. His big, warm body came down on top of hers, covered her, weighed her down as his knees parted hers.
“Ambra?”
She almost jumped. He sounded so near. When she turned off the jets of water, the room was silent. He must be done already. How much time had passed exactly? Did he hear anything? Would she have to stay in the cubicle forever now?
“Everything okay in there?”
“Yup, all fine,” she squeaked, one hand still between her legs. She looked down, saw the foam and water disappearing down the drain. She should probably get herself a real life soon. “I’m good,” she said in a more steady voice.
“Want to go back into the sauna? Or do you want a robe?”
“A robe, please.”
“I’ll leave one for you out here.”
When he told her she could come out a moment later, Ambra padded out of the shower. There was no sign of Tom, so she quickly pulled on the robe and tied the belt tightly around her waist. She stretched her neck again. Her hotel bed was so incredibly uncomfortable, and she had been hunched over her computer far too much since she arrived. She was ridiculously stiff. Did that mean she would have to take up yoga and Pilates and all that crap? Maybe I should start jogging, she thought without enthusiasm. Shame you couldn’t get into shape by working. She would be incredibly fit if that were the case.
She rubbed her neck, tried to stretch it.
“Stiff?”
She jumped. “I don’t understand how you can be so quiet.”
“Sorry. Old habit. Life and death, you know.” He was wearing a T-shirt and pants. He handed her a glass of mineral water. “Your neck?”
“I guess I’m not made for sitting hunched over my computer all day.”
He smiled. “The youth of today.” He sipped from his own glass and gave her a dark look over the top of it. “Want a massage?”
“Are you kidding?” Ambra managed to keep her tone light, uncertain whether he was joking, but her shameless body was dancing with expectation, shouting: DO I WANT YOUR HUGE HANDS ALL OVER MY BODY? YESSS!
Tom shrugged, as though it made no difference to him, and Ambra realized she would probably regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t take him up on his offer.
“But you should know that I’m pretty great at it,” he said nonchalantly.
“Maybe a little, then,” she said, hoping she sounded cool enough, as though this was an everyday occurrence for her—accepting impulsive offers of physical contact. But, seriously, aside from sex and world peace, was there anything better than a massage?
“Sit down,” he said, nodding to one of the chairs. She did as he said and leaned back, suddenly nervous, against the backrest. Tom moved behind her without a sound. It really was crazy how quiet he could be. Maybe this was a terrible idea. And maybe—probably—her judgment had been clouded by the heat, what she had been up to in the shower, and because it was Tom. But she really did like massages; she spent all the health and wellness money she got from the paper on appointments with people who would knead and pull at her misused muscles. Though this was almost too intimate, she thought. Tom wasn’t an anonymous, certified spa masseur being paid to fake that they liked what they were doing. Tom was someone she reacted to physically. A man who . . .
She almost scooted out of her seat when she felt his hands on her shoulders through her robe.
“Do you want me to pull it down?” she asked, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. All righty then, time to get yourself together.
“No, it’s fine,” he mumbled, and his fingers moved in beneath the soft terry fabric at the collar. God, it felt incredible. Strong fingers, warm palms, a little roughness from his calluses.
“Though you should probably breathe,” he said quietly as his fingers sought out yet another tender, overworked muscle group, moved across it, searched, stroked, pressed.
“That feels so good,” she mumbled.
“Breathe,” he repeated, and she obeyed.
He found yet another tender spot, and applied pressure with his determined fingers. He had big hands, and when his fingers found her neck muscles, Ambra heard herself groan. She couldn’t stay quiet. Tom didn’t say a word, just continued the massage. Other than her occasional stifled groans, the room was silent.
He worked his way down her neck, on to her shoulders, and it felt as if she were floating away. If she pretended he was a stranger, she found it much easier to relax. Soon enough, she wasn’t thinking at all, just feeling. Her muscles softened until they were like butter. She had gone to heaven, she thought through the haze. His movements slowed down, a palm stroked her shoulder, and through her relaxed fog she noticed a change. A hand moved into her hair. Deft fingers worked their way through her curls, massaged her scalp. It was still a massage, but there was something different about it. A finger ran along her collarbone. She saw her breastbone rise beneath her robe, more quickly than before. He must have seen it too. A rough finger grazed her neck, stroking just beneath her ear, more a caress than anything else. All she could hear was the roar in her own ears, the sound of her blood surging and her heart fluttering against her ribs.
Tom’s hand paused, a couple of warm fingers on her neck, one on her collarbone. Her mouth was dry, as though she’d forgotten to swallow for a long time; in fact, it was only a few seconds since he’d started touching her like this. She shifted gently in the chair, turned her head, felt her hair brush against his palm, saw his hand on her shoulder. Short, neat nails, dark strands of hair on the back of his hand, yet another of his countless scars.
She could barely breathe; everything was happening in slow motion as she turned her head and saw Tom’s face over her shoulder.
“Nice?” he mumbled. Their eyes met, her with her robe now a little pulled down over her shoulders, him with his hand on her body.
“Very.” She saw the bulge in his pants. Every time she breathed in, she saw his hand follow the movement. Every part of her was aware that Tom really did have his fingers on her bare skin; that she was completely naked beneath her robe; that his eyes, dark as the night, weren’t leaving hers for a second; that he wasn’t blinking; and that she didn’t know what was going on. His fingers caressed her neck. She looked up at him again. She moved her shoulders slightly, and her robe slipped farther down her arms. She was breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on his.
“I shouldn’t,” he mumbled as his mouth approached hers, and Ambra thought: Yes, you really should. And then his lips met hers, barely touched them, but it still sent a shockwave through her body and into every erogenous zone she had. She panted beneath his mouth. It moved across hers, she parted her lips, and he made a low sound. She twisted in her chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. She pulled him toward her without breaking the kiss, felt his hand move down, across her chest. Ambra stretched with all of her being, her entire body yearning toward that hand, and then, of course, the door to the sauna opened with a thud and Jill came out.
Tom pulled away and backed up.
Ambra was perfectly still.
“What’s going on here?” Jill asked. “What did I miss?”
Ambra looked up at Tom. He turned away and opened a cupboard. Ambra pulled the robe up over her shoulders and got to her feet. “Nothing’s going on,” she said.
“I’m going to take a shower,” said Jill. She studied them both. She always did have an uncanny ability to sense tension in the air. Foster kid damage. “What were you up to?”
“Nothing,” Ambra repeated.
“Nothing,” Tom said, closing the cupboard w
ith a bang.
Jill raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else, just stepped into the shower cubicle and pulled the door closed behind her.
Ambra looked over to Tom again, caught his eye in the mirrored door. There was a pained look on his face, as though he’d done something he really regretted. It was hard not to be annoyed at the man. Hadn’t she already moved on from the whole Tom Lexington thing before he appeared out of nowhere wanting to see her? Yes, she had. She wasn’t the one to suggest the sauna, the time together, the massage. It was him, him, him.
“I’ll go up and make coffee,” he said, quickly crossing the floor. He didn’t look at her before he disappeared upstairs.
“So, what happened?” Jill asked when she came out of the shower. She untangled her hair with her fingers.
“Nothing, really. But I wish it had,” Ambra added. “Even if it would’ve just been a one-time thing for him.”
Jill gave her a pitying look. “No, you don’t. You’re terrible at meaningless sex. You have to be more like me, more hardened, to be able to handle relationships without any feelings getting in the way. And you have far too many feelings for that. It’s tragic.”
“Guess so,” Ambra said gloomily. She didn’t want feelings. She wanted to be cool and carefree. And she wanted to make out with Tom. “But you said I should have sex,” she pointed out.
“Everyone should. But not with him.”
She hated that Jill was probably right.
The door to the sauna swung open again.
Ambra and Jill looked at each other. They had completely forgotten Mattias. He scratched his chest and peered around. “Is everyone done with the sauna? Where’s Tom?”
Jill, who took the opportunity to sit in one of the deep cane chairs, stretched out her legs and waved a hand in the air. “He went upstairs. He’s a real social genius, your friend.”
Mattias’s eyes lingered on her legs. “Not everyone can be as smooth as me.”
High Risk Page 20
