Coming Home to Love (Lakeside Porch Series Book 2) (2 page)

Justin turned away from the lake to resume his search for a two-and-a-half-carat sapphire set with white diamonds. But what
did
Joel mean by “the usual hiding place”? He’d already searched the inlaid ebony box with Joel’s cufflinks, his sock drawer, his desk, his safe, and the bedside table.

“I need another clue, Joel,” he said aloud.

The wind rattled the doors again, this time accompanied by a howling Justin hadn’t heard since he’d gathered with his brother’s family around the tree on Christmas Eve. The ancient fireplace in the great room at his brother’s home—now the Manse Inn and Spa, with Joel as proprietor—was famous for setting a mood on a stormy winter night.

Justin snapped his fingers.
Christmas presents
.

The parents had always hidden the smaller gifts where children dared not go—behind the crystal. He turned to the wall of cabinets next to Joel’s dining area and found the one that still held Bridey’s Waterford crystal and Belleek tea service. Sure enough, on the top shelf in back, perched on the lid of a Belleek sugar bowl was a tiny blue Tiffany box with a perky white bow.

Justin pocketed the box in his suit jacket, grabbed his overcoat, and started for the front door. The porch doors rattled one more time and compelled him to take another peek at the lake. White caps tossed, and waves pounded the bluff forty feet below. To his left was the marina and beyond it the city of Tompkins Falls, founded by Joel’s ancestors and financed by generations of Cushmans. To his right, the long, silver finger of Chestnut Lake stretched twenty miles to the south, nestled between fertile hills planted with vineyards. Justin’s forehead rested for a moment against the cool glass of the French door.
How I’ve missed this
!

His mouth curved in a smile.
What did Bridey read in my tea leaves?
Something about a storm, something about my heart.

Suddenly Bridey’s words were so clear he could almost believe she was here with him. Her strong fingers gripped his arm and she told him in her musical brog
ue, “
At the center of the storm there’s a stillpoint, Justin, and that’s where your heart is
.”

Just for a few seconds, the turmoil inside him ceased. “
Find the stillpoint, and you’ll find your heart
.”

His throat ached as he whispered, “Bridey, I need your magic back in my life.”

A thought popped into his head. Why not swing by Joel’s spa and get a massage before driving back to Rochester?

Tension emanated from the spa’s reception desk. Gianessa edged along the hallway to take in the scene. A well-dressed man struck a casual pose, one arm resting on the high counter, his face set in a scowl.

Grace insisted, “Sir, we have no cancellations. Every treatment room is booked for the remainder of the day. I am sorry.” Her voice was hoarse, and Gianessa guessed she had given the same message several times. “We cannot help you today.”

His frown darkened dramatically.

Gianessa would have smacked the guy, Armani suit and all. The Armani was custom-tailored, she could tell, probably fitted by the best tailor in one of the shops in her father’s hometown outside of Milano.
Why do wealthy men think they’re entitled
?

“We have an opening tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. Would that suit you?”

The man shifted on his feet, and Gianessa saw pain crease his eyes. Maybe she was wrong about him. He swallowed hard and composed his face in the familiar frown.

She peered closely at his body. The fit of his suit told her he had been ill for some time, probably not cancer, since he had a full head of brown hair, with a hint of gray at the temples. He leaned heavily on his left arm that rested on the reception desk, as though his lower body was in pain. Maybe he didn’t feel entitled to a massage, so much as desperate for relief from his pain.

Desperate and used to getting his own way
.

She stood tall and strode toward the desk. “Just arrived, Grace. How can I help?”

As the man examined her, she realized why he was so certain he would be accommodated. His eyes were the same gray-green as her boss Joel Cushman. Despite the frown that marred his handsome features, she saw an unmistakable resemblance to Joel.

So this is the international financier
? She wondered why he hadn’t given his name to Grace. Or introduced himself as their new boss. Must be he wasn’t planning to run the show. Regardless, if Grace had known he was Joel’s uncle, she would have fit him in him somehow.
What game is he playing?

Gianessa stood behind Grace’s left shoulder and made her a quiet offer. “Grace, I’ll take care of Mr. Cushman.”

His eyes brightened.

Grace let out a strangled moan. “He’s—?”

Gianessa gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze and asked, “He wanted a massage?”

Justin Cushman nodded, a satisfied smile on his face.

Grace took a deep breath. “Gianessa will take excellent care of you, Mr. Cushman.” She added under her breath, “I have no idea how.”

“Come with me please,” Gianessa said. She waved a delicate hand in the direction of the treatment rooms, then turned with a swivel of her hip that she hoped would make him swallow.

He cleared his throat.

I’ve got his number
. She headed to the only available treatment room, one never used with customers. The staff shunned “the closet” because it was barely large enough for a massage table. Gianessa’s voice carried back to him, “We’ll be cozy, but we’ll manage.”

Grace coughed to cover a laugh.

Justin rarely met anyone better at manipulation than he was.
Until now
. Gianessa had been politic and inoffensive when she’d granted him an appointment and magically freed up a treatment room just for him, with no threat to Grace’s authority. As he tossed his coat on a chair, he admired her elegant bearing, the way she held her head and swayed her hips.

This was a woman he wanted to know.

Her name, Gianessa, rang a bell. Wasn’t she the guru Joel had brought from the West Coast? Why was she giving massages, if Joel’s intention was for her to redesign the spa?

With a speculative “Hmm,” Justin strolled down the hall, admiring the view. Gianessa posed in the doorway to the treatment room, her head tilted at an alluring angle.

Sexy
. But anyone would say she appeared to be wholesome and pretty. The thin grosgrain straps of her simple sandals crisscrossed up her shapely calves and disappeared under the wide ruffle of a faded pink cotton skirt. An immaculate white T-shirt caressed her breasts and showed off her sculpted arms. Just for a second, he imagined his hands roaming over that T-shirt and under to those breasts. He hadn’t felt a rush like this in months, maybe longer.
Give it a rest, old man
.
You have no business fantasizing about this young goddess
.

His gaze shifted to the double strand of alternating platinum and gold hearts fastened with an amethyst at the hollow of her throat, a perfect match for her smoky violet eyes. Justin knew all the right gifts for women. The necklace was, unquestionably, a Jacques LaFave worth on the order of thirty thousand dollars.

She wore no wedding ring. Her fingernails were short and buffed, and her toenails were bright pink and expertly polished. Honey-colored hair, fashioned in a French braid, and minimalist makeup gave her a clean-faced, focused look, fitting for a massage therapist. Just a hint of fragrance.
Chloe
.

Gianessa stepped aside as he brushed past her. She drew in a deep breath, preparing to take charge, but his scent threw her off—cloves and sandalwood and something she couldn’t identify. Justin Cushman had a force field nearly as strong as hers, and she didn’t like it one bit. His eyes were all over her, appreciating and assessing at the same time.
That’s
my
role—to evaluate
his
body.

When his gaze fastened on her necklace and one eyebrow rose, she forgot to breathe. Okay, she was out of uniform, she had led a client to a shamefully tiny treatment room and she was wearing outrageously expensive jewelry.
Is he making a case to fire me?
Nonsense. She was doing him a favor.

Gianessa squared her slender shoulders and tapped her foot in protest.

He met her gaze, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She blushed.
Enough. No more games.
She was in charge here, and he needed her finest care.

“You’ve come home to support Joel’s recovery, I assume. Do you—?”

Both eyebrows arched in surprise. “And I assume you are the physical therapist and healer my nephew brought to the Manse to reconceptualize his spa. Aren’t you overqualified as a massage therapist?”

“—know what illness is wasting your body?”

His eyes flashed a warning. “I asked for a massage.”

He’s more vulnerable than I thought
. She soothed him with her voice and her smile. “I will give you a massage, but we will talk about your body, Mr. Cushman, if not today, then soon. Joel would expect it, and I’m sure I can help you. I see from your reaction that you’re not in denial about being very ill.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe I’ve lost a little weight.”

“Forty or fifty pounds.”

He looked around the treatment room. “What is this space? Ten by twelve?”

Testing
. “Seven by nine. Which is why it’s never scheduled.”

“Yet you’re slender enough to move around the table.” His gaze softened. “And kind enough to go the extra mile for me.”

She admired the way he had shifted his energy, from defensive to open. She relaxed her shoulders and gave him a warm smile.

His gaze penetrated. “You know, Gianessa, I’ve been seen by experts in three countries, but if you can figure out what my doctors haven’t figured out, I’ll be glad to hear it.”

Her face flushed with pleasure. “Let’s get started. There are hangers on the back of the door. I’ll give you a few minutes to undress. Please lie face down with your head here,” she instructed, even though he’d probably had a thousand massages. She placed one hand on the padded frame that would cradle his head and face and still allow him to breathe. “Cover yourself with the sheet.”

“And this will be the massage of a lifetime, you say?”

“I’ll do my best for you and let you be the judge.”

She left the room and nearly tripped over Grace in the hall.

“Thank god.” Grace exhaled with relief.

“What’s wrong? Why do you have your cell phone?”

“I thought you might need me to call 911 or bop him over the head or something.”

“You are the best.” Gianessa chuckled and lowered voice. “He’s a teddy bear.”

Grace looked at her doubtfully. “Well, get him naked and show him your stuff.”

“Shush. What if he hears you?”

Grace switched to a whisper. “I want to know everything you do and everything he says. Especially if he’s going to be our boss.”

“Stop worrying. Go, you have a customer.” Gianessa laughed as Grace hurried back to the desk.

She found Justin Cushman face down, as she’d requested, with the sheet thrown carelessly across his bare backside. They said nothing to each other while she surveyed his body. Judging by the way his suit had fit, he’d been overweight before his illness but had carried it well. He’d lost at least forty pounds, and his muscle mass was depleted. Even so, he had a powerful torso and a tight butt.

Gianessa took a moment to visualize him well again—lean this time and strong and fit. Well-muscled legs, strong shoulders, and a powerful pelvis to match his personality. Her face flamed.
Easy, girl.
Don’t complicate your life by getting the hots for this one
. She drew in a deep, cooling breath and exhaled to channel her best professional self.

When she kneaded his shoulders and his back, he seemed to fight her touch.
Wound tight with tension
. She shimmied around to the other end of the table, straightened the sheet and folded it to mid-thigh. She kneaded and stroked his feet, then his ankles and his calves. As she worked on the backs of his thighs, her healing touch induced a deep, restorative sleep. Only then did she turn her full attention to his back, shoulders, neck, and arms, using slow, deep, skillful moves.

After thirty minutes, she woke him. He sat on the edge of the table and they talked for a few minutes. Gianessa listened to his symptoms and heard how desperately he suffered.

“The symptoms you describe are just like mine ten years ago when I was a sophomore in college,” she said.

His eyes brightened with hope. “But you’re so well now.”

She nodded with a kind smile.

“What was it? How did you recover?”

“It was celiac disease,” she told him. “My symptoms were severe indigestion, bloating, gas, chronic constipation, fatigue, loss of appetite, headache, shortness of breath, muscle weakness, joint pain, general malaise, and unexplained weight loss.”

“Almost exactly like mine.” His eyes were wide with surprise. “But you couldn’t have lost forty-eight pounds, like I have, without disappearing.”

Gianessa laughed. “Not quite. I was down to eighty-six pounds and sick of doctors by the time a naturopathic physician suggested I be tested for food intolerance and celiacs.”

“And then what? Pills, surgery . . .?”

“Not at all. The treatment is low-cost and fully in my control. I adopted a strict, gluten-free food plan, one I’ll have to maintain for life. And then I became a terrific cook, so eating wouldn’t bore me to death.”

“Why didn’t my doctors look at food intolerance?”

“Western practitioners don’t always think that way. Just as your first thought was drugs and surgery, that’s often how physicians are oriented.”

“Well, we can see where that’s gotten me. Bunch of pill-pushers.”

“And that anger just made you tighten up. That is in your control.” Gianessa touched his arm, and a warm current flowed between them.

Justin relaxed.

“I’m not suggesting you self-diagnose, and I’m not telling you that’s what you have. I’m not qualified to. We’ll talk more about it after I finish your massage, if you like.”

Justin agreed and lay on the table, face up this time.