Tease Me (4 page)

He looked … relieved. Not upset or offended. Relieved. It should have made her feel
better. It didn’t. In fact, it made her feel … rebellious. Defiant.

Stop right now
, she told herself. This was the exact moment when she needed to take control and
think clearly, not throw caution to the wind. If there was an Olympic event for caution
throwing, she’d be a repeat gold medal winner. Among other things, it had gotten her
married, divorced, audited, and almost jailed. It was about to get her massaged.

He started to turn back to the door.
Don’t do it, Lainey
.

Too late. He’d all but dared her. The parts of her that were on hormone cruise control
cheered her on. “Since I’m here, though, what the heck.” He swung back, his expression
a mix of surprise and dread. It was the sting of the dread part that made her let
go of the bottom end of her towel and strong-arm herself up onto the side of the table.
That went so well, she crossed her legs and said, “You’ll be my first too.”

TWO

Tucker cleared his throat and crossed the room, skirting the table—and his client—on
his way to the neatly arranged cart positioned at the opposite end. He kept his eyes
trained on the bottles of lotion … and off her legs. Legs he would soon be rubbing
hot oil onto.

He wasn’t crazy about the Mr. Clean uniform Lillian had insisted he wear, but at least
it had pleated pants. He didn’t have to be a professional to know that a masseur wasn’t
supposed to be rock hard while working. Of course, the guy in Lillian’s video might
be the exception to the rule, but then he hadn’t been looking to get paid. Tucker
stifled a groan.

He grabbed a bottle of oil. “Why don’t you go ahead and lie down.”

She started to lean back. “On your stomach,” he added quickly. He turned his back
to her. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

He listened as she settled herself, trying in vain not to picture the procedure.

“All set.”

Bracing himself, he turned. The only mercy he received was that her head was pillowed
on her arms, facing away from him. The rest of her was displayed in all its hardly
terry-cloth-covered curvy glory. The towel dipped neatly against the back of her thighs,
emphasizing the sweet curve of her backside. The top edge stopped just above her ribs,
displaying the smooth skin of her back and shoulders that had been exposed to the
sun just enough to look as if it had been dipped in honey.

Some of the warm oil oozed out in his hand. He swallowed another groan and relaxed
his grip on the squeeze bottle. Her hair was pinned up in a pile of warm brown curls;
the soft lighting reflected gentle golden highlights that he doubted were the result
of any of Lillian’s capable staff. His fingers tightened against the urge to reach
out and slide the pins from her hair to satisfy his sudden need to discover what those
silky waves would look like spread over her slender neck and shoulders.

She chose that moment to turn her head toward him. “Is everything okay?” Her smile
was dazzling.

He abruptly set the bottle down on the cart before he shot the warm, sticky contents
all over her. The analogy wasn’t lost on him.

“Absolutely,” he said, pasting a bright smile on his face. He reached beneath the
table for a white linen drape and snapped it out over her, covering her from mid-thigh
to mid-back.

She laid her head back down, facing away from him again. “I can’t believe I’m doing
this.”

Tucker’s grin eased into something a bit more natural. Neither can I, he thought.
At least not professionally.

“Any back or neck problems I should be aware of?” he asked, feeling a bit more relaxed.
Something in her tone,
a trace of her earlier uncertainty maybe, restored a bit of his control.

“Nope, fit as a fiddle.”

She sure looked that way to him, he thought silently. He grabbed the bottle, squeezed
some oil on his hands, and worked it into his palms. This was just a job. He should
consider himself a lucky son of a gun to have a young body with solid bones to practice
on, and get this over with. Recalling the video instructions—after all, Shiatsu was
Shiatsu, wasn’t it?—he reached for her shoulders.

“Do you need to take the towel off?” she asked without turning.

His hands froze an inch from her skin. “Ah, well, seeing as this is your first time
and all, I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Well, this does feel a little weird,” she added, sounding relieved. “But I’m not
as uncomfortable as I thought I’d be.” She let out a small laugh. “I guess you have
a good tableside manner. No need for silly modesty, right? After all, you are a professional.”

Tucker swallowed hard.
If you only knew
.

“I’ll just close my eyes and put myself into your capable hands.”

That did it. He pulled his capable hands away. He couldn’t go through with this. No
matter what he told himself—or her—he was not a professional, and even if he could
fake that on a functional level, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to on a personal
one.

“Listen, maybe we should—”

“No, really, just slide it out. I mean, the sheet stays on, right?”

“Right,” he said, then cleared the roughness from his
throat. What the hell. He reached for the towel. “Lift up a bit.” She did. He loosened
the back of the towel and slid it off, being careful to keep the linen sheet pinned
to the table with his free hand.

“And don’t worry,” she said earnestly as she settled her head back on her arms. “I
know you’re probably a bit nervous with this being your first day, but I’ve never
had one of these, so I won’t know if you’re doing anything wrong, anyway.”

He looked at her semidraped body. The way the sheet clung to her every curve, the
stark contrast between white linen and smooth golden skin, the hint of soft breasts
pressed against the table …

Professional wasn’t even on the list of what he was feeling at the moment.

This is ridiculous, he scolded himself. He’d protected some of the most gorgeous women
on the planet and shared various intimacies with a fair number of others—many who
hadn’t even spoken his language—and at no time had he ever felt so rattled by a woman.

He could blame it on lack of female companionship of any kind of late. What with the
funeral and all of the life-changing decisions that had resulted from Pete’s death,
he hadn’t been too interested. He hadn’t really planned to be for a while, not until
he sorted a few things out.

There was no denying he was interested now, however. In what, though? That was the
question he hadn’t answered. And he wouldn’t. Now was not the time, no matter the
opportunity.

With renewed concentration on the purpose literally at hand, he straightened the linen
sheet and began to work on her shoulders. Just because the soft feel of supple muscles
going pliant beneath his fingertips made his entire
body tighten did not mean he wasn’t focused on his one and only goal, which was to
get through this appointment, then track down Lillian and convince her that there
had to be another way to get her information.

Conversation. Distraction. “So what made you decide to get a massage?” he asked genially.
“Special occasion?”

“Actually, it was the twins’ idea.”

Tucker’s fingers faltered for a moment, then continued working the sides of her neck.
Twins?
Tucker gave a rueful silent laugh. There he was, drooling like a pimply adolescent
over this woman, and she was a happily married mother of twin tots.
You really do need a break, Morgan
. Seeing as she was probably somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties, it was
more likely Dad had arranged this little gift. He wondered if Dad was the jealous
type. He sincerely hoped not, then felt even more the fraud. He was deceiving an entire
family.

“And it falls more under the heading of busybody than anything else,” she said, her
voice going all soft as he absently worked his way down her back.

His mind was still on the happy family giving Mom a nice break only to have her groped
by a guy posing as a masseur in some silly scheme of Lillian’s. This was definitely
beginning and ending right there. As soon as he was done.

After all, they’d paid for a massage for Mom, and she was going to go out of there
satisfied, even if it meant he had to spend the three hours directly afterward in
a cold shower. He massaged more deeply.

“I think I’ll have to forgive them this time,” she said, then let loose a long sigh
that stretched his pleats no matter how businesslike he commanded his thoughts to
be.

“So what made you decide to become a masseur?” she asked, her voice deeper, almost
drowsy. “Were you in sports or something? You seem like a pretty fit guy.”

“I’m, uh, doing it as a favor. For Lillian. She was a close friend of my mother’s.”
It was bad enough that he was deceiving her about his credentials. He was determined
not to lie any more than he had to.

“That’s really nice of you. I guess you’ve heard all about Helga then.”

Helga? It took him a moment but he placed the name. “Oh, Helga, yes. The former masseuse.”

“No one has been able to take her place.”

“I understand she was quite popular. But I’m only here temporarily.”

She started to lift up and turn her head, presumably to look at him, but he pressed
her gently but firmly back to the table. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I think you’ll
gain quite a quick following here.”

Not if I can help it
. Before she could resume her line of questioning, Tucker turned the tables on her.
“Are you a regular client here? I don’t mean to sound surprised. It’s just that I
assumed all of Lillian’s clients were Sunset Shores residents.”

“I am a resident. I live next—” Her answer died out on a long groan as Tucker pressed
his thumbs down and ran them along her spine, then worked back up to her shoulders
in a slow, circular motion. “I’m beginning to think I owe Ida and Irma an apology,”
she said on a satisfied sigh.

Tucker’s hands paused then quickly resumed. Ida and Irma? What kind of names were
those for little kids? At least she’d distracted him from his body-hardening reaction.
He felt as if he were on an amusement-park ride,
which was whipping his body up and down, yanking his emotions from side to side.

“Family names?” he asked, then mentally kicked himself. He might be having a tough
time, but she was coasting through this fine. He didn’t need to rile her up by making
her defend her kids’ old-fashioned names. He shifted to the foot of the table.

“I never asked,” she answered easily. “With them you’re lucky to get a word in edgewise.
I take it you haven’t met them yet. They didn’t waste any time finding out about you.”
She sighed again as he slowly began to manipulate her toes and the soles of her feet.
“But even though I resent them for doing this, I have to say I will recommend you
to them. You’re really good, Mr. Morgan.”

“Tucker,” he said absently. She wanted him to massage her
children?
She seemed bright and intelligent, and it went without saying that she came wrapped
up in a beautiful package, but she was also wacko. “Uh, I’m not sure,” he started
slowly, “but I don’t think Lillian caters to the, uh, younger set.”

“Younger set?” Sliding one hand up for balance, she lifted her head and looked over
her shoulder at him. “What are you talking about?”

He was too far away at the base of the table to snag the slowly slipping linen sheet,
but her confused expression captured his full attention, anyway. “Your children. The
twins. I don’t think we cater to children, here.”

“My chil—” She broke off as understanding dawned in her eyes, and she started to laugh.
The additional movement sent the linen sheet sliding south at an alarming rate. Tucker
made a lunge for it at the same time that
she realized the problem and jerked around, grabbing for it as well.

She came up with a handful of linen. He came up with a handful of … her. He barely
had time to register the full, firm warmth of her breast and the way her nipple peaked
against his palm before her gasp had him releasing her and turning his back.

“I’m—I apologize. Truly. I was just trying to keep the sheet from sliding to the—”

“It’s okay, really,” she said sincerely. But she sounded quite breathless.

Tucker kept his back to her.

“All wrapped up, you can turn around now.”

Tucker turned to find her seated on the side of the table, the sheet wrapped fully
around her like a sarong, covering her to the knees. Her hair had come down and now
fell in soft waves above her shoulders. Her expression was sincere, but humor glinted
in her dark green eyes.

“Well, at least this will have been a memorable first for both of us.”

“I really am sorry—”

She raised one hand, then slapped it back to her chest when the sheet began to slip.
“No problem,” she said, her cheeks darkening a bit even as she laughed. “But there
is one thing you should know. I’m not married.” At his confused expression, she hurried
to add, “What I mean is, I don’t have twins. I don’t have kids at all.”