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“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.
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