“I know, wait until I see him. Right.” Nina shook her head. “Okay, I’m going to go get him done so we can go home.” She looked at her watch. “Is everyone else gone?”
“Mostly. I think Marie was finishing up in room two, but she may be gone by now.”
Great. So we’re all alone here at nine thirty at night with a new patient. A male patient. Nina frowned. It was against company protocol, but now that Cherri had put the client in a room, there was nothing much they could do about it. She wasn’t really worried, though—this was South Tampa, the most affluent and prestigious part of the Tampa Bay area, so it wasn’t like they had a lot of crime. Still, Cherri was going to have to learn to put a rein on her hormones and not let just any good-looking guy talk his way into having a massage after hours.
“Did he fill out a form?” she asked, looking for a clipboard.
Cherri shook her head. “He just said his arm hurt.”
“Fine. See you in a few.”
“Have fun.” Cherri winked at her. “I hope he fits on your table—he’s a big boy.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Nina nodded and left the reception area. As she made her way down the long, dim hallway, she couldn’t help thinking how quiet it was. Usually you could hear the soft strains of relaxation music and the muted murmur of voices. Now that everyone was gone home, there was just nothing…it was beginning to freak her out a little.
Stop being silly, she told herself. Just go get this last massage done so you can go home.
She stopped in front of room nine, her room, and looked at the closed door. Why did she have such a feeling of unease all of a sudden? Her neck and shoulders were suddenly tight, and the hairs at the back of her neck were prickling with tension.
This is ridiculous. Go in and get it over with.
She shook out her arms and rolled her shoulders to try and ease her tension. After this was over, she was going to need a massage herself!
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside, expecting to see her client lying undressed on the table and draped in a sheet. At least, she hoped he’d be draped in a sheet. She hated it when some clients “misunderstood” and forgot to put the sheet on. It was mostly men who did that. Nina didn’t know what they were thinking. No matter how good looking they were, they didn’t need to be lying there naked and sunny side up when she…
The thought died the instant she saw her new client.
“Oh…oh my God,” she whispered, taking a step back.
He wasn’t undressed or lying on the table. He was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, and his face was hidden in shadow.
But still Nina knew him.
It can’t be him. The man from my dreams—it can’t be. Can it?
She peered at him, her heart pounding. Part of her was screaming Run! But the pragmatic part of her brain was telling her not to be silly and unprofessional. True, he was huge and resembled the man she’d been dreaming about. But that has to be just a coincidence because dreams don’t come true, right?
If only the room was lighter so she could get a better look. But the massage rooms were always kept pretty dim to add to the atmosphere of relaxation and help clients who had body issues feel less self-conscious. Not that this guy appeared to have anything to be self-conscious about. Even sitting down, he was the biggest, most muscular man Nina had ever seen. He was built along the lines of a defensive lineman or pro wrestler.
A bear, she heard Mehoo-Jimmy whisper in her head. He’s a bear, eecho…
“Nina?” He shifted slightly, and she saw his eyes flash in the shadows. Were they…silver? Surely that had to be a trick of the light…didn’t it? No human man had silver eyes. For a moment, she wondered if maybe he wasn’t human, but that was silly. Unless he was one of the Kindred…but you almost never saw any of those guys. They stayed up in their ship unless they were coming down to claim some poor helpless girl as their bride.
Well, at least I don’t have to worry about that! Because of her Native American status, Nina was exempted from the “draft” that most other girls had been forced to register for. Knowing that made her feel a little better.
“Um…” Her voice cracked, and she coughed and tried again. “Hello Mr.…” Irritated, she realized that Cherri had forgotten to tell her the client’s name. “I’m sorry, I don’t have your name.”
“Reddix,” he rumbled. His tone was harsh and almost inhumanly deep—more like a growl than a voice. It was also strangely familiar. Had she heard it before? Maybe in her dreams?
Don’t be ridiculous! Do your job!