“Calm down, luv.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing that will compromise your virtue and have Patti hunting me down. Now close your eyes.”
I huffed a little, but I was curious. Maybe he could show me something useful. I set my hesitation aside, lying back and closing my eyes, but stayed ready to move if necessary.
“Now, I want you to relax and concentrate on your sense of touch. I’ll be a good boy. I promise.”
Just an exercise to build trust, right? Oh, what the heck?
I took a deep, calming breath and pushed out my physical sense from within me. Scalp. Neck. Shoulders. Tummy. Back. Hips. Thighs. Calves. Ankles. Toes. All tingling.
I felt the tiny grooves of thread crisscrossing in the fabric of my cotton shirt and jean shorts. The motel comforter was scratchy with thousands of polyester prickles. Stray hairs from my ponytail tickled my temples and neck. And then, oh! I sucked in a breath, but managed to keep my eyes closed as one warm fingertip pressed into the palm of my hand. I concentrated on it.
“I can sense your fingerprint!” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. He lifted his finger from my palm, and a second later my foot was in his hands, throbbing with sensitivity. His fingers moved each little toe between them with the perfect amount of pressure so it wouldn’t tickle, moving on to the pad of my foot, arch, and heel, all neglected muscles that sang at the divine attention. He moved up and my ankles reveled under his sculpted hands.
Sudden panic overtook me as I realized he was about to move up to my calves. I hadn’t shaved!
“Wait,” I said, sitting halfway up. “Not my legs. They’re...” I was too embarrassed to finish.
“They’re lovely.” His face was straight, but his eyes were smiling.
“No, please.” I pulled my knees protectively up to my chest and mumbled, “I didn’t have time to shave this morning.” Now he laughed. It was a marvelous sound, so rich.
“All right, fine, no legs. But you’re missing out. I’m not through with you. Roll onto your stomach and relax again.” I obeyed, letting my arms lie limp at my sides and closing my eyes. Somehow it seemed a little safer to be on my tummy.
“Mmm.” He moaned, having not even touched me yet.
“What?” I asked, muffled by the poofy pillow.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that you’ve got quite a nice little—”
I flipped to my side, glaring hard. He put up his hands.
“Sorry! A guy can’t help but notice. Truly—best behavior—starting now.”
I mentally crossed out that last thought about being safer on my stomach as I rolled onto it, taking longer to unwind this time. When he spoke, his deep voice was a smooth rumble.
“I need you to trust me and stay relaxed. I’m just going to raise your shirt a bit so that I can get to your back.” I shivered at the tug of my shirt upward and the cool air brushing my bare skin. But it was nothing compared to the shiver I experienced as all ten hot fingertips found the small of my back, working in slow circles across my skin. He lifted them so they barely touched me. Every hair follicle on my body stood upright. All thoughts of protesting disappeared. And just when I didn’t think I could take the teasing of his feathery touch for a second longer, his palms pressed down on my back muscles, strong thumbs circling outward from my spine to my waist. I stifled a moan of pleasure.
Okay, maybe he had a point about the sense of touch being worthy of favoritism.
With an expert movement, his stealthy hands went up the back of my shirt, past the uncomfortable bra clasp that dug into my skin, fingers tracing my shoulder blades. The tense muscles spasmed weakly, then turned to Jell-O under his touch. His hands were now on my shoulders, my shirt stretching. One of his hands came out to move my ponytail of hair to the side. And then there was the very best feeling so far: his lips on the back of my neck.
He was kissing me. On my neck. I should stop him, I thought, but the softness of his mouth was so... Oh. I could feel the beauty of each crease on his lips as they rested against the pores of my skin. The only sounds in the room were our beating hearts and breath. Why did he have to smell so good? Would it be so wrong to kiss him? Just one small kiss? I couldn’t think straight.
I tried to gain control of my breathing as his hot mouth opened and moved under my ear. I tilted my head to give him better access. Bad! Each taste bud on his tongue gave its own gentle massage. Lips were now on my jaw, and I could smell him, the earth and brine and sweetness of his skin. In that moment, I fooled myself into believing I was in control—that a quick kiss would be no big deal. I turned to him, bringing my arms up over his shoulders, moving my fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck, and pulling his face up the last few inches to my waiting lips.