“Pay attention.” Cole cupped her face with both hands. “He’s extremely…sensitive about it, so don’t try engaging in conversation. Besides, he won’t be able to hear much except for mumbling, and mumbling makes him—”
“—sad?” she offered.
“Yes.” He sounded so relieved, she patted his shoulder. “So very sad. His poor wife just wants a nice vacation with him. Your job is to relax him, and do not, under any circumstances, speak.”
“Okay.” She drew out the word. “Can I head in there now? Or is there something else you aren’t telling me? Because you don’t sound like yourself.”
“How was the burrito?” His words tumbled out on top of one another.
“Burrito?” She frowned. “You mean the pasta?”
“Shit, pasta, yes, how was the pasta I sent you? Ha-ha, I must have had the burrito.” He coughed.
“Cole, seriously, what’s going on?”
“Busy afternoon.” He took a step back. “Remember, you’re mute.”
“Right. I’m mute, he’s deaf, if only I were blind. Oh, wait!” She snapped her fingers. And offered a sad smile.
“Very funny, now get in there.” He grabbed her hand and placed it on the door. She was surprised he didn’t slap her ass and say something like Go get ’em. Cole was acting weird. Very weird.
With an eye roll she knew he had to have seen if his snicker was anything to go off of, she opened the door and let it quietly close behind her.
And immediately she knew something was wrong. Her body went on high alert as a familiar scent invaded her nostrils.
With shaking hands, she willed her body to calm down. What were the odds? Besides, Cole would have said something—it wasn’t like he didn’t know every painful detail of her past.
And he’d been odd, but not pissed.
And if he’d seen Brant, talked to him, well, the cops would probably already have shown up, right?
She shook her head at her own idiocy and the stupid fluttering in her stomach at the thought of touching Brant again.
Running her hands down his smooth body.
Suddenly hot and aching in all the wrong places, she gritted her teeth and ran her hand along the arch of the man’s foot, before sliding it up his strong calf and pausing on the tightest ass she’d ever felt—and it was her job, touching bodies.
Would she get fired if she squeezed? Just once?
Bad Nikki!
She shook the errant thought away.
And just like that, the memory of Brant transformed into the feel of the man beneath her. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never been tempted by a client.
Ever.
Clearing her throat, she worked her right hand from his ass to the dip of his lower back. What did the guy do in his spare time? Run until his shoes fell off? His muscles were lean, defined, toned.
And suddenly she found her treacherous bitch of a right hand sliding back toward his ass.
It was going to be a long massage.
* * *
She touched his ass.
Twice.
The second time wasn’t a mistake, was it? He sucked in a breath when her fingers dug into his already overheated skin. The sheet did nothing to protect him from the erotic way her fingers spread across his body.
Too bad his masseuse was mute; he’d at least tell her he didn’t mind if she lingered in those places if she kept touching him like that. Cole had written specific instructions in the itinerary, which Brant thought a bit weird, but who was he to judge? The poor woman could hear him but not respond, and even though she could hear, according to Cole she only understood some obscure Japanese dialect he had never heard of.
Which was fine by him.
Her hands flexed over his back and slid down his ass a third time. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or wonder if he had a sexual harassment lawsuit in his future. Great. That was just the news Nadine would want to hear about his first day.
Cold air hit his back as the sheet was pulled down and tucked beneath his hips. He flinched when the tips of her fingers nearly had a shaky first encounter with his dick.
He barely suppressed a moan of pleasure as she worked out every damn knot in his upper back, pulling her hands down his sides until he thought he was going to experience an honest-to-God orgasm from her touch.
It was…magic.
His eyes jerked open as he focused in on the simple black-and-white Nike shoes in his line of vision.
He froze.
No.
Nope.
Hell, no.
Rejecting the idea as soon as it popped into his head, he closed his eyes again.
Her fingers dug deeper, harder, and suddenly what had started out amazing quickly took a turn toward hellish and spiraled into What the fuck do you eat for breakfast? Wheaties?
Brant squirmed under the pressure of her elbows as he gripped the massage table with both hands and tried to breathe in and out.