The Bachelor Contract(24)

She felt him slowly start to turn onto his back.

What if he thought she was ugly?

What if he could tell she was blind?

Insecurity slammed into her, and she grabbed the hot towel she usually applied at the end of the massage, and dropped it onto his face just in case he had superhuman eyesight.

He made a choking noise.

Crap! Usually she let it cool down a bit.

He tugged her wrist and brought her closer to him, then reached for her hips, pulling half of her body onto the table. She placed her oiled hands on his face. Thank God the hot towel was still in place.

Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted the towel and felt his lips.

The minute her fingers brushed his lips he parted them, slid out his tongue, and slowly licked the tip of her finger.

She moved her shaking fingers over his face, noticing that his face was perfect, at least from what she could feel—it was also—

Familiar.

Warm.

Sexy.

But familiar in a I know I’ve touched this face before sort of way.

Her fingers skimmed a freshly shaved chin only to return to his lips, his tongue.

With a bold caress of his tongue, he licked her finger again, then sucked it into his mouth.

Knees buckling, she had to brace herself against his rock-hard body to keep from falling over. She hissed out a breath when his teeth nibbled where he’d just licked, and then his mouth was on hers. Fused.

He was potent.

Igniting a desire in her she hadn’t felt since—no. She pushed Brant—her past—away and clung to this sexy stranger for dear life. Brant had never been this built, not by a long shot.

Why was she thinking of Brant of all people? She hated him, right? He never came back, he didn’t care.

This, this was real, this was someone who at least wanted her. Even if it was wrong. Morally. Legally.

She was acting crazy!

But he felt so damn good. And it had been four long years since she’d felt anything even close to this.

Pleasure rocked through her as his muscles flexed beneath her touch. Her palm pressed against his hard chest as one of his hands moved to her ass, hauling her against the table just enough for him to grab her leg and pull it over the side of his body—straddling him, she was straddling him! What was she thinking? His kiss deepened with frenzied aggression. His hand continued to move freely from her ass up and down the sides of her rib cage, like he was memorizing every inch of her for later.

How could something so wrong feel so perfect? So right?

She wiggled against him.

He sucked in a breath, breaking off the kiss, before gripping her hips and moving her body against his, the only thing between them the flimsy sheet and her leggings.

It would be so easy. Wrong. But easy.

He tugged at her shirt. She waited with breathless anticipation as his fingers grazed her skin.

A knock sounded at the door. Both of them froze.

Another knock.

With a squeal, she jumped off him, kneeing him in the balls in the process, causing the poor guy to make a whimpering noise.

“Sorry!” she whispered before slamming his body back against the table. She covered him with a blanket to keep whoever was knocking from seeing his tent-building skills. She righted herself, and then very calmly walked to the door and opened it. “Yes?”

It was Cole. She could smell his cologne.

“It was only a sixty-minute massage.” Cole’s voice was angry, holding on by a thread. He tugged her away from the room, closing the door behind them.

“Was it?”

“You know damn well it was.”

“My alarm must not have gone off.” She shrugged, and tried not to sound panicked. Was her hair mussed? Her lip gloss? “It probably needs batteries.”

“It’s digital.”

“Computers these days.” That? She was going with that?

“Damn technology quitting on us just when we need it the most,” he countered. “Maybe I should take a look at it. Wouldn’t want you to be late for our date tonight.”

He said it loud. Too loud. Loud enough for anyone walking down the hall or quietly waiting in the room to hear.

She crossed her arms. “So now you want to go on a date?”

“I liked the kiss.” He tugged her into his arms. She still tasted her client on her lips. And being touched by her client—and now being touched by Cole? Two very different things.

Like being set on fire. Then landing in Antarctica.

“You smell funny,” he commented. “And your hair looks…different. Where’s the hat?”

“Can’t do my job with the hat.” She shoved playfully at his chest. “And I probably smell funny because it’s scorching in there and I’m sweating…but you’re a jackass for commenting on it.”

He was quiet.

“Cole?”