Holy fuck. Rare was the time that his father simply agreed with him, straight up. There was usually a fight whenever Luca made an executive decision.
“Yeah. I think he’ll do good.”
“I’ll check in on him, too. I’m gonna drive up toward Providence, check out that lot for the church build. They’ll be calling for bids on that by the end of the summer.”
“Sounds good.” Feeling pretty good about work suddenly, Luca grabbed his paperwork and his hardhat and headed out to start his day.
oOo
He’d checked in at two job sites before it was late enough to call Heather and not wake her. He couldn’t get hold of her directly, though, so, just after the spa opened, he called the Seagazer Inn and checked to see if she had any appointments available. He booked the one to two-thirty slot, then sat in his truck and revised his schedule for the remainder of the day.
He kept feeling the need to tip his head to the side and stretch out his right shoulder. Damn. He must have really let loose on that asshole last night.
The guy had been obviously drunk and getting borderline inappropriate with Rhiannon all night long. At first, Luca hadn’t paid much mind, other than to think asshole and turn back to the bar. Rhiannon was a waitress at Quiet Cove’s only roughneck bar. She knew how to handle herself.
But then she’d started getting pissed. He was grabbing at her every time she passed the table he was sitting at with his couple of friends. Luca had stopped on his way back from taking a piss and suggested he remember his manners. The guy had mumbled something about ‘just showing her his appreciation,’ and Luca had warned him a little more pointedly, grabbing his shirt and getting up close.
Then Hugh had threatened to throw him out. And then, when the asshole still wouldn’t keep his hands to himself, Hugh had thrown him and his friends out.
On his drunken way to the door, the guy had grabbed Rhiannon and shoved his hand right up her little denim skirt, shouting that he was gonna get his piece one way or the other.
So Luca had given him a piece.
Fuck, he hated assholes that hurt women. Fuck. He knew he himself wasn’t what anyone would probably call a gentleman (Rhiannon herself, for one, might dispute it, considering how they’d left things last night), but a guy who’d just paw at a woman like that uninvited, unwanted—made him fucking crazy.
Which was why his shoulder was fucked today. And why grabby Prince Charming was going to need extensive dental work.
oOo
Luca pulled into Seagazer Inn and Spa just before one in the afternoon and went in the spa entrance. The place was a little femme for his taste, but he didn’t mind coming here to see Heather. The massage suites were really nice. They smelled good, and were dark and cool, and those tables adjusted to exactly the right height to reach all her deep tissues.
The blonde receptionist looked up. Luca didn’t recognize her, but he recognized the look she got as she took him in. Hungry. He grinned. He knew he looked good—or, anyway, to certain kinds of women, he looked good. Six feet, a brawny fighter’s build, close-cropped brown hair and beard, green eyes.
She did that thing with her hair chicks did when they were into a guy, running one manicured hand over it and tucking it behind her ear. Then she licked her lips with a little pink tongue and asked, “Can I help you?”
He leaned on the counter and gave her the smile she was looking for. “You sure can. Got an appointment with Heather at one.”
A little dark cloud interrupted her sunshine. “Oh! I’m sorry. Did you not get a call? Heather called in this morning. We have Emma filling in for her, if you don’t mind. Otherwise, we can reschedule you for Heather—and give you a shop voucher for your trouble.”
Luca couldn’t think of a damn thing he’d want in the spa shop, which was all candles and aromatherapy whozits. But he knew he needed to get his shoulder worked out. He sighed. Oh well, he’d get the massage and have to do without the sex.
“Emma any good?”
“Oh yeah. She’s new, only been here a few weeks, but she already has regulars.”
“Okay. Emma it is.”
Blondie smiled and led him back to a massage suite.
2
As usual, Mr. Carbone had a boner. A Carboner. Manny tried not to giggle at her little funny, and she succeeded. Being appropriate was something she had to be constantly vigilant about. Her mouth had a tendency to slip its leash and run off to who the fuck knew where.
It wasn’t unusual for male clients to become erect during a massage. She’d seen sheet tents of all shapes and sizes during the five years she’d been doing this gig. Some men got all awkward and apologetic; others made lame comments about how it was a compliment.