Read Online The Masseuse by Sierra Kincade - Free Book Online Page B

royal blue button-up that complemented the dark heat of his eyes, and jeans that were slim enough to cup his ample package, I couldn’t help but stare. It was impossible to look at him and not think of sex—hot, sweaty, wild sex.
    Clinging to memories of how I’d felt sitting alone last night, I pulled back my shoulders and marched across the small waiting area dedicated to the spa clients.
    “Damn,” he said appreciatively. “Are those thigh-highs?”
    I smoothed down the front of my black skirt, wondering if he had X-ray vision; I was wearing a garter belt, but it was well hidden. It was part of the fuck-you-I’m-still-hot wardrobe I’d chosen after a night of feeling like crap. On top, I was wearing a black lace tank over a camisole. It was classy, but still sexy, and from the look on his face, he liked what he saw.
    Too bad for him.
    “What are you doing here?” I smiled sweetly.
    He inhaled audibly. “Right now, admiring the view.”
    “Yeah?” I batted my eyelashes. “Wondering what’s under the hood?”
    “You read my mind.”
    The strain in his voice made those tendrils of need tighten into a hot knot inside of me. God, I wanted to make him growl my name in that voice. I wanted him to throw me on a bed and push inside me like he couldn’t wait a moment longer. His dark hair was hanging down over his ears, and my hands itched to weave through it and yank his mouth down to mine.
    He’d screwed us both when he’d stood me up.
    We were barely maintaining the limits of professional distance—a little too close for close talkers, but not close enough for our bodies to touch.
    “I’m wearing red satin panties,” I whispered. And to make my point, I pulled open my collar slightly to reveal the matching bra strap.
    As if out of his control, he reached for the skin I exposed. His lips parted.
    “The fabric’s so thin I can barely feel it,” I said.
    My hand slid down, skimming my breast on the way to rest on my hip. No one else could see it but him, and I reveled when his jaw twitched.
    “It’s like I’m naked, and no one knows but you and me.”
    He leaned forward.
    I stepped back and covered my shoulder.
    “Oops,” I said. Score one for Anna.
    “You’re teasing again.” His voice was low, dangerous.
    I crossed my arms over my chest. “You should have seen what I was wearing last night.”
    His brows rose. His hand fell.
    “Good-bye, Alec,” I said. “As you can see, I’m busy today.”
    The receptionist, a pixie-like girl with short red hair who was finishing her cosmetology license, appeared beside me with a glass of cucumber-infused water.
    “Mr. Flynn, I see you’ve met Anna. She’ll see you back for your session now.”
    My mouth fell open.
    Alec grinned.

Eight
    “I n my defense, you did say to make an appointment.”
    Alec followed me through the door into the dimly lit hallway. The music changed to the sounds of rain—relaxing for just about everyone in the world but me.
    I
had
told him that. Before last night.
    “I have the right to refuse service to any client,” I informed him, walking stiffly.
    “But you won’t.”
    I stopped and turned slowly to face him. “Oh, and why is that?”
    “Because you want to hear my apology for missing our dinner in person,” he said, and the low light casting shadows over him made me that much hotter. I couldn’t look him in the face; he was like some sort of male siren, luring me in just to hang me out to dry. I had to be careful.
    “And,” he continued, “you want to know how I’m going to make it up to you.”
    Dammit all to hell. I wasn’t forgiving him—I told myself I wasn’t hurt enough to want an apology anyway—but the possibility of amends was intriguing.
    We entered the room I’d prepped while Maryanne Jenkins was getting dressed. At the time I’d been expecting a new client, someone who’d made an appointment earlier this morning, but I’d been distracted and hadn’t thought to check the name.
    Alec eased back