tuba?”
He laughed. “For a man.”
I felt myself blush down to my freshly massaged toes.
“I did not mean to embarrass you, Christina,” he said, watching me. “Tell me more of your childhood.”
I considered refusing, even thought about pulling my feet from his lap, but just then he slipped his hand under my pant leg and massaged my calf. I thanked God I had shaved just that morning.
Happy feelings shimmied up my leg to my groin. I stifled a moan.
“Do you have siblings?” he asked.
“Not unless you count brothers,” I said.
“Boys can be cruel,” he said, voice soft.
I shrugged.
“So this is why you became a therapist.”
“Cocktail waitresses are on their feet too much.”
“And such lovely feet they are,” he said, sketching a circle in my sole. “You are tense, Christina. You should hire a masseuse to help you relax.”
“Yeah? What do you charge?”
He had a laugh sexy enough to make a lesser woman cry. I just sniffled a little and felt my inhibitions waver.
“For you it is free,” he said.
Good God, he was pretty.
I cleared my throat. “And what if I wanted more?”
He frowned, stared at me, absolutely still. “I beg your pardon?”
Holy shit! I’d read him entirely wrong. “I’ll have more,” I sputtered, and lifted my empty glass, covering for my smutty mouth. If I had still been thinking, I would have crawled under the couch at that point, but I’m pretty much toast after one drink. Add a foot massage and you might just as well use me for plant food. “If…if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” He set my legs carefully aside, rose to his feet, and took my glass with a slight bow. “It is an honor to service you.”
My mouth dropped open, but he had already turned away. Oh, crap! Service me? Service…
But he had returned before I could figure out if “service” meant the same thing in his native language that it meant in mine.
I took the new drink and considered dumping it into my lap. “Thank you.” He sat back down and pulled my feet onto his thigh once again. “Is this your specialty…”
He slid his hand up my shin, massaging gently. I barely retained consciousness.
“…drink?” I finished, flushed and stupid and so damned horny I thought I might burst into spontaneous flames.
“Specially for you,” he said.
Was he trying to seduce me? I wondered hazily. But that was ridiculous. If he’d been trying, he’d already be calling a cab and I’d be lighting up a cigarette.
“So you…just guessed what I would like?” I asked.
“I understand women quite well, Christina. It is my job.”
I remembered back to the first time I’d met him. He had had close ties to Salina Martinez, Rivera’s ex-fiancée.
Really
close ties, maybe literally. “How well do you know men?”
He shook his head and kneaded my arch. I held the orgasm at bay. “Men are animals.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “But why do you suppose they keep trying to kill me?”
His expression was sad as he smoothed his hand up my heel and along my ankle. Yikes. “How are you certain that this Will Swanson wanted you dead?”
“He was a hired killer. Rivera said so.”
“But is there any reason to believe he wished to kill
you
?”
“He was here.”
“As am I?”
Was that a warning? A come-on? A threat? The gun felt hard and cool against my thigh. “He didn’t give me a foot massage,” I said.
His smile was slow and sweet. “Maybe he hoped to.”
I blinked.
“I said men are animals, Christina,” he said. “Not all animals kill. But they all survive on their instincts.”
Should it worry me that a male stripper/prostitute was stretching my philosophical sensibilities? “What?”
“Perhaps…” He rolled my calf between both his palms. “…perhaps this Will Swanson wanted nothing more than to spend a bit of time with a beautiful woman.”
“Beautiful—Oh.” I forced my gaze from his dark, magical hands. “You mean me.”
He laughed and slid closer,
He laughed. “For a man.”
I felt myself blush down to my freshly massaged toes.
“I did not mean to embarrass you, Christina,” he said, watching me. “Tell me more of your childhood.”
I considered refusing, even thought about pulling my feet from his lap, but just then he slipped his hand under my pant leg and massaged my calf. I thanked God I had shaved just that morning.
Happy feelings shimmied up my leg to my groin. I stifled a moan.
“Do you have siblings?” he asked.
“Not unless you count brothers,” I said.
“Boys can be cruel,” he said, voice soft.
I shrugged.
“So this is why you became a therapist.”
“Cocktail waitresses are on their feet too much.”
“And such lovely feet they are,” he said, sketching a circle in my sole. “You are tense, Christina. You should hire a masseuse to help you relax.”
“Yeah? What do you charge?”
He had a laugh sexy enough to make a lesser woman cry. I just sniffled a little and felt my inhibitions waver.
“For you it is free,” he said.
Good God, he was pretty.
I cleared my throat. “And what if I wanted more?”
He frowned, stared at me, absolutely still. “I beg your pardon?”
Holy shit! I’d read him entirely wrong. “I’ll have more,” I sputtered, and lifted my empty glass, covering for my smutty mouth. If I had still been thinking, I would have crawled under the couch at that point, but I’m pretty much toast after one drink. Add a foot massage and you might just as well use me for plant food. “If…if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” He set my legs carefully aside, rose to his feet, and took my glass with a slight bow. “It is an honor to service you.”
My mouth dropped open, but he had already turned away. Oh, crap! Service me? Service…
But he had returned before I could figure out if “service” meant the same thing in his native language that it meant in mine.
I took the new drink and considered dumping it into my lap. “Thank you.” He sat back down and pulled my feet onto his thigh once again. “Is this your specialty…”
He slid his hand up my shin, massaging gently. I barely retained consciousness.
“…drink?” I finished, flushed and stupid and so damned horny I thought I might burst into spontaneous flames.
“Specially for you,” he said.
Was he trying to seduce me? I wondered hazily. But that was ridiculous. If he’d been trying, he’d already be calling a cab and I’d be lighting up a cigarette.
“So you…just guessed what I would like?” I asked.
“I understand women quite well, Christina. It is my job.”
I remembered back to the first time I’d met him. He had had close ties to Salina Martinez, Rivera’s ex-fiancée.
Really
close ties, maybe literally. “How well do you know men?”
He shook his head and kneaded my arch. I held the orgasm at bay. “Men are animals.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “But why do you suppose they keep trying to kill me?”
His expression was sad as he smoothed his hand up my heel and along my ankle. Yikes. “How are you certain that this Will Swanson wanted you dead?”
“He was a hired killer. Rivera said so.”
“But is there any reason to believe he wished to kill
you
?”
“He was here.”
“As am I?”
Was that a warning? A come-on? A threat? The gun felt hard and cool against my thigh. “He didn’t give me a foot massage,” I said.
His smile was slow and sweet. “Maybe he hoped to.”
I blinked.
“I said men are animals, Christina,” he said. “Not all animals kill. But they all survive on their instincts.”
Should it worry me that a male stripper/prostitute was stretching my philosophical sensibilities? “What?”
“Perhaps…” He rolled my calf between both his palms. “…perhaps this Will Swanson wanted nothing more than to spend a bit of time with a beautiful woman.”
“Beautiful—Oh.” I forced my gaze from his dark, magical hands. “You mean me.”
He laughed and slid closer,
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