Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
But I’d only been working here for six months. For three of those, Farell had been leaving nasty phone messages and while Gloria had been patient, did I really want to risk causing trouble? Because getting rid of Boonie would be trouble, no question. He wouldn’t just get up and walk away without a fight.
Boonie never, ever backed away from a fight.
I knocked on the door, then stepped inside. The man who’d beat up my boyfriend on graduation night (before fucking me on a stranger’s grave) lay on his stomach, watching me speculatively as I came toward him. Everything about the situation was completely appropriate on the surface—the sheet covered him to the middle of his back, just like it was supposed to. He should’ve been just another massage client, one of hundreds I’d seen.
He wasn’t, though. Not even a little bit.
I swallowed, then came to stand next to him. “Everything comfortable?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. Just go ahead and relax. Let me know if the pressure’s all right or if there’s anywhere I should concentrate on.”
Once again, the words were the same I’d used a thousand times, but somehow they seemed different today. Dirty.
Thankfully I could ease into this. Pumping my hand full of lotion, I reached down and touched his back for the first time. Oh crap . . . All these years I’d told myself I’d imagined how good his body felt. That I’d been drunk, that whatever Boonie and I had between us had been a figment of the booze and the fire and all the adrenaline that followed.
I was wrong.
His skin felt smooth and hot against my fingers, silky soft over a layer of hard muscles. My heart skipped a beat and I stilled.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low. I swallowed.
“Fine. How’s the pressure?”
The words hung between us and I bit back a giggle. What was wrong with me?
“Give me everything,” he finally said. It took all I had to force my hands to keep moving. I warmed up his back with slow, steady strokes, studying his Marine Corps tattoos. Every touch reminded me of that brief, incredible night that he’d pulled me out of the party and taken me in the darkness. I still had dreams about it. Not that Boonie cared—it’d obviously meant a lot more to me than it had to him.
Not a huge surprise, I guess. We’d never even had a date. Just a fast, hard fuck. One of many in his life.
“So you’re living in Coeur d’Alene now?’’ he asked as I started working his shoulder.
“Uh-huh,’’ I answered, falling into the rhythm of my strokes. “I moved out three months ago. They tell me the divorce should be easy—I don’t want anything from him.”
The words came out sharper than I planned, and I felt his body tense.
“Did he hurt you?”
Fuck, how to answer that one? I considered my response carefully as I smoothed down the length of his arm.
“Not physically,” I finally said. “But that night changed him . . .”
Boonie snorted, muscles growing tighter.
“According to your letters that was a good thing.”
“You read them?”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ read them.”
Then why didn’t you answer?
I didn’t ask, moving down to his lower body instead. Reaching for the sheet, I folded it back to tuck behind his leg, fingers brushing the back of his right glute in the process. The technique called for me to fold it across, revealing the sides as I tucked it down between his legs. His muscles flexed, and he took in a harsh breath.
Oh, wow. My nipples were hard as rocks and need twisted me up into a tight knot. That strange, intense chemistry between us sure as fuck hadn’t faded.
I started massaging his feet, giving myself permission to enjoy the interplay of muscle and skin as I worked him over. By the time I reached his upper thigh, we were both breathing hard. I felt a bead of sweat on my forehead, and reached up to brush it off with the back of my hand.
Despite the tension hanging in the air—or perhaps because of it?—Boonie stayed perfectly still. I was starting to actually believe this wasn’t about the money Farell owed.
“Why are you really here, Boonie?” I asked him softly as I adjusted the drape, moving to the other side. He shifted, hips pressing down into the table. Without thinking, I smoothed my hand down his back. A light sheen of sweat covered it.
“Are you too warm?’’ I asked, moving back into professional mode. “I can turn down the heat on the table.”
“That won’t help,’’ he gritted out. Okay. I dropped my hands back down, fingers trailing over his ass as I tucked the sheet between his legs. I pushed it down a little too far and brushed what could only be his erection.
We both froze, me in utter shock and horror. Men got them of course. It was a basic biological function, and I was a professional providing a therapeutic service. Like a nurse, I knew better than to take it personally.