Angel's Touch (19 page)

“It would be awkward,” Megan continued, unaware of the explosion she had just set off in Kira’s brain. “Even though it was a long time ago. We did a lot of crazy stuff together in massage school, and dating just made it that much crazier. Once in a while someone will still remark on how similar our massage technique is. They don’t usually guess the reason.”

“Why didn’t it work out? I mean, it sounds like you two have a lot in common.”

“Too much in common. She’s even more of a flake than I am.”

“You’re not a flake.”

“Hmm.” Megan looked at her appraisingly. “Angels? Metaphor?”

Kira flushed. So her definition of “flake” was not the same as it had been a few weeks ago. It was all right with her if Megan knew it. “Try not to hurt yourself with that grin.”

Megan’s smile got even bigger. “So, you sure about this?”

“That you’re not a flake?”

Megan gestured with her hands, encouraging her to guess again.

Kira looked at her blankly.

Megan swept her hands through the air, making a squeezing motion that anyone else would have felt self-conscious about.

Right. The massage lesson. That Megan didn’t want to give her.

“Am I sure it’ll help? No.” Kira wasn’t sure of anything right now. She personally didn’t think it was essential for her to know much about massage in order to open a spa. Her motives for being here in Megan’s living room late in the evening were definitely suspect, even to herself.

“I meant are you sure you want to learn?”

Was Megan about to say yes? She hadn’t really believed she would. “It’s okay if you don’t want to teach me.”

“Backing down so soon? I do still have my work clothes on.” The white camisole and white linen pants with a wide flared leg, accented with an artsy, multicolored silk belt, were a far cry from a medical uniform. Megan kicked off her sandals, removed her wristwatch, and pushed up off the couch. She dangled her wristwatch between her fingers, waiting for a response. “I’m up for it if you are.”

Kira gaped. Really, all she’d wanted was an excuse to come over here and be in the same room with her. She’d been sure Megan would say no, and then they could sit and talk for a while, or go out for a late-night power snack.

“You are?”

“Absolutely.” Megan clasped her hands overhead and stretched. “Ready to strip?”

Kira’s mouth went dry. “I see we’re going to be professional about this,” she choked out.

“This way,” Megan said, leading her to the stairs that went up to the second floor.

“This isn’t like you.”

Megan paused on the stairs and turned around and gave her a smug look that meant she could tell Kira was wondering what she’d talked herself into. God, even when Megan was feeling superior and letting her squirm, she was gorgeous. Too bad nothing was going to happen. Like it or not, Kira was going to learn how to give a massage, and somehow she was not—
not
—going to melt at the feeling of Megan’s hands on her skin. Or at the privilege of putting her hands on Megan’s body.

God, who was she kidding?

Megan jutted her chin out and looked down her nose at her with a completely irresistible sparkle in her eyes.

Kira moved up to the next step, getting closer. “Aren’t you going to let me borrow a bathing suit?”

Megan pivoted out of reach and continued up the stairs. “If you wanted to do this in a bathing suit, you should have thought of that before you came over.”

***

Megan knew this was a bad idea.

She was pretty sure Kira did too.

Funny how you could see the potential roadkill from way down the highway and not slow down.

“I must be insane,” Megan muttered to herself.

Touching Kira after the charity race had been wonderful. More wonderful than it should have been. As a professional, she shouldn’t care what her clients looked like. She shouldn’t even notice. She certainly shouldn’t let it affect her. She shouldn’t still remember, weeks later, how it had felt to run her hands up the back of Kira’s taut, muscular legs. The flare of her calf, the soft vulnerability of the back of her knee, the firmness of her hamstrings. Kira’s body covered in massage oil was a beautiful, dangerous thing.

She ached to touch her again, and this time with more than just her hands. This time she wouldn’t stop where she was supposed to. She wanted to taste the soft skin of her neck and feel her sharp hip bones dig into her. She wanted—

Megan paused at the top of the stairs. A minute ago, she had convinced herself she was making way too big a deal out of this professionalism thing, because being around Kira made her want to do just about anything to keep her from leaving the room, including rationalizing. Besides, teaching her something about the job she loved would be a pleasure.

But she wasn’t naïve. She knew exactly what could go wrong.

Kira bounded up the stairs and Megan turned to watch. As if she needed any reminders that yes, Kira did have the powerful legs of an athlete. She needed to get herself under control before they crossed the short hallway and entered the massage room.

As she squeezed past Megan on the landing, Kira took her hand and pulled her through the open doorway to their right. Into her bedroom. Megan stumbled on the rug. “This isn’t the massage room,” she said. Kira had never been up here before, so maybe she’d made a mistake. Although it was pretty obvious there was a bed in here, not a massage table. More than obvious.

Kira steadied her and Megan straightened, but she didn’t pull her hand away, even though it was crazy not to. It felt too good. Kira’s nervous, excited energy coursed through their clasped hands, merging with Megan’s own jittery excitement, keying her up even more.

She was so screwed.

She squeezed Kira’s hand and Kira squeezed back, their interlaced fingers locking more firmly together.
Megan bent her elbow to raise their clasped hands to chest level. Kira’s nails were cut short, almost as short as her own.

Without thinking, she raised her other hand to touch Kira’s wrist, first with just her fingertips, then with her whole hand wrapped around the joint. Unable to resist the warmth of her skin, she skimmed her fingers along Kira’s bare forearm and continued to her biceps, fitting the curve of her hand to the shape of the muscle, exploring. Yay for summer and short sleeves.

“I’m having second thoughts about that lesson,” Kira said.

“Scared?”

“Not of what you’re scared of.”

Oh, yeah? With the way their energy fields were aligned, she had a hard time believing their emotions at this moment weren’t exactly the same. “What am I scared of?”

“Why don’t I just stick with what
I’m
scared of.”

Megan was so beyond tact. “You are not backing out of that comment.”

Kira squeezed her hand again. “I’m afraid if I go into that room I’m going to have to follow a bunch of rules I don’t want to follow.”

Megan raised an eyebrow.

“You know, rules about keeping our boundaries clear.”

“I know what rules you’re talking about.” Damn it.

“No dating clients, no kissing, no—”

“What makes you think the rules don’t apply in
this
room?” When she’d led Kira up the stairs, it wasn’t to bring her here.

Kira glanced pointedly at what Megan was doing with her hands.

Megan yanked away. She took a step back, out into the hallway.

“Don’t,” Kira murmured.

“It’s my fault,” Megan apologized. She never should have done this when they were both so full of wanting each other. She knew better.

“Shh.” Kira took a step closer. “Let’s not ruin the moment.”

“There was no moment to ruin.”

“Don’t say that.”

Megan’s heart hammered. Kira was so sweet, trying to salvage this disaster when it was Megan’s fault. “This was a bad idea.”

“No.”

“Kira,” she pleaded. She could feel the air between them vibrating, stretching like a rubber band about to break. Kira was going to have to help her, because she, personally, did not have the strength to keep her at arm’s length for much longer. Because it wasn’t only her hands that had a mind of their own at this point. Her whole body was on the verge of mutiny.

“What a fantastic massage last week,” Barbara Fenhurst gushed as Megan massaged her feet. “I felt all these good vibes coming from you. You knew exactly what I needed. When you put your hands on my heart, right here…” Barbara threw the sheet off her chest to demonstrate. “I sensed it. How you understood me perfectly.”

“I’m glad you liked the massage,” Megan said, refraining from any comments about nudity as she settled the sheet back into place and returned to the other end of the table. She pushed her thumbs into the sole of Barbara’s foot, finding all the crunchy, painful places with a pressure that was deep, but wouldn’t make her twitch and pull away.

“I’d come every day if I could afford it.”

Megan ignored the squirm of guilt in her stomach. Her fees were not outrageous. Besides, Barbara had meant it as a compliment.

“I have an idea. Next week is my birthday, so I’ll come for a massage every day. That will be amazing. Why don’t we set that up after we’re done?” Barbara was so giddy with the excitement of her plan that she didn’t pick up on Megan’s dismay. “It would be like a birthday present for you, too, getting that extra income, right?”

Megan studied the shape of Barbara’s foot, afraid to look up and give herself away. It was hard to watch Barbara’s enthusiasm and feel her own heart sink at the prospect of five days in a row of Barbara Fenhurst. Why did someone she wasn’t crazy about have to love her so much? It was sad, really. Barbara felt good when she came to Megan’s house, so she wanted to see her as often as she could. And what was the harm in it? Except that Barbara should be out dating, rather than paying Megan for the human contact she was starved for.

“I know you said you don’t give discounts, but do you sell packages? You know, like buy four, get one free?”

“Sorry.” She could jack up the price to make it look like she was offering a discount, but she hated that method of doing business, manipulating people, luring them with a bargain. Besides, she already had more work than she could handle.

“How about buy ten, get one free?”

She smiled at Barbara’s persistence. This was good, actually. It distracted her from thinking about how delicious it would have been to ignore her rules and get involved with Kira. She had almost thrown her training out the window and flung herself at Kira. She’d wanted to. She still did. She wanted to run her hands up Kira’s arms again on that wonderful, smooth skin, and this time, she wouldn’t stop at her shoulders. She would slide her hands down her back and pull her into her arms and get under her shirt and loosen her bra and find the swell of her breasts. It was going to feel so right to feel the weight of them in her cupped palms and learn their exact shape. She’d worship them with her hands, then her mouth, reveling in her softness and breathing in her addictive scent.

And this kind of thinking—
now
—was so inappropriate. What if she communicated what she was thinking about through her hands? Rubbed Barbara’s foot with a caress instead of a strictly therapeutic effleurage? This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid when she stopped Kira from…from what? Kissing her? Pulling her onto her own bed?

Barbara groaned with pleasure.

Megan tensed. Damn it. Were the sound effects her fault, or was Barbara just being her usual borderline inappropriate self? She did not want to be the highlight of Barbara’s week. But she shouldn’t complain, because happy clients were, after all, her goal. She poked her thumbs into the soles of her client’s feet a bit harder than she should.

She never should have taken Kira upstairs. She’d known it was going to end badly. There was no other way for it to end. Kira thought it was massage school where she’d learned to be overly careful about maintaining professional boundaries—that it was a case of Extreme Ethics 101—but she was wrong. It wasn’t massage school that taught her boundaries…not that her teachers didn’t try. It was Gwynnie. Gwynnie on all fours, trying to find a spot to wedge her knees on the narrow table, tipping the massage table over in a tangle of bodies and laughing screams.

Never could use those sheets again. Every time she put them on her massage table she felt Gwynne’s hands on her, violating all their classroom rules, both of them aware she was going to write it up in her practice log to hand in as homework. With a few key omissions, of course.

She didn’t have the money to keep driving to the outlet mall for new sheets.

***

Shayna leaned back on her beach towel, resting her weight on her elbows. “Real.”

Kira looked up absentmindedly from the sand she was mounding and sculpting into the shape of a hand. Shayna nodded in the direction of a woman walking along the tide’s edge in a barely-there, leopard-print bikini.

“No way,” Kira said. Anyone who bought swimwear five sizes too small cared more about appearance than function, and that ought to tell you something. Besides, the woman had no taste. And fake boobs were, in her opinion, the epitome of poor taste.

Shayna leaned forward, squinting against the sun to get a better look. “Yes way.”

“Dream on.”

“You know I’m right on this one.”

“You’ll never know for sure,” Kira scoffed.

Shayna leaned back on her hands. “Neither will you.”

“Which is fine with me.” Kira returned to working on her sand sculpture.

Shayna moved on to the next woman strolling by. “Now
those
are real.”

“The one in shorts? Really?” Kira poured on the doubt, even though she was pretty sure Shayna was right. Not that she was looking too hard. Even if no one could tell whether she was or was not looking from behind her sunglasses, she wasn’t going to stare like some sexist pig. Besides, the fun part wasn’t the scenery, it was riling Shayna up and watching her get all competitive.

“Hard to tell on the brunette in the black tankini,” Shayna said.

Kira didn’t even look. “I say fake.”