Barefoot Bay: When You Touch Me (Kindle Worlds Novella) (4 page)

Jillian pretended to fumble with some pages in his folder. “Then I’ll scratch ocean massage off your treatment schedule and we’ll do fresh water pool massage instead. It’s effective as well.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “We still have an hour and a half left before lunch, so why don’t we head to the spa and get started?” She rose and began walking back toward Eucalyptus.

She halted and glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Coming?” she asked.

“Lead on,” he answered, rising from the chair and sliding his feet into a pair of flip-flops. “When we break at noon, will you join me for lunch?”

Jillian stopped and turned to face him. He certainly wasted no time. “I can’t do that. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that I’m not permitted to fraternize with clients. It crosses a professional line to do so. I hope you understand.”

“But what if I just happen to see you eating somewhere and just happen to decide to sit down at your table? You wouldn’t be fraternizing with me. I’d be fraternizing with you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“But what if I did?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It crosses the line. But humor me Jill-O,” he began. “What if I did?”

She opened her mouth to a perfect pink O, but said nothing before turning around to resume her march toward the spa. Or was this the march to misery? 

Sam watched her walk ahead of him. The loose sand caused her hips to sway, and the woman definitely had some damn fine hips. When she had asked if he was coming, his mind had detoured to naughty land. If he could get her under him, they would both be coming. Repeatedly.

She didn’t wear a ring of any sort, but neither had the lifeguard’s fiancée. And when he had rendered her speechless with his lunch invitation, he gave himself a mental pat on the back. He had thrown her off balance. If he persisted, maybe he could get her horizontal.

“Disrobe to your level of comfort,” Jillian instructed once they were in the treatment room. “You’ll start face down with your head in the cradle. I’ll give you several minutes to get situated and I’ll knock before I come in. Any questions?”

Sam shook his head, then watched as the door closed behind her. Level of comfort, huh? He pulled the t-shirt over his head and tossed it on a chair in the corner. His swim trunks and flip flops joined it.

He slid between the cool white sheets, naked as the day he was born, and wriggled until his face was comfortable in the cradle, which was covered in the same white cotton. He had spent some time at Landstuhl in much this same position to keep pressure off his burns. Within seconds he could see the flash. Feel the heat of the flames and smell the fire. Hear the screams of his squad mates.

He raised his head and propped on his forearms, taking in huge gulps of air. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and he used the sheet to wipe them away.

Breathe. Think of home. The mountains on a snowy morning.

Sam ran through the suggestions he had overheard some of the other guys discussing until the overwhelming sense of peril diminished. He hadn’t had a spell like this in months. He had figured out things that were triggers and avoided them, but who knew a massage table would send him into a tailspin?

Perhaps if he had gone to therapy as suggested…. But that would be admitting he had issues. And he did not have issues. What he experienced was more like the bad dreams he’d had after he and Drew sneaked away to see a Freddy Krueger movie. The dreams scared the shit out of him, but he eventually stopped having them.

Problem solved. The rocket propelled grenade had been like a horror film. And eventually he would stop reacting to it.

He repeated the deep breathing until his heart stopped pounding inside his chest. He couldn’t let her see him like this. Not after he had denied having…
it
.

If he got pity stares when people saw his scars, what reaction would people have if they thought he suffered from PTSD? He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want people to be afraid of him. He just wanted life to go back to before—

Three knocks sounded on the door and he heard the latch click.

“Ready?” Jillian called out.

“Mmm hmm,” he said and lowered his head back into the cradle.

The door closed with a snick, and she spoke again.

“I’m going to talk you through this. I know your skin is tender where the burning occurred, so let me know if I need to stop. This first session will only be some light massage for relaxation and easy movement of your shoulder. I’m going to touch you through the sheet now.”

Her hands pressed against him between his shoulder blades, then down to his waist, pushing him against the table with gentle pressure. When her hands moved upward and she reached his hairline, he flinched.

“Okay?”

“Mmm,” he mumbled. “Yeah.”

The pressure let up and air feathered across skin as she pulled the sheet down to his waist and tucked it around him. Her sharp intake of breath let him know she had seen the scarring.

If she thought his back was bad, she should have seen some of the others in the burn unit. One fellow was so unrecognizable that his wife turned around and walked out. Three weeks later he received divorce papers from the heartless bitch.

“I’m going to use lavender oil and gently massage your upper back,” Jillian began. The sweet smell of the oil filled his nostrils. “Being touched during your recovery most likely hurt.”

“No shit.” Hurt was an understatement.

“And you may be apt to associate all touch with pain,” she continued. “The lavender will help you to relax, and the composition of the oil itself works to reduce the appearance of existing scars. Concentrate on your breathing. Inhale through your nose. Nice, deep breaths. And exhale through your mouth.”

Sam did as her calm voice instructed and he soon felt tension flowing from his body as she rubbed small circles across his back. Maybe this massage deal and the smelly stuff wasn’t so bad after all.

She worked up into his hairline, then down the length of his spine to the place where the sheet barely covered his ass. Her oiled fingertips were a whisper against his flesh and he flinched again.

Or was that his cock twitching? He was definitely aroused.

“Sorry,” she said. Her fingers moved to the middle of his back, and he sensed her move toward the head of the table. “I’m going to move your shoulder gently now. Tell me if I hurt you.”

She eased his arm from his side, then moved it into several positions before eliciting a groan from him.

“Okay, that’s enough for today,” she told him as she placed his arm back on the table. “You did great, Sam. And your range of motion is actually better than I expected. You should make good progress before you leave here.”

Jillian spent the remainder of the morning moving joints and evaluating muscle, all the while reminding Sam to continue inhaling and exhaling.

“Time’s up, Sam,” she said as she pulled the sheet over his back and lightly smoothed it across him.

Sam could hear her moving around the room, but he remained still. Bottles rattled. Water rushed from the faucet, then shut off. He didn’t move.

“Sam?” She tapped his shoulder. “Wake up, Sam.”

He raised his head, turned to the right and realized the room was nearly pitch dark. He looked to the other side and saw her beside the table.

“Did you have a good nap?” she asked, then switched on a nearby floor lamp to cast low light around the room.

He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms above his head. “Yeah,” he lied. He had been awake the whole time. “Do you always work in the dark?”

“Mmm hmm. That way the massage is driven by touch instead of sight. Sometimes I even close my eyes to really sense the muscle and how it feels beneath my fingers.”

“Interesting. Ever feel anything you shouldn’t?”

“Never,” she replied emphatically.

We’ll see about that.

Sam snaked out his arm and wrapped his fingers around her calf. She remained motionless. Then he swiped his index finger around her pants leg.

“Don’t do that,” she said brusquely, stepping away from the table.

He raised up and sent her a questioning look.

“Why? Is that the professional line you mentioned?”

Jillian spun on her heel and immediately and left the room.

From her reaction, Sam could only suppose the answer to his question was a resounding yes.

* * *

Two days later, Sam arrived late again. He had overslept after tossing and turning much of the night. He had grabbed Jillian’s leg as a joke. Drawn an imaginary line around it – as a joke. And she had bolted like a wild animal that had picked up the scent of a hunter. Her dark eyes, always bright and sparkling, had showed fear. He hadn’t wanted to scare her. The line was meant to be playful, but she sure hadn’t laughed. Her worried and fearful expression was burned into his memory.

And that expression had haunted him ever since, especially when he closed his eyes at night and his body betrayed him. Jillian wasn’t fashion-model beautiful like so many of the guests at Casa Blanca. No sharp angles and rail-thin limbs. She was a natural beauty who needed no heavy make-up or designer clothes to turn a man’s head. She was gorgeous even in the simple white uniform worn by all the spa employees.

She always wore her thick, dark hair in a braid, and how he longed to undo the elastic band at the bottom and untangle the strands. Run his fingers through their thickness. No doubt her chestnut colored eyes would react. But how? With fear like before?

What made her so skittish? His intel had revealed she wasn’t married. The redheaded server, with whom he had made amends, let it slip that Jillian had only been at Casa Blanca for six weeks. Was she really worried his touching her would jeopardize her job? If necessary, he would go to the powers that be, confess his misbehavior and exonerate her from any wrongdoing.

Sam had only received a few massages in his life, but even he could tell Jillian was skilled at her profession. After only a few days, he had already felt improvement. His shoulder moved with more ease. The scars on his back didn’t seem to pull as much. So much for his skepticism. But she hadn’t tried any voodoo on him yet.

He had slept soundly until last night. He woke drenched in sweat and sporting a raging hard-on. Both had been relieved by an icy shower. But after the shower, he was wide awake. He’d poured himself a double scotch and then another, and then he slept through the alarm.

He could only speculate the sweats came from memories reactivated by Jillian’s work with his injuries. The hard-on? He had no doubts about the source of his arousal.

At least she hadn’t come looking for him this morning with her angry scowl. Jillian was far prettier when she smiled, especially when the smile was directed at him.

When he entered Eucalyptus, the manager sat behind the desk, her attention focused on a computer screen.

“I know,” he confessed before she could reprimand him. “I’m late. I didn’t sleep well last night and didn’t hear the alarm.”

Jocelyn Palmer never looked up from the screen. “Jillian is waiting for you in Room Three.” She waved in the general direction of the treatment rooms. The band on her left hand clearly indicated her marital status. Though she wasn’t his type, Sam considered her husband a lucky man indeed.

“Tell her about your sleep issues. She can have housekeeping put an essential oil diffuser in your villa. You’ll sleep like a baby.”

Ah. Here came the voodoo. Sam grumbled under his breath.

Jocelyn looked up from her work and gave him a bemused smile. “I scoffed at it too, but she’s made a real believer out of me. Just try it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Right? And it can’t hurt you.”

“I’ll just do that,” he lied, shouldering open the door leading to the massage rooms.

The door to Room Three was open and Jillian stood at a corner counter, which held something resembling a mini fridge. He rapped on the door with his knuckles and waited for her response.

She turned to face him and a frown turned down the corners of her full mouth. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

“How—”

“Even in this light I can see the bags under your eyes. An airline would charge you extra for those.”

“Not if I carry them on and stow them in the overhead bin,” he retorted. Then the corners of her mouth tilted upward.
Much better
, Sam thought.

“Your shoulders are closed in, too.” He could hear the disappointment in her voice. “And they had opened up so nicely over the past two days. Let me get out of here so you can get on the table. Let’s start face up. I’m going to use hot towels on you today.”

Sam stripped once she left, all the while thinking that he’d have no problem baring all in front of her. Twelve years in the Army had eradicated any shyness he might have about his body. On the other hand, after last night’s dream, stripping in front of her might not be a great idea. Hell, he was already worried about turning the sheet into a pup tent once she began to work on him. She always smelled faintly of citrus and spice – so different from other women he’d dated. They often reeked of too-strong flowery scents that made his eyes water.

He slipped onto the table, face up, and pulled the sheet up to his shoulders. Then remembering his tenting concern, he folded the sheet down to his waist so his mid-section was covered by several layers of cloth. Perhaps he should have left his boxer briefs on. He started to flip back the sheet and retrieve them when she knocked and entered.

Man up, Sam
.

Aw, hell. He was afraid of doing exactly that.

The device on the counter turned out to be a hot towel cabinet. After sliding a pillow under his knees for comfort, she withdrew a towel, draped it over his left shoulder and covered it with a dry one. She repeated the process on his right side. Sam had kept his eyes open, something he had never done in their previous sessions. Jillian worked efficiently, every movement serving a purpose. She moved to the head of the table, leaned over him and pressed against both shoulders simultaneously.

He was face-to-boobs with her, and he couldn’t stop his tongue from licking his lower lip. Even fully clothed he could tell she was amply endowed. Not too big, but enough for a handful. Or a mouthful.

His dick reacted. He was his own worst enemy.

“How’d you get into this line of work?” he asked, hoping the energy required to hold a conversation would divert blood away from his crotch.