Tease Me Read online

  He grinned. “I’m Tucker, your masseur. And I can’t tell you how relieved—uh, happy I am to see you.” When she clutched her towel, he glanced down, then quickly back up. “Uh, not see-you see you. To serve you, I mean.” Realizing he wasn’t making matters better, he gave up and shrugged far too endearingly. He stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Tucker Morgan, pleased to meet you.”

  Lainey could have sworn her kneecaps liquefied. She pressed against the table for support. “Pleased to meet you too.” Too pleased, judging by the happy hula her hormones were doing at the moment. Her gaze moved to his hand. It was wide and tanned, with long fingers that looked entirely too capable. And in less than a few minutes they would be running all over her body.

  Her oiled, naked body.

  She tried shallow breathing. It didn’t help much. Even Agatha’s nightmarish visage deserted her. Not even for the twins could she do this. No matter her good intentions, it had been a long time since Charlie. He’d start rubbing, she’d start groaning, he’d slide his hands lower … No, uh-uh. She’d never done this before, but she was fairly certain writhing was not acceptable behavior during a massage. And it was a moot point anyway, since there was no way she’d attempt a graceful table mount now.

  “I, uh—” She broke off at the hoarse sound of her voice, took a stabilizing breath, then clutched the towel tighter when it began to slide. “Listen, it’s like this. I’m sure you’re wonderful—”

  He let his hand drop back to his side. “Actually, I’m nervous as hell. This is my first day. You’re my first client.”

  He was nervous? Oh, wonderful. “I’m your first?” Why did saying that make her skin all shivery? No, no, you don’t, Lainey. Sternly ignoring her hormones, which were too busy planning a major party in her lower extremities to listen to her anyway, she firmed her spine and her resolve. “Don’t take it personally. It’s nothing you said or did, but I really don’t think I want a massage after all.”

  He looked … relieved. Not upset or offended. Relieved. It should have made her feel better. It didn’t. In fact, it made her feel … rebellious. Defiant.

  Stop right now, she told herself. This was the exact moment when she needed to take control and think clearly, not throw caution to the wind. If there was an Olympic event for caution throwing, she’d be a repeat gold medal winner. Among other things, it had gotten her married, divorced, audited, and almost jailed. It was about to get her massaged.

  He started to turn back to the door. Don’t do it, Lainey.

  Too late. He’d all but dared her. The parts of her that were on hormone cruise control cheered her on. “Since I’m here, though, what the heck.” He swung back, his expression a mix of surprise and dread. It was the sting of the dread part that made her let go of the bottom end of her towel and strong-arm herself up onto the side of the table. That went so well, she crossed her legs and said, “You’ll be my first too.”

  TWO

  Tucker cleared his throat and crossed the room, skirting the table—and his client—on his way to the neatly arranged cart positioned at the opposite end. He kept his eyes trained on the bottles of lotion … and off her legs. Legs he would soon be rubbing hot oil onto.

  He wasn’t crazy about the Mr. Clean uniform Lillian had insisted he wear, but at least it had pleated pants. He didn’t have to be a professional to know that a masseur wasn’t supposed to be rock hard while working. Of course, the guy in Lillian’s video might be the exception to the rule, but then he hadn’t been looking to get paid. Tucker stifled a groan.

  He grabbed a bottle of oil. “Why don’t you go ahead and lie down.”

  She started to lean back. “On your stomach,” he added quickly. He turned his back to her. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  He listened as she settled herself, trying in vain not to picture the procedure.

  “All set.”

  Bracing himself, he turned. The only mercy he received was that her head was pillowed on her arms, facing away from him. The rest of her was displayed in all its hardly terry-cloth-covered curvy glory. The towel dipped neatly against the back of her thighs, emphasizing the sweet curve of her backside. The top edge stopped just above her ribs, displaying the smooth skin of her back and shoulders that had been exposed to the sun just enough to look as if it had been dipped in honey.

  Some of the warm oil oozed out in his hand. He swallowed another groan and relaxed his grip on the squeeze bottle. Her hair was pinned up in a pile of warm brown curls; the soft lighting reflected gentle golden highlights that he doubted were the result of any of Lillian’s capable staff. His fingers tightened against the urge to reach out and slide the pins from her hair to satisfy his sudden need to discover what those silky waves would look like spread over her slender neck and shoulders.

  She chose that moment to turn her head toward him. “Is everything okay?” Her smile was dazzling.

  He abruptly set the bottle down on the cart before he shot the warm, sticky contents all over her. The analogy wasn’t lost on him.

  “Absolutely,” he said, pasting a bright smile on his face. He reached beneath the table for a white linen drape and snapped it out over her, covering her from mid-thigh to mid-back.

  She laid her head back down, facing away from him again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  Tucker’s grin eased into something a bit more natural. Neither can I, he thought. At least not professionally.

  “Any back or neck problems I should be aware of?” he asked, feeling a bit more relaxed. Something in her tone, a trace of her earlier uncertainty maybe, restored a bit of his control.

  “Nope, fit as a fiddle.”

  She sure looked that way to him, he thought silently. He grabbed the bottle, squeezed some oil on his hands, and worked it into his palms. This was just a job. He should consider himself a lucky son of a gun to have a young body with solid bones to practice on, and get this over with. Recalling the video instructions—after all, Shiatsu was Shiatsu, wasn’t it?—he reached for her shoulders.

  “Do you need to take the towel off?” she asked without turning.

  His hands froze an inch from her skin. “Ah, well, seeing as this is your first time and all, I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  “Well, this does feel a little weird,” she added, sounding relieved. “But I’m not as uncomfortable as I thought I’d be.” She let out a small laugh. “I guess you have a good tableside manner. No need for silly modesty, right? After all, you are a professional.”

  Tucker swallowed hard. If you only knew.

  “I’ll just close my eyes and put myself into your capable hands.”

  That did it. He pulled his capable hands away. He couldn’t go through with this. No matter what he told himself—or her—he was not a professional, and even if he could fake that on a functional level, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to on a personal one.

  “Listen, maybe we should—”

  “No, really, just slide it out. I mean, the sheet stays on, right?”

  “Right,” he said, then cleared the roughness from his throat. What the hell. He reached for the towel. “Lift up a bit.” She did. He loosened the back of the towel and slid it off, being careful to keep the linen sheet pinned to the table with his free hand.

  “And don’t worry,” she said earnestly as she settled her head back on her arms. “I know you’re probably a bit nervous with this being your first day, but I’ve never had one of these, so I won’t know if you’re doing anything wrong, anyway.”

  He looked at her semidraped body. The way the sheet clung to her every curve, the stark contrast between white linen and smooth golden skin, the hint of soft breasts pressed against the table …

  Professional wasn’t even on the list of what he was feeling at the moment.

  This is ridiculous, he scolded himself. He’d protected some of the most gorgeous women on the planet and shared various intimacies with a fair number of others—many who hadn’t even spoken
his language—and at no time had he ever felt so rattled by a woman.

  He could blame it on lack of female companionship of any kind of late. What with the funeral and all of the life-changing decisions that had resulted from Pete’s death, he hadn’t been too interested. He hadn’t really planned to be for a while, not until he sorted a few things out.

  There was no denying he was interested now, however. In what, though? That was the question he hadn’t answered. And he wouldn’t. Now was not the time, no matter the opportunity.

  With renewed concentration on the purpose literally at hand, he straightened the linen sheet and began to work on her shoulders. Just because the soft feel of supple muscles going pliant beneath his fingertips made his entire body tighten did not mean he wasn’t focused on his one and only goal, which was to get through this appointment, then track down Lillian and convince her that there had to be another way to get her information.

  Conversation. Distraction. “So what made you decide to get a massage?” he asked genially. “Special occasion?”

  “Actually, it was the twins’ idea.”

  Tucker’s fingers faltered for a moment, then continued working the sides of her neck. Twins? Tucker gave a rueful silent laugh. There he was, drooling like a pimply adolescent over this woman, and she was a happily married mother of twin tots. You really do need a break, Morgan. Seeing as she was probably somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties, it was more likely Dad had arranged this little gift. He wondered if Dad was the jealous type. He sincerely hoped not, then felt even more the fraud. He was deceiving an entire family.

  “And it falls more under the heading of busybody than anything else,” she said, her voice going all soft as he absently worked his way down her back.

  His mind was still on the happy family giving Mom a nice break only to have her groped by a guy posing as a masseur in some silly scheme of Lillian’s. This was definitely beginning and ending right there. As soon as he was done.

  After all, they’d paid for a massage for Mom, and she was going to go out of there satisfied, even if it meant he had to spend the three hours directly afterward in a cold shower. He massaged more deeply.

  “I think I’ll have to forgive them this time,” she said, then let loose a long sigh that stretched his pleats no matter how businesslike he commanded his thoughts to be.

  “So what made you decide to become a masseur?” she asked, her voice deeper, almost drowsy. “Were you in sports or something? You seem like a pretty fit guy.”

  “I’m, uh, doing it as a favor. For Lillian. She was a close friend of my mother’s.” It was bad enough that he was deceiving her about his credentials. He was determined not to lie any more than he had to.

  “That’s really nice of you. I guess you’ve heard all about Helga then.”

  Helga? It took him a moment but he placed the name. “Oh, Helga, yes. The former masseuse.”

  “No one has been able to take her place.”

  “I understand she was quite popular. But I’m only here temporarily.”

  She started to lift up and turn her head, presumably to look at him, but he pressed her gently but firmly back to the table. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I think you’ll gain quite a quick following here.”

  Not if I can help it. Before she could resume her line of questioning, Tucker turned the tables on her. “Are you a regular client here? I don’t mean to sound surprised. It’s just that I assumed all of Lillian’s clients were Sunset Shores residents.”

  “I am a resident. I live next—” Her answer died out on a long groan as Tucker pressed his thumbs down and ran them along her spine, then worked back up to her shoulders in a slow, circular motion. “I’m beginning to think I owe Ida and Irma an apology,” she said on a satisfied sigh.

  Tucker’s hands paused then quickly resumed. Ida and Irma? What kind of names were those for little kids? At least she’d distracted him from his body-hardening reaction. He felt as if he were on an amusement-park ride, which was whipping his body up and down, yanking his emotions from side to side.

  “Family names?” he asked, then mentally kicked himself. He might be having a tough time, but she was coasting through this fine. He didn’t need to rile her up by making her defend her kids’ old-fashioned names. He shifted to the foot of the table.

  “I never asked,” she answered easily. “With them you’re lucky to get a word in edgewise. I take it you haven’t met them yet. They didn’t waste any time finding out about you.” She sighed again as he slowly began to manipulate her toes and the soles of her feet. “But even though I resent them for doing this, I have to say I will recommend you to them. You’re really good, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Tucker,” he said absently. She wanted him to massage her children? She seemed bright and intelligent, and it went without saying that she came wrapped up in a beautiful package, but she was also wacko. “Uh, I’m not sure,” he started slowly, “but I don’t think Lillian caters to the, uh, younger set.”

  “Younger set?” Sliding one hand up for balance, she lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He was too far away at the base of the table to snag the slowly slipping linen sheet, but her confused expression captured his full attention, anyway. “Your children. The twins. I don’t think we cater to children, here.”

  “My chil—” She broke off as understanding dawned in her eyes, and she started to laugh. The additional movement sent the linen sheet sliding south at an alarming rate. Tucker made a lunge for it at the same time that she realized the problem and jerked around, grabbing for it as well.

  She came up with a handful of linen. He came up with a handful of … her. He barely had time to register the full, firm warmth of her breast and the way her nipple peaked against his palm before her gasp had him releasing her and turning his back.

  “I’m—I apologize. Truly. I was just trying to keep the sheet from sliding to the—”

  “It’s okay, really,” she said sincerely. But she sounded quite breathless.

  Tucker kept his back to her.

  “All wrapped up, you can turn around now.”

  Tucker turned to find her seated on the side of the table, the sheet wrapped fully around her like a sarong, covering her to the knees. Her hair had come down and now fell in soft waves above her shoulders. Her expression was sincere, but humor glinted in her dark green eyes.

  “Well, at least this will have been a memorable first for both of us.”

  “I really am sorry—”

  She raised one hand, then slapped it back to her chest when the sheet began to slip. “No problem,” she said, her cheeks darkening a bit even as she laughed. “But there is one thing you should know. I’m not married.” At his confused expression, she hurried to add, “What I mean is, I don’t have twins. I don’t have kids at all.”

  Tucker refused to consider why this news should elate him so much. “Then who are Ida and Irma?”

  “Two of Lillian’s clients. They’re identical twins. They’re also eighty-two.”

  Tucker ran a mental replay then chuckled as he thought over their unknowing “who’s on first” conversation. “You had me going there, you know.”

  She laughed too. “It wasn’t intentional. It never occurred to me that you’d assume—”

  He lifted a hand. “My fault. So,” he said, seemingly unable to wipe the happy grin from his face, “they set you up, huh?”

  He was pleased when she smiled at his teasing. “Sucker born every minute. I should know.” She’d said it jokingly, but the edge of vulnerability made Tucker curious.

  He filed his questions away for the time being. Right now there were more urgent things to find out, such as what her name was. “So how do you know the twins? Great-niece or great-granddaughter or something?”

  “Oh, they’re customers of mine. Well, my aunt Minerva’s, really.”

  “You mean you’re Minerva’s niece? From the café next door?”
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br />   Her smile faded a bit as she studied his face. “One and the same. I’m Madelaine Cooper, but most people call me Lainey.” She stuck out her hand, then snatched it back to catch the towel. “Sorry.” Her cheeks pinkened again, but she gamely continued. “And despite the Armbruster sisters’ shenanigans, I’m pleased to meet you, Tucker. Really. And don’t worry, I won’t say anything about … Well, what I mean is, I won’t complain. After all,” she continued with a nervous laugh, “it felt wonderful. I mean, you have great hands and— Oh, boy.” She groaned and dipped her chin.

  Amused and more intrigued than he thought he could be, he watched as she took a deep breath for composure and lifted her head again.

  “I don’t want to jeopardize your job,” she said with admirable calm. “You really are good at this.”

  Tucker thought he heard a repressed sigh on that last part, but his mind was still on the fact that this was Minerva’s niece and one of the few people who knew the mystery man. “I appreciate that,” he said, almost absently, relieved that at least part of his brain was still on his real purpose for being there.

  “Well,” she said when the silence spun out. “I think I’ve had about all my system can take for one day.”

  Her gaze caught his suddenly. He didn’t comment, but the brief flash of vulnerability in her eyes did bring him out of his musings. She was a fascinating mix of bold, beautiful, and shy. “Me too,” he said with a grin that invited her to share the humor in the situation.

  He wished he could share the entire story with her, was compelled to, anyway, despite Lillian’s misgivings. If he did have to go through with this ridiculous charade, it would be good to have at least one person—besides Lillian—to be truthful with.

  Given her obvious sense of humor, he was certain Lainey would find the whole thing as absurd as he did. It also occurred to him that telling her about it could clear up the entire matter. She might be able to explain away the entire situation. But something—his sixth sense or whatever you want to call it—stopped him at the last moment.