stretch of beach that led from his cabin to Ecstasy’s main office area. The trail through the woods would have been a lot quicker, but it also would have been devoid of the breeze, and his body needed a thorough cooling. His claim to Claire about talking to the boss had been just that; a claim for the sake of escaping her “murderer” comment. The truth was Treah had taken off for the Pacific opening yesterday morning. Even so, Chris was hoping this venture to the office would pay off as more than a reprieve for his mind and body.
Typically, at least one of the guys could be found hanging out in the meeting room, which doubled as a rec center for everything from Texas Hold ’Em tournaments during their off week to more intimate gatherings when the women were on the island. None of the men seemed liable to be stealing money from the resort, so Chris would start in on his covert interrogations with the most available of them.
Chris reached the set of docks that harbored the boats used both for bringing clients to the island and taking them out on pleasure cruises during their stay. Once the weather grew a little warmer, cabanas and a volleyball net would be placed in the sandy stretch of land in front of the docks. The beachfront was deserted for now, a fact he took comfort in as he veered toward the office, set thirty-plus yards off from the water to help ensure safety during hurricane season.
Arriving at the tan, two-story building—the second floor of which Treah, and lately Gwen, called home—he pulled open the meeting-room screen door. Ted Henner, one of the more recent healing recruits, was inside. The young blond guy sat kicked back in a folding chair, feet on the seat of a chair at the table across from him and his attention on the golf tournament playing on one of the wall-mounted TVs. Since Treah figured doing without certain luxuries meant they’d have more desire to stay focused on their clients, the lower-seniority coaches lacked for televisions in their cabins.
Chris went to the coffeemaker on the opposite side of the room. Shelley kept a fresh pot on throughout the day and, while he’d never been much of an afternoon coffee drinker, he helped himself to a cup. If nothing else, it would be something to do with his hands instead of fidgeting like an idiot when he attempted to search out Ted for information via the small talk he’d always sucked at.
He pulled out a chair at the table next to Ted’s and straddled the back of it. “You get shorted a client, or what are you doing hanging out here this time of day?”
Ted glanced over. “I’ve got one. She works nights, so her schedule’s off. She’s sleeping right now.” He looked back at the television, asking in a humdrum voice that said he could give two shits about the answer, “You?”
“Oh, I’ve got one, all right.” Chris packed the enthusiasm into his voice that Ted was missing. The blond guy glanced over again, and Chris gave a smug smile. “Treah pulled her aside for me for fear no one else could handle her—if you catch my drift.”
“That’s why you get paid the big bucks, right?” Ted asked dryly.
Chris was feeling like a jerk more and more. At the very least Ted’s indifferent attitude didn’t seem to suggest Nic had shared his murderer speculation with him. “I’m not exactly hurting for money,” Chris offered in his best Nic-the-bragster imitation. “Stick around a few years, pick up some tips from us seasoned experts, and you might be working for more than room and board, too, bro.”
Something flickered through Ted’s eyes. Bafflement over the way Chris was acting or annoyance over the assumption he made jack for a wage? Whatever it was, Ted didn’t take the bait to do some defensive bragging of his own, just shrugged and concentrated on the golf tournament.
A half minute of silence passed that felt damned awkward to Chris. He was about to leave when Ted asked, “Treah took off?”
Why did he want to know? Was he hoping Gwen went along for the ride, leaving easy access to Treah’s home and office? “I don’t know, did he?”
Ted frowned. “The Pacific branch opened last night. At the last staff meeting, he mentioned heading down there to see things started up smoothly.” He came to his feet. “I should get back to the cabin. See if Brenda’s up yet.”
Get away from the screwball way Chris was acting: Ted’s frown clarified that much. Did it also say he wasn’t guilty of stealing money? Hell, Chris couldn’t tell.
Giving up on the act, since no other guys were around and he sucked at questioning anyone other than his clients, Chris went to the front of the room. After trashing the untouched coffee cup, he grabbed the communication clipboard and pen from the wall ledge. He scribbled a request for one of the other healing coaches to bring their client by his cabin at some point during the week, and then headed home to give Claire the sex he’d earlier denied her.
For a price.
“Ready to take that walk?”
Claire’s heart kicked into high gear with the unexpected sound of Chris’s voice. After he’d left, she’d familiarized herself with her temporary home. Checking out his closets paid off in that she found her laptop and, shortly thereafter, discovered that the island had wireless service. A snippy e-mail to Erin had done wonders for her mood. Starting a review article for the Herald had time slipping away and, obviously, place as well, given how completely his return startled her.
She saved her work and closed her laptop. Setting the computer beside her on the couch, she shot him a get-real look. “I’m ready to go home.”
“No, you aren’t.” He smiled as he toed off his tennis shoes. “The change in venue is exactly what you need and you know it.”
She eyed his feet as he started over. Bare again. Was there any chance his sweatshirt would go the way of his shoes? “Okay, so I don’t hate it. I can’t say as much for the thought of how I’ll get home.”
He didn’t remove his shirt. He did move her laptop farther down the couch so he could sit beside her. Right beside her. Outer thigh rubbing against hers, he brought his hands to her shoulders and turned her upper half until her back was angled toward him. His fingers pressed into her muscles, kneading at knots of tension seven months in the making. “That’s weeks away. Don’t worry about it.”
Claire’s head lolled to the side as a shiver chased through her. Despite trying everything from meditation to masturbation, she hadn’t been able to relieve the knots. But, oh man, he had some fingers. The knots were either unraveling, or the flush of desire caused by his proximity was making it feel that way.
Sensual warmth slipped over her as Chris’s fingers continued their magic. With a happy murmur, she closed her eyes and sank into his touch.
Dare she keep going? Slip right back against his chest and onto his lap? Tip her head to the side so that her mouth could fuse with his and get another sampling of those dynamite lips? Yeah, she’d told him not to touch or kiss her again, but that was when her mind wasn’t functioning on all cylinders. Now she remembered what a once-in-a-lifetime chance spending these next weeks indulging in ecstasy with him could be. The key was to not get lost in pleasure to the point that he could get her outside.
“Why do you call it The Incident?”
Claire stiffened. So much for the magic. She opened her eyes and attempted to pull away from him. He curled his fingers around her shoulders, making the move impossible. Fine. She could be a big girl about it. Maybe. “What should I call it—‘The day that seriously fucked up my life’?”
His fingers returned to their kneading. “You weren’t hurt.”
This time the knots stayed firm, her body tense as never-far-buried memories threatened to surface. Physically, she hadn’t been hurt. Mentally, she’d been blown apart. “Like I said before, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Like I said, you’d be surprised what I understand.” Chris’s hands moved back to her shoulders, and he used his grip to bring her around to face him. Awareness filled his eyes. The kind of keen insight that suggested he really did get what was going on in her head. It had to be a trick of his training.
A