her hand toward one of the mauve-print club chairs.
“It’s easier if I stand.”
“Hmm, okay. So…what can I do for you?” She rested her hip against the side of the reception desk.
“I was interested in what you offer…your services.”
Her throat went bone-dry. He had the longest lashes. Were those flecks of cinnamon in his eyes? Every time that he said something the rich timbre of his voice vibrated inside her like a tuning fork.
She ran her tongue across her lips. “Umm, I could show you around, give you the ten cent tour. I’m sorry that I haven’t had brochures made up yet, but the list of services are posted on the wall.”
He turned slightly to the left and glimpsed the whiteboard with the list. Slowly, he walked over, trying to minimize his limp. “You do all of this?” He turned his head toward her and his eyes seemed to sparkle above his yummy smile.
“Yep.” She stuck her hands out and wiggled her fingers.
His laughter filled her with a wild sense of gleeful abandonment. “Take your pick.”
“What would you suggest?”
She crossed the short space to stand next to him and folded her arms. She scanned the board and made a mental note that she reached his shoulder. “Hmm, I would start you off with a steam for ten minutes, followed by a full-body massage and some aromatherapy.”
He angled toward her and glanced down into her upturned face. She seemed to be lit from within. A warmth radiated from her and embraced him in a soothing cocoon. He felt…peaceful. That was it. She took all the noise away.
Maurice cleared his throat. “I know you’re probably booked.” His dark, smoky eyes rolled slowly over her face, down the long column of her neck and…
“I have an opening…” She coughed into her fist. “’Scuse me.” Her face was on fire. “At the end of the day. If five o’clock works for you.” She swallowed and wondered if he could actually hear her heart hammering in her chest.
“Five is fine. Do I need to bring anything?”
“No.” She offered a smile. “Just yourself.”
He grinned at her and she noticed the small dimple in his right cheek.
“See you at five.”
She probably should have run over and opened the door for him or something, but she just stood there like Lot’s wife—a pillar of salt.
She snapped out of it when the chime over the door signaled his departure and she actually breathed in and out. She sat down on the side of the desk and stared at the empty space that Maurice had filled moments ago. What the hell was it about that man that made her all un-Layla? She knew the pitfalls of sexual magnetism that drowned out everything else. Because what else could it be but a crazy sexual attraction? He was a stranger albeit a tall, dark, gorgeous stranger that had her libido on overdrive. Meanwhile, the man only wanted a massage, not a long, lusty, sweaty roll in the sack.
She shook her head and pushed up from the side of the desk. “Yeah, it’s been too long since you’ve had a man.”
The next four hours crept by. In between each application of oil, or deep tissue pressure onto the backs and thighs of her clients, Layla checked the clock. Was it really possible what they said about time standing still?
Mercifully her last client walked out of the door. It was 4:30. The speed of her heart began a steady spiral. She busied herself with reorganizing, restocking and making sure that the perfect combination of oils were on hand. She lit two of the oil burners in the massage room and within moments the dimly lit room was awash in a heady, soothing scent of ylang-ylang.
At precisely five on the dot, the chimes over the door jingled. She drew in a breath and walked out front.
Her spirit dropped to her ankles but she still plastered a welcoming smile on her face.
“Hello, how may I help you?” she asked the young blonde woman who stood in the door looking very much like Reese Witherspoon.
“Hi. I wanted to find out about the services.”
“Sure. Let me show you the list of what I offer.” They walked over to the whiteboard and Layla began explaining the services.
“Pretty extensive.”
“I want this to be as full-service as I can manage,” Layla said with a smile. “What brings you to The Port?”
The woman took off her dark shades to reveal startling green eyes. “Needed to get away. I lost my husband a little more than a year ago. This time of year is very difficult.” She forced a tight smile. “I hoped with a change in location…it might be easier.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
She waved off the remark. “Thank you. I’m sure you don’t need to hear my sad story.”
The door chimed again. Layla’s gaze snapped in the direction of the opening door. Maurice stood in the frame of the doorway and she felt all the alarms go off at once.
The woman glanced over her shoulder wondering who or what had caused Layla to stop talking midsentence.
Layla’s breath hitched for an instant. “Hello.”
The woman’s gaze moved between Layla and Maurice. She put her shades back on. “Do you have a card?”
Layla blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She hurried over to her desk and retrieved a card from the silver plated holder and handed it to the woman.
“How far in advance do I need to make an appointment?”
“You can always call when you’re ready. If I have an opening I’ll be happy to immediately accommodate you. But if you want an appointment if you can call at least the day before, I can usually work something out. It’s been pretty busy since I’ve opened.”
The woman nodded. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from me.” She extended her hand. “My name is Kim by the way.”
“Hope to see you again, Kim.”
Kim walked toward the door. She gave a slight nod of her head and started to walk out but then stopped. She frowned just a bit as she looked up at Maurice as if trying to get him into focus. “You look familiar. I know it’s a big world, but are you any relation to Rafe Lawson?”
Layla noticed the subtle tightening of his expression.
“Cousin.”
Kim beamed and wagged her finger. “I knew I spotted a resemblance.” She stuck out her hand. “Kim Fleming. I haven’t seen Rafe in ages. Please tell him hello for me.”
“Sure.”
She opened the door. “Thanks again,” she said to Layla. “You two have a good afternoon.” She offered a knowing smile and walked out.
Layla folded her hands in front of her. “Small world, huh?”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Listen maybe we can do this another time.”
He finally focused on her and the raw anger that was reflected in his eyes and the set countenance of his face caused Layla to take an inadvertent step back. His thick brows were drawn tightly together and his full mouth had tightened into a flat line. His chest rose and fell much too rapidly.
Layla’s eyes moved over his face and down to his hand that clenched the handle of his cane in a death grip. She dared to reach out. She covered that hand with her own.
“I can guarantee that after an hour whatever it is that’s bothering you won’t seem quite as important,” she said softly.
Maurice’s gaze dropped down to their hands then slowly up to her face. By degrees the knot in his gut began to loosen.