dare imagine whether she’d stripped off completely beneath the towel or if she had on just a pair of panties because he was already hard. He’d gone undercover in the worst biker bars in California, fought hard, ridden fast. A massage should have been easy, but he’d never been so hot for a woman before.
She turned her head and muttered something. He didn’t give a damn what it was.
He pressed his finger against her lips. “Not one word.”
“Or...?” Sweet challenge filled her voice and, yeah, he wanted to show her. Instead, he worked his way down the straight line of her spine, headed for her ass.
“I have my ways.” He sounded like a bad villain. He might as well have rolled over and showed his belly, because she ignored his answer and started talking again, directing him from one muscle group to the other so matter-of-factly that she probably didn’t even realize she was doing it. Laney Parker was definitely a woman who was used to being in control. He recognized her need because he felt the same way. But one of them had to give and it sure wasn’t going to be him.
“We need to be clear on one thing.” He leaned forward, so his mouth was level with her ear. “I’m in charge.”
* * *
GRAY HAD MAGIC HANDS. Laney should have gone for sixty or even the full ninety minutes instead of the paltry thirty minutes she’d ponied up for. He was that good.
“You’re tight here.” He pressed a particularly tense spot on her back, and she stopped caring that she was stretched out, bare-ass naked and vulnerable. God, he was good.
“Trigger point.” Not, apparently, that she needed to tell him. The man knew what he was doing.
“Are you a doctor?”
“Trauma surgeon.” Was that sultry whisper her voice? Because, if so, Gray was definitely a miracle worker. She felt herself melting under his touch and, wow, how long had it been since she’d done that?
He found and pressed against another knot. “So I should call you Dr. Parker.”
He moved around to the front of the massage bed. The bed had one of those circle doughnut things that she’d always thought were awkward. She opened her eyes as Gray’s feet moved into view. She’d never had a foot fetish before, but he was barefoot, and his feet were sun-bronzed and strong-looking. Those few inches of bare skin made her want to see more. She’d bet the rest of him was every bit as spectacular.
It was probably bad she found his feet sexy. He was just doing a job.
Really, really well.
He gently pulled her ponytail free before running his hands through her hair, pressing his fingertips against her scalp. Maybe she’d been a cat in a former life, because she’d always loved having her hair played with. For long minutes, Gray rubbed small sensual circles against her scalp. She bit back a moan. Just lie here. Keep still. She probably wasn’t supposed to arch off the table, screaming more, more, more. Although she could. She definitely could.
He moved closer, his thighs brushing against the bed. If she lifted her head, the situation could get awkward fast. Thinking about that made her stiffen up again, but then he cupped the back of her neck, pressing and rotating. And oh, sweet baby Jesus, she could feel the tension melting away. The small tugs on her hair sent a prickle of excitement through her entire body.
“Should I call you Doctor?” he prompted.
“Laney is just fine.” The words rushed out on a sigh.
She stared at his feet again, trying to regain her equilibrium. He’d made her drool, damn it.
“Holding still isn’t so bad?” He followed up the wicked amusement in his voice with another sensual tug on her hair.
She didn’t know him. She’d never been the kind of woman who had casual sex. Because that was a personal choice she’d made, she reminded herself. Lovemaking was about as intimate as it got, and she’d never fantasized about letting a stranger touch her.
Before now, the traitorous voice in her head said, because evidently she was seriously considering taking her sex life in a whole new direction. Gray’s direction. The purpose of coming to Fantasy Island had been to take charge of her life. To be someone different, even if the change was only temporary. She wanted to be fun and flirtatious and, yes, just a little wild. In a few more days, she’d go back to being Laney Parker, MD, but on this island she could be someone else. The kind of woman who made her fantasies a reality.
* * *
HE NEEDED TO step back. Laney was a doctor, a paying guest—and a civilian. She was undoubtedly an upright, tax-paying US citizen, and he had no business running his hands over her skin. In fact, he was fairly certain that, Hippocratic Oath or not, she was the kind of woman who’d kill him if he played games with her.
So sue him. He liked that, too.
Because he wasn’t playing nice, he tugged the sheet lower, exposing the dimples above the sweet curve of her butt. She hadn’t gone completely naked beneath her sheet. She’d kept her panties on, and he immediately wondered what it would take to coax her out of them, because he was a bastard and not nice. And iron-hard at just a glimpse of those white panties and the strip of pale skin above the band. He brushed a knuckle over the topmost edge. She’d be wearing something silky, he decided. Panties that were as simple and elegant as the rest of her.
She lifted her head and he retreated a step. Not because he wanted to—he was a guy, after all, and would be more than happy to have her face pressed against his groin—but because he really wasn’t a creeper, and he didn’t want to spoil her enjoyment of the massage. Still, he was sorry he’d moved when she looked up at him, hair tumbling around her face, eyes slumberous.
She mumbled something incoherent that ended with on the menu?
What. The. Hell. He was a SEAL and a fighter. Bar fight, the government’s fight—as long as it involved fists and a beat down, he was all in. This menu business, however, was unfamiliar territory. He had no idea what she was talking about.
“The menu.” He gave her words back to her as if repetition would somehow miraculously clear up his confusion. Spa menu? Room service menu? He hated being out of his element.
She blushed, and blood surged to his dick. God. He’d have given his left nut to know what she’d been thinking. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Her phone dinged behind him on the counter where he’d tossed it, and she bolted upright. “Time’s up,” she announced, looking relieved.
“That’s my line,” he rasped, but she hopped off the table before he could finish getting the words out. He exhaled and considered his options. He probably shouldn’t swing her to a stop, but the way she was hightailing it away from his cabana was far from flattering.
Exercising remarkable self-control, Gray let her go, all the while mentally running through plans in his head. A quick check of the week’s schedule revealed Laney Parker had another massage scheduled for tomorrow. In fact, the concierge had been busy, because she had appointments scheduled for every day this week. He grinned. He’d bet she was the kind of woman who kept a date.
Levi strolled over and dropped a load of fresh towels on the bed. “Do you suck that badly?”
It was a distinct possibility. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“She’s coming back for more?” His pal looked understandably skeptical.
He hoped so.
“She mentioned a menu.” Maybe Levi knew something he didn’t.
“She was hungry?” A frown creased the other man’s forehead. No help there. “Or really, really desperate for something alcoholic to drink? Either way, that means you officially stink at being a masseuse.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered.