The Masseuse Read Online Free

his body. My eyes dropped to the open collar of his white dress shirt. The lines of his throat collided with a swell of muscle that disappeared beneath the pressed fabric. Just the top of his collarbone was revealed, and my fingers itched to trace it, to spread his shirt open so I could see what would surely be the impressive physique beneath.
    I wasn’t the only one enjoying the view. He devoured me with his eyes, leaving me feeling naked and wanting. His thumb tapped against his thigh, the only betrayal of his composed facade. The tension in the room became so thick I could barely breathe. Surely he had to feel it sizzling between us.
    He moved closer, steps fluid like a jungle cat, and sat on the edge of the desk, an arm’s length away. At five foot four I wasn’t short, but even though he was seated, I had to look up to him. He made no sign that he could hear the sounds of sex just outside, but I could. I’d never been more uncomfortable, embarrassed, or turned on.
    He crossed his arms over his muscular chest, knees spread, and because I was suddenly envisioning myself kneeling between them, I stepped back, tearing away from the pull he had on me.
    “What are you doing here?” I managed.
    His mouth turned up in a grin. He had a dimple on one side that was somehow cute and erotic at the same time. The shadows of worry I’d seen in the picture were hidden now. Maybe he’d exorcised those demons. If they were anything like mine, I doubted it. Experiences that gave you a look like that marked you for life.
    Not that I presumed to know anything about him.
    He tilted his head, as if trying to read my mind.
    “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
    I tried to concentrate on his words, but outside, the woman began a series of staccato cries, matching each thrust.
    “Yes,”
she cried.
“Yes! I’m coming. Don’t stop!”
    “I got a little lost,” I said.
    “I see.”
    He glanced to the paperwork on the desk, a frown flashing quickly across his face. It made me nervous.
    “What were you looking for in here, Anna?” His voice had hardened.
    My brows lifted. He knew my name. It shouldn’t have stirred up the butterflies inside me—he was Mr. Stein’s security, or bodyguard maybe. He’d probably known who I was since he had approached me on the street.
    “I was just trying to get out of the way,” I said truthfully.
    His eyes narrowed. “To hide.”
    “That’s right.”
    I felt a chill cut through the room. That wary look in his eyes returned, just for one unmistakable moment. The sudden urge to smooth the lines between his brows with my thumbs took me by surprise.
    “I wasn’t here to steal anything, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said.
    “Why would I think that?”
    I placed my hands on my hips, feeling the defensiveness creep up inside me.
    “I signed the papers. No stealing. No picking the flowers. No feeding the fish.”
    He gave a little snort and relaxed again, turning the papers facedown on the desk. I wondered what was so important that he was trying to hide—I could care less about engine designs, plane or otherwise—but I reminded myself that one didn’t become a millionaire without being a little bit paranoid.
    I cleared my throat. “Are you his son?” It occurred to me how twisted this was if it were true. At sixteen, I’d walked in on my parents in bed, and all two seconds were enough to leave permanent scars.
    He shook his head. “I work for him.”
    That was a little better, but not much.
    He stood and, before he could get too close, I backed into the bookshelf. The pictures rattled, and I spun to hold them in place before any fell.
    He stepped closer. I could feel his body behind me. Fighting the image of us naked, I turned slowly, my throat dry.
    “What do you do, exactly?” I asked weakly. He was close enough to touch. I kept my hands down at my sides, fearful I would forget myself if I touched him, aware that my breasts, heaving with each breath, were just