Page 18 of Just for Tonight

But still, there’s a little zing of anticipation as I watch Mackenzie. She moves briskly as she gets a towel from the bathroom as my pillow, then turns down the lights. She demands that I remove my shirt and I do as instructed, then lie down again. My eyes fly open as she straddles me, the feel of her thighs around me enough to set me on fire. I smell lotion and realize she’s rubbing her hands together, then there’s the cool press of her palms on the back of my shoulders.

Strong and gentle, pushing in all the right places. I know I let out a little groan. It feels sooooo good. I might come just from this.

“Why did you shave your beard?”

“It was time,” I say, which is the simplest explanation. “Miss it?”

“A little. It prickled.”

“I’ll grow it back then.”

She laughs. “You can do that tonight? How impressive.”

Her joke is a reminder I don’t really want. This isn’t going to happen again. It’s a fluke that it’s happening this time. Don’t count on more.

And I can’t grow my beard back until I take a vacation, thereby hiding its scrubby early progress from my co-workers.

I may never grow my beard back, a realization which makes me feel more grumpy than the prospect of no vacation on the horizon.

“There?” she asks and leans into one of the tight spots with the heel of her hand.

“Anywhere,” I say. “I’m all yours.”

“Promises, promises,” she teases then gets to work.

4

Mackenzie

Jake is completely ripped.

I could have suggested a massage just to get a better look at him naked, but it was a genuine impulse. That muscle in his shoulder was so tight that it could have been carved of steel. I knew something was bugging him.

No matter what he says or how offhand he pretends to be, the day your parent dies isn’t a party. I remember my dad’s death – sudden and from a heart attack, too – more clearly than most other things. I remember how empty I felt, like there was a hole in my life with him gone. I remember feeling rootless and uncertain. And devastated like I’d never been before. It’s been a while, but that grief is still there.

There’s going to be emotion when you have a big loss. If you don’t talk about it, then you’ll carry it around in your body, maybe for good.

I can already see that Jake is inclined to bottle up everything. Maybe I can help a bit in diffusing the grief he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Truth be told, I don’t mind the chance to get my hands on him. He’s smooth and strong, a guy who obviously takes pride in his fitness and his grooming. He’s not just handsome: he’s got that bit of swagger and confidence that turns heads. He could be a model, his dangerous little smile and the glint in his eyes convincing everyone that he’s sharing a private joke with them. It doesn’t hurt that he really knows how to dress and isn’t afraid to spend on his clothes. Even rumpled and tired as he was tonight, he could have been stepping out of a GQ ad for Italian bespoke suits.

Tonight, barefoot in jeans and a faded blue t-shirt, hair a bit wet from the shower, he looks like every one of my boy-next-door fantasies come true.

But he’s smart, smarter than most of the pretty boys I’ve known. That makes him a billion times sexier. One look and I could have made a feast of that first kiss, maybe even prompted him to take me against the wall. Mmm.

It was the shadows of his eyes that stopped me cold. Once I saw that he was hurting, I didn’t want to just have sex. It would have been less than we had before and I don’t want to taint that memory with anything less than another great encounter. I’d rather go without a second time around.

I just don’t like compromises.

Giving him a massage, though, is unexpectedly satisfying. His skin is warm under my hands and he really has surrendered completely. His hands are over his head, his fingers relaxed against the carpet. His hair is tousled and his eyes are closed. I feel each muscle battle against my fingers, then capitulate and soften. I can almost see the tension radiating outward. I work steadily and slowly from his neck over his shoulders and down his back. When I massage down his arms, I imagine the stress dripping out of his fingertips. I’d suggest that he imagine the same, but his breathing is slowing and becoming deeper. I place my hand flat against his skin, feeling how his heartbeat has slowed too. I know he’s fallen asleep.

I don’t move away for a long time. It’s quiet in the townhouse, just the soft sounds of the air conditioner doing its work, and the even quieter sounds of Havelock at night beyond the walls. I’m finding it relaxing, too. I roll my own shoulders and stretch.

Even after I’ve massaged out most of the tightness in his muscles. I keep running my hands over Jake, smoothing and caressing. I run my hands down his arms and stretch out, lying on top of him, my breasts crushed against his back. He makes a little noise of contentment and captures my hands within his, not waking up at all. I lean my head on the back of his neck and close my own eyes, savoring his warmth and strength. My breathing slows as I let the demands of my own day slide away.

I jerk awake half an hour later and realize I’ve dozed off myself. I know I can’t stay the night. My morning starts early and I need to be where people expect me to be.

I press a gentle kiss to Jake’s shoulder and ease my weight from his back. One more time, I’m sneaking away while he sleeps. One more time, he doesn’t seem to notice my departure.