Page 39
“Lie down,” he repeated, firm enough that she actually, unaccountably, listened.
But she certainly wasn’t going to lie facedown. Instead, she shimmied down the table and lowered herself onto her back, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
With a chuckle, Kenton took it from her death grip and tucked it across her chest. Only her arms were exposed, so he started there. His wickedly talented hands moved from her shoulder downward, rubbing and kneading.
“Relax,” he ordered.
“High-handed much?”
His lips pursed, making him look like a king’s errant son, one who knew he could never be disciplined for his devilish ways.
“You are a client, not a patient, and the amount of money I gave your masseur more than compensates for what I assured him would be a welcome surprise.”
She was about to comment on the fact that he’d bribed her masseur when the tail end of his statement penetrated her thoughts.
“A welcome surprise? After you ordered me out of your house like that?”
He dropped her arm, ignoring her statement, and moved to the counter. Another wave of scented oil reached her. No wonder she hadn’t detected his usual scent. That thought gave way to another—did he really plan on giving her a massage?
Lifting the blanket over her left leg, he tucked it around her, just as the masseur would do, leaving nothing but her leg exposed. When he placed his hands on her thigh, Alessandra didn’t have time to react as they moved expertly over her.
Holy shit.
“I apologize for the way I reacted. The . . . intensity of my feelings scared me.”
What could she possibly say to that? Just the fact that he’d admitted to being scared, of anything, stunned her into silence. And then the way he was touching her . . .
When his hand reached her foot, Alessandra was sure she was going to die. Right here, right now. On this table.
“You do that like . . . an expert.”
He continued to massage her, kneading his warm fingers into her flesh.
“I am an expert at many things, Alessandra.”
He wasn’t flirting. Well, not entirely. And it wasn’t an empty boast either. She had the distinct impression that Kenton was simply telling the truth.
If she hadn’t been wet before, she was now. Her body clenched with wanting as she watched his every movement, imagining how expertly he would savor the rest of her body if given the chance.
“Who are you?” Alessandra desperately wanted to close her eyes and allow herself to simply feel each touch of his hands. But she needed answers more.
His fingers pressed into the soles of her feet.
“I told you, I am English—”
“No, who are you? And who, or what, is Lawrence?”
Something else had just occurred to her.
“I take it the oils blocked your scent, but why didn’t I sense your presence when you first came in here?”
“I don’t know.” He untucked the blanket from her leg and covered it, moving to her other side. “Perhaps you did and just ignored it.”
There had been that shiver . . . only she’d written it off as anticipation for the massage.
After exposing her right leg, Kenton began his ministrations again on her upper thigh. She tried not to look down. The sight of his hands on her that way, coupled with the intensity of his gaze . . . a girl could only take so much.
“Cheld are typically trained,” he said. “Or at least guided by those who have gone before them. But you . . . your lack of knowledge has resulted in a certain dormancy of your abilities.”
