Chapter Three

Kenzie

I'm so exhausted. All I want to do is go home, pop popcorn, watch tv, cuddle with Captain Fluff and read a book. Between the super long, weird morning with James, an argument with my sister over some guy she can't get over, and this class, I'm cooked. That said, I have two hours left and no more clients, so this is about to get really lame, really fast.

I peek into the hallway. Thankfully, I have the best spot in the place. Quick access to the bathroom and the first one out the door when the bell rings. I planned it like this. If you're first to show up, you get dibs on tables. Since the first class, everyone has kind of stuck to their own areas.

Thank God.

Right now, though, I could use a vending machine with something sweet. I need sugar to get me through the rest of the night. Sugar or caffeine. Maybe I should go for soda instead. Sugar makes me sleepy, and I want to be wide awake for the ride home.

We're not supposed to leave our area because someone else could come in and the professor wants us all in place, but I think there's a vending machine right around that corner. I bet I could get there and back before anyone noticed I was gone.

I grab my wallet and sneak into the hallway, pushing behind a closed door before I see the mana I've been searching for. Cola and candy. Score! I press the buttons for a diet and some Skittles, which really makes no sense. There's sugar in the Skittles and the diet is only replacing the sugar in the cola. I could get everything from a regular cola. It's more fun to eat the Skittles, though. They kind of fizz in your mouth when you down them with carbonated anything.

"Kenzie… where are you?" my professor"s voice echoes in the hallway.

Shit!Of course, the second I walk away, someone walks in.

"Coming!" I scuff my feet to give the impression that I'm hurrying, but I think I might be going the same speed as if I was just walking. "Hey… sorry! I was so thirsty. I didn't get a chance to grab dinner."

My professor isn't much older than me. I'd guess late twenties or early thirties. When I first met him, I thought he was going to be cool. He dresses all artsy and wears big, chunky, silver rings, and his hair is dyed grey like a hipster or something. I learned quickly, though, he's not cool. He's, in fact, uptight as hell.

"This is a job, Kenzie. You're getting paid to be here. No one wants sticky fingers all over their back."

I want to laugh because the ‘pay' I'm getting to be here is more reminiscent of mandatory community service than an actual job. I actually think prisoners might be getting paid more to sort mail than I am to give massages, but that's not the point, I guess. It's school, and I'm here to learn… not make money. Plus, the change I get each week really helps my Skittles addiction.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You can't do that. You can't disappe—"

"She's fine," a man's voice interrupts in the distance. I've heard it before, and the bass immediately tightens my chest. "I'm your next client. I'm ready when you are."

What the hell?

My professor looks toward me. "James has a sore shoulder and some lower back pain. He'd like you to work on him for the remaining time."

"Two hours? He wants a two-hour massage?"

My professor nods.

"I thought we didn't do two-hour massages because of lymphatic drainage and stuff."

Professor Carlo looks toward James, then back at me. "He's insisting, so we're going to give the client what he wishes."

I glance up and see my boss standing in the doorway. I've only ever seen him around Rugged Mountain. I didn't think he existed outside of that circle. Turns out, he can leave the mountain. He can leave the mountain, come to the Springs, enter my classroom, and ask for a massage that takes up the rest of my night.

That's not weird at all.

I smile, hiding every ounce of apprehension that's blooming within me. Why would he be here? Why would he want a massage? How did he know where I was? I didn't tell him where I went to class. I didn't tell him what nights I went to class. I didn't tell him anything. Yet now, he's here, and on the same day that he had this huge reaction to me ‘touching' other people.

I try to play it cool. This could all be coincidence. Or, like every episode of Dateline my mother made us watch growing up, this very attractive guy could be insane.

My chest tightens as I reenter the space.

"Hey." He reaches out for my hand as he says, "Sorry to show up like this. You mentioned massages earlier, and I thought that I could use one."

"Okay. Yeah." I nod and return his gesture for a handshake. It's the first time we've touched. His skin is so rough. "Why this place? It's pretty out of the way for you."

"Well, there's no one on the mountain that does massages and when I Googled places in the area, this was the cheapest place that showed up. I didn't realize it was a student spa until I checked in."

All of this could be true. We do offer the cheapest massages in a three-hour radius, and it is promoted like a spa, not as a school, which is kind of false advertising, if you ask me.

"You, ugh, you have to take your shirt off."

James grunts something deep in his throat before unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into a chair beside him. I don't get the vibe like he actually wants to be touched, but I guess we'll see.

Until now, I've only ever seen the muscles James puts on display. I knew he had strong biceps and shoulders. That was obvious. Now, I see so much more. His back is strong and muscular. His chest is tight and defined. And though he doesn't have a perfect six-pack like a book boyfriend, he's toned and fit with a trail of hair that covers his chest and roams down toward his jeans.

My skin heats.

Why is my skin heating?

"I'm going to touch you. Is that okay?" My voice cracks when I talk.

"Yes."

"Good." I try to steady my breath. "Tell me where it hurts, so I can focus on those areas. Okay?"

He sighs low in his throat as I unknot my fingers and try not to die when I touch him.

He's so… manly. So… perfect. So… weird.

My heart pounds and my breath quickens as I pool oil in my hands and warm it between my palms.

Right about now, I wish the room wasn't so basic. There are no fancy rock designs, no fish tanks, no trickling water wall. There aren't even tiles to count. I guess that's why we leave the shades slightly open. Our clients can enjoy the nature of this back city lot. Right now, though, they get the complete darkness edition.

I blow out a soft breath, staring down at the beast's muscular back, which is also covered in ink. I study the pictures drawn on him, trying to gather some sense of who he is. A dragon, a few skulls, an eagle on top of a globe with a flag nearby. I wonder if that's military. I make a mental note to look up which branch that would be when I get home.

"I hope you like lavender. It's the scent of the day."

Lavender.For a second, I'm reminded of my most recent book and the fields that the heroine was just rushed off to for a wild night of crazy sex. That's not the image I need in my head right now.

James groans again. It's a more guttural sound this time. Why am I so nervous to touch him? I'm not nervous to touch anyone. I've given hundreds of massages at this point. I don't even think about it anymore. Skin is skin, and bodies are bodies. If you've seen one, you've seen them all. However, James is different. He's… so very different.

I slide my hands over his biceps and work the tension that's built between his shoulder blades. He's so stiff.

He growls low but doesn't speak.

"Is that where it hurts?"

He grunts out a response as I dig deeper into the muscles. My thumbs probe and poke at his shoulder, scorching trails through the knotted space between his joints. For the most part, everyone's muscles tell a story. An office worker typically has shoulder pain from being hunched over a computer. An athlete has more pinpoint pain that's usually in the calves or forearms, depending on the sport. A rancher, like James, would typically see a lot of lower back and shoulder pain.

I drag my hands down over his body and sweep the area, studying him like a map for areas to concentrate on. When I reach another tight spot on his far lower back, I feel scar tissue beneath the surface.

"You have some damage here. What happened?"

"Not sure." As usual, his responses are quick and void of anything informational. I thought we were progressing earlier. "Aren't massages supposed to be quiet?"

My chest tightens and I pinch my lips together in an effort to move forward with the most amount of kindness possible. Usually, that's easy for me. I figure people become angry because of something that's happened to them, not because of me. I can't see their whole life. I don't know their whole story. So, I don't take anything personal. But right now, I'm teetering on an explosion.

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, continuing to work his back. "Why did you come here, really?"

He stills. I don't even feel air filtering from his lungs.

I want to swallow the words up, drag them back into my mouth, and eat them like Skittles. Instead, I stand lifeless in the center of the room, working on my effleurage, praying he didn't hear my question. I don't know why. It's a fair one. Why did he come here?

"I'm sorry?" He leans up, stretching his muscles with him. God, he's gorgeous. He's too gorgeous, and this whole thing is confusing as hell.

"Nothing. It was nothing."

He nods and leans forward. "Okay then."

Okay then?

My stomach sinks as I rub his back and listen to the soft sounds of a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. No rain yet, but it's coming. For a second, my eyes close as I touch him. I don't know what I'm doing, what I'm thinking, or why the slight aggression in his tone gets me off like it does, but I want this man to do filthy things to me.

My clit throbs as I imagine him turning around. His rough hands on my body. His beard tickling my thighs. God, I bet I could do things to him that could make his day a whole lot better than just getting a massage.

I've been reading too many romance novels.I laugh to myself. That or I really need to get laid. Either way, apparently, I'm the girl that thinks her blow jobs could cure a lifetime of being miserable.

I'm pretty sure I giggle out loud when that thought crosses my mind, and it's confirmed when the beast speaks.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, I was thinking of something funny."

"What?"

"It was weird." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, swiping oil on my face by accident.

"So, tell me."

"No. You like your massages quiet, remember?"

"But you're laughing. I want to know why."

"It was nothing." I rub his shoulder and work up to his neck before scratching into his hair lightly. "You were right. You need this. You should relax a little."

He pushes up from the chair and turns around. His bare chest is toward me, and his stoic eyes are locked on mine. Heat is in the air, though I can't explain why. "You're laughing at me."

"No." I smile unintentionally. Can I swallow that down, too? "I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at myself."

"What about?" he grumbles.

I swallow hard, trying to think of anything and everything… except what I was thinking. "I…"

"You're making something up now. Just tell me the truth!"

"I was wondering what it takes to make you happy."

He looks away. "What? Why? I'm happy."

I laugh. "Yeah, I don't believe that for a second."

His eyes go inward, and I watch him think over whatever he's going to say next. When he finally speaks there's a wild in his gaze that wasn't there before. "What do you think it would take then… to make me happy."

God, I want to tell him how good I'd be at sucking the demons straight from his cock, but I bite back the urge and shrug instead.

"I don't know. I mean if a massage can't relax you, I don't know what would."

"The massage is nice. Your hands, they feel good. You… you're good at this."

Considering how hard it is for him to complete a sentence, that was impressive.

"Thank you. Why don't you lean back, and I'll finish."

He glances toward the clock. "No, thanks. Why don't you take off for the night."

I laugh. "I don't think you get to tell me that. You're not my boss here. I have to answer to my professor."

"I'll talk to him. You've had a long day. You'd just be working me anyway, since I paid for time."

Considering I wouldn't mind leaving for the night, I nod and smile knowing there's no way on Earth this plan of his is going to work.

He stands from the chair, forgetting his shirt as he tucks behind the curtain, leaving me in a puddle of longing as I wait for his return. I should really talk to someone about this. Lusting after crazy men really isn't safe.

A moment later, the beast comes back in the room with Professor Carlo behind him.

"Don't expect this every week," Carlo chides.

You don't get to be the boss of me any more tonight, sir.

I'm so wet right now. Why, though? Why do I want to be next to the guy who's walking around giving everyone orders like he owns them? Why did Carlo even listen?

Well… I know why they listen. James is incredibly intimidating. The better question is why does it turn me on? Why is my clit throbbing? Why do my thighs ache? Why do I want him to push me onto that massage chair and fuck me?

It's this lavender. It's evoking thoughts of that spicy romance novel. I need to change oils.

I nod and gather my things as the professor leaves the room, but James stays.

"You can take off. I'm just going to clean up here."

"What is there to do? I'll help."

Okay, now I know something is up. This man didn't drive all the way to town to get half a massage then help me clean up.

"Really, why did you come out here?"

He looks toward me, his face stoic. "I'm following you back to town. There's a storm on the way." These are the only words that spill from his lips before he steps outside, leaving me in a haze of what the fuck is happening.