I blinked, rousing from my sleep. Lifting my head, I found the sheet held in the air above me. It blocked Reeve’s face. He wanted me to change sides, I realized. He was covering me so that I could make the shift without being exposed.
And it’s not Reeve, silly. It’s Geoffrey, I said to myself, scooting down so my head wasn’t lying on the face cradle.
Except when he let the sheet fall again, it actually was Reeve’s face that stood above me. What the fuck? When the hell had he come in?
“Uh, hi.” I sat up suddenly, clutching the sheet to me, disoriented from my dream. When had Geoffrey gone? Had I slept longer than I thought? Spoken in my sleep? How embarrassing. I wiped my mouth, hoping I wasn’t drooling.
Reeve smiled in that devilish way he often did – the way that made the insides of my thighs tingle. “Hello. Did you enjoy your nap?”
“I enjoyed the massage before the nap. Geoffrey is really —” I cut myself off, noticing Reeve was wearing suit pants and a dress shirt, but no jacket. His sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was missing. Clarity bolted through me. “That was you the whole time, wasn’t it?”
He answered with a question that was all the affirmation I needed. “Ready to go on?”
“Sure.” It was still the dream. It had to be. I lay back on the table and closed my eyes.
The sheet was tucked around my upper thigh, exposing my leg. I heard the pump of the lotion dispenser. Reeve picked up my foot and began rubbing at my ankle, working his way down to the sole. At my heel, he used just his thumbs, alternating them up and down with medium pressure.
I fought against the moan that threatened. It felt good. So good. Too good.
Too good to be a dream.
Fuck, this wasn’t a dream. My eyes flew open. Peering down at him, I found him watching me with a satisfied grin. As if he’d been waiting for my gaze to meet his. Or as if he’d been watching my expression.
I propped myself up with my elbows. It really was Reeve. He really was there. “I’m sorry. I’m sort of out of it.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” His face was somber, and I couldn’t decide if he was teasing or not.
Mostly, I couldn’t decide why he was there in the first place. Reeve wasn’t a man to do things without motive. Was this a friendly surprise? Was this his way of making the first move that he insisted he always did?
I hoped it was. Because that would mean I hadn’t fucked up after all. That would mean that plan A was back on. It would mean that there could be more between Reeve and I, and that was increasingly becoming very important to me.
But after the way he’d left me the night of our date, I was almost sure that a friendly surprise was wishful thinking. And something about his tone felt icy. Ominous. Or was that my imagination, fueled by cobwebs remaining from my dream?
“You’re thinking too much,” Reeve chided, as if he could read my mind. “Lay down. Let your mind go.”
His eyes left mine to concentrate on his hands. He moved up to my calf now, digging into the sensitive knots with a walk of his knuckles. His touch was so specific, so concentrated. So in tune with what I needed.
I resigned myself to it and lay back down. But there was no way I could let my mind go again. Not now. There was too much tension between Reeve and I, and as he kneaded and stroked me into a listless puddle, the tension between us wound tighter. It was a much different experience than it had been when I’d thought it was Geoffrey hovering over me. Now the massage didn’t just feel good, it felt sensual. Now the firm pressure from Reeve’s hands wasn’t just good technique, it was intimate. Now the sheet didn’t seem modest, it seemed skimpy. Now I wasn’t relaxed, I was aroused.
Especially as his hands got higher. And higher. When he bent my knee. When his kneading met the muscles of my hips. When his fingers worked the inside of my thigh, up, up, the tips brushing the outer lips of my pussy.
Heat boiled in my veins. Want. Need. It took every ounce of my strength not to fidget and squirm. Everything not to beg for him to… what? More. That was all I could articulate. Just, more.
To keep myself centered, I watched him intently as he invaded the landscape of my body. He was focused. Restrained. Professional, when this wasn’t even his job. Controlled. Always controlled.
But his quiet intensity gave him away. I saw the effort it took. Saw the desire cloud his features. Saw his eyes sweep along my skin. I stopped wondering what this was and started wondering what it could be.
He tugged at the sheet and I hoped. But he merely covered my leg and moved to repeat the process on the other side.
Except this time, he spoke. “I hope you’re nice and relaxed, Emily. Because we need to have a chat.”
Apprehension fluttered in my belly. Chatting was definitely not the direction I wanted to go in from here. Whatever he had to say, I couldn’t possibly listen. I was too agitated.
But without him spelling it out, I knew those were the terms of this arrangement. He’d touch me – in his way. And I’d listen, whether I wanted to or not.
So I propped myself up again and gave him as much of my attention as I could.
“It’s interesting,” he said, his thumbs doing that amazing thing on the bottom of my foot, “how people respond to you when they believe you’ve gotten away with murder.”
My stomach dropped. No speech that started with murder had a happy ending.
“Most people are frightened of you,” he said as his hand stroked up my shin. “They pull their business. They stop attending your events. They certainly won’t let themselves be seen with you. It’s not really anything to fret over, losing those connections. You don’t want cowards in your court. Good riddance to them.”