The other man turned and extended his hand. “Marcus Taylor, Master Masseur at your service.”
Masseur. An intrusion he didn’t need, but Ben shook Marcus’s hand, certain of one thing—he couldn’t stand the thought of this man touching Grace. Ben didn’t give a damn if the guy made a living with those hands or how professional the contact. He wasn’t sliding his fingers down Grace’s smooth skin. He wouldn’t be the one to make her muscles slacken or elicit those contented sighs.
Ben shook the man’s hand then dug into his pocket. “How much are you getting paid for this gig?”
“Ben!” Grace sounded outraged in her best, snooty Montgomery voice.
He loved it.
Over her protest, Marcus named a sum only Emma Montgomery would pay for an hour’s worth of work. “Up front,” the man added.
“Tell you what,” Ben counted out the money he’d withdrawn earlier today, “the lady and I want to be alone. This ought to cover the use of your equipment plus some. Take the night off. I’ll leave your stuff for you with the doorman.”
Grace watched the exchange—of dialogue and cash—mouth open wide. He touched the bottom of her chin and pushed her jaw closed. She stood, arms crossed, eyes huge, but not a word of protest crossed her lips. Ben gained a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing she preferred his touch to the professional’s.
“Grace?” Marcus turned toward her.
As an additional incentive, Ben added the last hundred-dollar bill in his pocket to the stash. Marcus snatched up the wad of cash Ben had flashed his way. “It’ll help pay for the engagement ring my girlfriend’s been eyeing,” he explained sheepishly.
“At least it’s going for something worthwhile,” Ben said. Because he sure as hell couldn’t afford the expense of paying Marcus off.
He glanced at Grace. Her warm brown eyes had darkened with pleasure and she laughed, a sparkling, infectious laugh. He still had his point to make, but there were more effective ways than yelling, he thought wryly. And as far as his wallet was concerned, some sacrifices were worth the price.
* * *
Ben had banished her from the bedroom while he set up. Grace paced the floor of her living room, anticipation and desire building inside her. She had no illusions. He was still furious, but at least he’d been jealous over Marcus—jealous enough to buy the man off.
She shivered, knowing as much as she loved her newfound independence, she loved Ben’s take-charge attitude, too. Especially when he directed it at her.
She waited as he took over her birthday surprise, unable to believe she’d forgotten Emma’s ritual. Every year since Grace had turned eighteen, Emma had sent a personal masseur to her granddaughter as a special gift. Take care of the body and the spirit will follow. Because Grace had suffered migraines since she was a child, usually brought on by the stress of living under her parents’ rigid rules and incessant fights, Emma had insisted she follow that particular prescription for healing. What had begun as a kind of therapy had turned into a birthday gift Grace truly enjoyed—and normally looked forward to.
During the years when she’d lived off her trust, a massage by Marcus had been a weekly event included in her budget. But she was older and wiser these days, and such a frivolity wasn’t something she needed. And she realized now that she wasn’t splurging on herself, Emma’s gift meant so much more.
So did Ben’s.
“Come on in,” Ben called out. “Sheet’s on the bed
. Change and I’ll be right out.”
A delicious tingling arose inside her as she walked into her room. He’d closed himself in her bathroom, giving her privacy as Marcus would have done.
She undressed, ignoring the sudden chill on her skin. She’d be warm soon enough. A tremor of awareness shot down her spine, an anticipation unlike any she’d ever felt before. Because this wouldn’t be just any massage.
Wrapping herself in the cool sheet, she climbed onto the padded table and stretched out on her stomach, adjusting the sheet until it covered her back but could be easily removed. “All set,” she called out, then rested her head against her arms and waited.
The bathroom door opened. The sound of creaking hinges sounded unnaturally loud in her small bedroom; so did the padded footsteps that came up behind her. “Music?” Ben asked.
“Mmm. The waterfall.” Nothing soothed her more than the echo of cascading water and the soft strains of a violin in the background.
He shuffled through the CDs and placed her choice into the player, then drew the shades and dimmed the lights. The result was a shift in atmosphere. The bubbling sounds of water mentally transported her from her bedroom to a solitary outdoor spot.
Soon, the intoxicating scent of coconut oil filled her nostrils, reminding her of days at the beach and the sinful delights she knew Ben had in store. With each silent minute that passed, her anticipation built. Lying face down, her breasts pressed against the table and a heavy feeling growing between her legs, a need for Ben’s touch became overwhelming.
Finally, his large, warm hands began their job, working with deep, circular motions against the soles of her feet, relaxing muscles she didn’t know she had. Tension and stress seeped out of her body as she was lulled into a blissful state of oblivion.
His firm touch eased its way up her calves and lingered before reaching her thighs—and that’s where oblivion ended and awareness took over. Sensual, sexual, heated awareness of the firm touch on the back of her legs and the long fingers easing their way upward, to places no regular masseur would ever venture to go.
“I’m not sure this is within the definition of massage.”