Edward sighed. “That feels great.”
“I’m glad,” I said hoarsely. Dripping more richly scented oil onto his skin, I rubbed the length of his back in silence, the long muscles of his legs, one at a time, to the soles of his feet. Then I lifted the towel a few inches above his body. “Roll over.”
He didn’t move. “It’s, um, not necessary.”
“Of course it is.” It was difficult to stand there holding the towel away from his naked backside and not look. My tone was waspish. “I have to do your other side. Do you want your muscles to be lopsided? Your back relaxed, your front all stiff?”
“Um...”
“For heaven’s sake, just turn over!”
So he did. Exhaling with relief, I gingerly tossed the towel over his front for modesty.
And I saw that his front side was, indeed, stiff. My eyes went wide.
Oh my God, was that—him?
I’d never seen any man naked before. I wasn’t seeing him naked now, just the shape of him jutting from his body, almost pornographically explicit beneath the white terry cloth towel, cylindrical and huge. Were all men that large? My cheeks burned, but I stared down at him, fascinated, unable to look away.
Then I felt Edward’s gaze. “I took you for a virgin, but you truly don’t have any experience at all, do you?”
“I’ve had lots,” I lied. Our eyes met, and my shoulders sagged. “If you mean work. With men—none.”
“Not even with Jason?” he said incredulously. “No experience with sex, of any kind?”
The burn of my cheeks had turned radioactive now, and I couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve been kissed once or twice.”
“You’re twenty-eight!”
“I know,” I snapped. To hide my embarrassment, I turned away to grab the oil. He’d had a purely physical reaction, I told myself, the automatic response of his hungry male body to the touch of any female. It wasn’t that he wanted me. Not in particular. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
I did a quick comparison between his perfectly chiseled body, his power and wealth and his incredible masculine good looks—and what I had on offer.
Nope.
If you lose an inch of moral high ground, rush back to it as quick as you can, Mrs. Warreldy-Gribbley advised. Clearing my throat, I said reproachfully. “Keep this professional, please.”
“You first,” he said, sounding amused. Leaning his head back against his palms, he closed his eyes, and I remembered how he’d caught me staring.
Feeling foolish, I tentatively massaged the muscles of his chest, his arms, his shoulders. I was gentle with the injuries that still hadn’t completely healed, but even those were starting to disappear. He was no longer wearing bandages of any kind. There was nothing to keep my hands off his skin as I traced over the twisted muscles, the jagged scars. He was powerful, virile, sexy. He’d nearly vanquished the accident that had devastated his body. Heaven only knew what gaping wound still remained in his heart.
I looked down at him on the massage table. His eyes were still closed, but there was a twist to his lips I couldn’t read.
“What are you thinking?” I blurted out. I bit my lip, but there was no taking it back.
His dark blue eyes slit open infinitesimally.
“A dangerous question,” he murmured. “Better perhaps for you not to know.”
Was he thinking about the accident? The woman? Or something else entirely? “That’s silly.” I gave a stilted laugh. “Knowledge is never bad.”
“In that case...” His lips curved sardonically. “I am thinking, Miss Maywood, that it would be amusing to seduce you.”
A shiver ripped through my body. Wide-eyed, I stepped back from the massage table. “I work for you.”