Falling for the Marine (McCade Brothers 2)

Fuck it. He didn’t have a choice. Harding expected him to complete all recommended treatments and get a clean bill of health before he’d be cleared to fly. Dane wanted the massage therapy to help…whatever…keep his muscles from pulling his bones out of whack. Fifty minutes out of his day, but it felt like a colossal waste of time. Was there any absurdity he wouldn’t endure in order to fly again?

Probably not, he acknowledged as his wandering gaze snagged on a light pink bottle of massage oil sitting on top of the small cabinet closest to the treatment table.

A soft knock behind him interrupted his reluctant effort to get in touch with his feminine side. Chloe entered, looking sexy-professional with her hair caught up in a loose twist at the back of her head. A few untamed strands curled free to frame her face. The clinical white coat hid her traffic-stopping curves, but for some perverse reason, made him fixate on every remembered inch of smooth skin currently cloaked from his view.

A highly detailed and extremely unhelpful image of her tattoo floated through his mind while she closed the door and then fiddled with the dimmer switch until only muted light lingered in the room. Once she was satisfied with the lighting level, she walked toward him, pausing at the foot of the table to lift the sheet an inch. The sight of his sock-covered feet coaxed a laugh out of her, and the husky sound did funny things to his gut. She tucked the sheet under his feet, still smiling.

“You didn’t come across quite so shy last night.”

He returned her smile, despite his cranky mood. “I was fully clothed last night. You were the next-to-naked one. If you’d like to rectify that right now, I think that would make me much more comfortable.”

Her low, throaty laughter practically vibrated over his skin. She moved to the head of the table, switched out the pink bottle for one that looked reassuringly plain, and then sat down on the stool positioned there. Now their faces were almost level. “That’s an entirely different kind of massage, I’m afraid, and not one offered here at the clinic.”

“Strictly a Casa Clemente special?”

Her smile softened. “Maybe. But you seemed to have second thoughts last night, and I figured you weren’t into it. Tell me, did the back pain have anything to do with your sudden about-face?”

Those eyes of hers were twin universes. He could float in them for days. But he owed her an apology for letting her think he’d bailed because of anything she’d done. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Last night was not my finest moment. I left for…various reasons…but not being ‘into it’ wasn’t one of them. The back pain factored.” He recalled the almost debilitating nerve spasms and winced. “Heavily.”

She tipped her head to the side and her smile went crooked. “Well, I can’t help with your ‘various reasons,’ but I might be able to do something about your back.” With that, she stood and drew the sheet down…all the way down…like, down to the top of his ass crack.

He propped himself up on his forearms, ignored the protest from his lower back, and looked around to see how much of him just went on display. Yep, pretty much as he thought.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Don’t worry, Major. I’ll talk you through everything. Rest your head in the padded ring.” She gently pushed the top of his head down until she had him where she wanted him. Since his view now consisted of nothing but the floor, he closed his eyes. “Go ahead and put your arms down by your sides.”

“Perfect,” she said when he did as she asked. “So, first I’m simply going to scan your back with my hands, to get the lay of the land, and see where you’re carrying tension…” Her words trailed off as she touched his neck, his shoulders, ran her hands along the sides of his spine. If his eyes hadn’t already been closed, they would be now. Her touch felt…amazing.

“All right,” she went on, making long, sweeping strokes across his shoulders and down his back. “Like most people, you’ve got some tension in your neck, which transmits to your shoulders and leaves them tight. I’m going to start there, working the knots out, to get you used to my touch. From your neck, I’ll move down the erector spinea and on to the lumbosacral region to get those muscles and connections nice and loose. Nothing I do should ever hurt, so let me know immediately if you experience any discomfort, okay?”

“’Kay,” he managed, surprised at how relaxed he already sounded.

“I’m going to warm some oil in my hands.” Her stroking movements stopped for a moment and he heard the click of a bottle opening, followed by the slick sound of oil-lubricated palms rubbing together. For some reason his dick went rigid with anticipation. Lying still on the table became a form of torture that would never comport with the Geneva Convention.

Then slim, surprisingly strong thumbs went to work on his neck, and it was all he could do not to groan out loud as every muscle she touched simply…dissolved. He might have made a noise when she leaned over him and moved on to his shoulders, because she stopped, and asked, “How’s the pressure?”

The pressure on his back? Heaven. The pressure between his legs? Agony. He raised his chin and accidentally nestled the back of his head into her breasts. Her familiar, cinnamon-and-honey scent flooded his senses. With another small groan, he dropped his face into the ring. “Do you mind if I find a more…comfortable position?”

“Of course not. I want you to be completely at ease.” She pulled the sheet up a few inches before taking a step back. “Go ahead and get situated. Let me know when you’re ready.”

He somehow refrained from reaching down and adjusting himself manually. Instead, he made do shifting his hips, and, to distract from what was going on below deck, repositioned his forehead on the padded headrest.

“All better?”

The only way this will ever be better is if you get naked, get under me, and I bury myself in you so deep we both wonder how I’m going to find my way out. “Yep. Thanks.”

“Great.” She lowered the sheet again and then rested her hands on his shoulders. “I’m going to keep working on your trapezius, moving down to the middle fibers and then the lower fibers. Stop me if something doesn’t feel right.”

Then those hands of hers started moving again, and he turned into a puddle of flesh. Even his dick relaxed. By the time she moved on to his lower back, he really didn’t care what the hell she was doing to him, as long as she kept doing it. Her hand settled on the lower curve of his spine, and her fingers probed between his vertebrae. When she found the spot she was looking for, she applied gentle traction. He didn’t succeed in holding back a groan. She made a sympathetic sound and used both palms to sooth the area before placing her fingers a little lower and applying the traction again. Heat and tension built under her hand. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but she was in the danger zone and anything to do with his lower back made him nervous.

He thought about stopping her, and the tightening of his muscles must have telegraphed his intention, because she placed her other hand lightly at the base of his skull, applied pressure there in the opposite direction, and said, “Shhh. Don’t tense up. Give it one more second.”

“Chloe, I’m not so sure…oh…fuuuck.”

Something in his lower back released. Effortlessly, painlessly, the tight spot under her fingers softened and relaxed. Relief flooded him, so profound and amazing it almost made him whimper.

“Good work,” she said and massaged the area with long, downward passes. He wanted to say thank you, but it came out in an inarticulate jumble—more of a grunt of gratitude than actual speech.