Love Game

She sighed. “It’s an act, my dear. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is paying attention, he’s a sweet boy. And he’s good to his mother, as he should be.”

I nodded mutely as my thoughts were pulled outward by the opulence of my surroundings. My head lolled on my neck to take in the high-beamed ceilings of teak, the white walls, the large windows that let in the beauty of the garden and pool.

My home for the next two weeks.

“It’s all yours, dear,” Lana said, “but please feel free to join Kai or myself for meals in the main house. Or if there’s something you’d like me to whip up for you, don’t hesitate to ask. Mr. Lemieux wishes for you to be as comfortable as possible.”

I doubted Kai wanted me in this guesthouse, let alone the main house, intruding on his meals. Getting him to willingly participate in Reiki or meditation or yoga was going to be hard enough. I thanked her for her offer and she left me to get settled in.

“What do you think, Keanu?” I asked, scrubbing my dog’s ears. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Keanu whined a yawn and lay down to stretch his belly on the cool tile floor while I rolled my suitcase into the bedroom. It was bigger than my living room with a king-size bed, dresser, walk-in closet, and en suite bathroom.

I flopped onto the bed and immediately felt the quality of the mattress under my bones. I had a vague hope I might be able to sleep without needing at least one light on, but my eyes had already identified the small lamp on the end table that I knew I’d use to keep the darkness at bay.

Still, I could try.

And be exhausted in the morning? With the adrenaline of a fresh nightmare still coursing through your veins? No, thanks.

My client was goin

g to be a tough customer as it was.

My client.

God, Kai Solomon was even more gorgeous in person than in the videos. At least six-four and entirely comprised of lean muscle under smooth, brown skin. His brown eyes were almost black and piercing as they’d bored into me, sizing me up and then dismissing me easily. He exuded a casually detached quality; a reserved arrogance that hinted he would never consider being committed to a woman for more than a night or two in his bed.

Why are you thinking about who shares his bed?

Heat flushed my cheeks and I took a deep breath. A personal preference, but I was not interested in aggressive, hyper-sexual jocks. I liked physical heat and emotional connection. I had my own baggage to haul around and the only man I could ever be attracted to these days was one who was willing to share the load. Or at least not make it heavier. Because I’d do the same for him.

But even if Kai was kind of an ass, he was my job. Looking past the anger in a person to see the pain beneath was part of my training. I’d only completed a few Reiki sessions, but Melanie was right. It came easy to me. I loved watching my clients find relief—even the doubtful ones—as physical or emotional pain left them. It made me feel like I was doing some good in the world.

I glanced at the lamp at my bedside that I knew would have to stay on all night.

Too bad I can’t give a little of that help to myself.

I got up before dawn and set up my Reiki table on the guesthouse’s little shaded lanai that overlooked the pool. Melanie had been supportive—as I knew she would be—when I told her about my temporary job offer and had loaned me one of her old tables.

At eight a.m., I lit a stick of sandalwood incense, put on some soft music, and waited for Kai, wondering if he’d show up at all.

He appeared at the back door to the big house more or less on time, sipping an energy drink from a can. He shot me a resigned look from across the pool before finally meandering over in his workout gear, a V of sweat darkening the front of his sleeveless white shirt.

There must be a gym in the main house, I thought, which would account for that body of his.

Heat infused my cheeks and I reminded myself—for what felt like the hundredth time—that Kai was my client.

“Good morning,” I said brightly as he approached. I steadfastly kept my eyes on his face; my gaze kept wanting to wander to his shoulder muscles, his perfect forearms—the right, his racket arm, slightly larger than the left—and the way his shirt clung to his body.

He grunted a reply and eyed my set up.

“I don’t have to get naked, do I?” he asked.

“No, uh, no,” I said, clearing my throat. “You stay fully clothed.”

“Bummer for you,” he said with a smirk.

My nervousness left me on the current of an irritated sigh. “I’ll survive.”