“It’s nothing.” He sounded as if he meant it.
“Since when is a bullet wound nothing? The bullet entered here.” She circled the mark on the front of his arm. “I’m thinking it was an armor-piercing round. .50 caliber. That’s not the kind of gun you usually find on the streets unless you’re hanging out in inner Los Angeles.”
He shrugged. “I got in the way.”
“You weren’t always a masseuse,” she said and then, when he didn’t say anything, “Where did Fantasy Island really find you?”
He turned his head and looked at her. Part of her, the weak part, wished she was more toned, ten pounds thinner, or even wearing something besides her basic black two-piece swimsuit that tied on the sides with two sets of strings for extra security. The rest of her figured he could take her or leave her. He was a risk, and she was a woman who played it safe. He didn’t seem to mind her less-than-perfect body, though. His expression was heated and more than a little interested, and all her pent-up urges came surging back to life.
“Come on.” He got to his feet and reached down a hand to tug her upright. “I owe you a massage and I know you like to stick to your schedule.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a schedule,” she protested.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t let go of her hand. “You schedule your day in fifteen-minute increments.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “I may have looked at your phone.”
“It’s password-protected.” Or had been. She gave him a look that’d had recalcitrant patients lying back down.
“You picked an easy password to crack.” There was a definite note of accusation in his voice.
“You’re saying it’s my fault you hacked my phone?”
“Not exactly. I’m saying you should pick a stronger password.”
“Or keep my phone out of your hands,” she muttered. It should have bothered her more than it did, knowing he’d read her schedule. What else had he read? The expression on his face didn’t give anything away, and it wasn’t as if she had US national secrets or even embarrassing photos stored on her device. “No phones in the spa,” he reminded her. He sounded like a hard-ass, but she was pretty sure that was a twinkle she saw in his brown eyes. Plus, it was hard to take him seriously when he was wearing a wet suit. Half a wet suit. “Come on.”
“Where are we going? Don’t you need to take care of your tank?” she asked, falling into step beside him, anyhow. When he let go of her hand, she fought the urge to tangle her fingers back up with his. Helping her to her feet was just him being polite. Maybe it was something all of the island staff did or maybe, God forbid, he’d thought she was stuck on the sand. Or just really out of shape.
“I’ll come back for the tank later. You have an appointment for a massage.” He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get them back to the resort, picking a path that winded its way through a coconut grove.
“I was planning on canceling.” Confession was good for the soul, right?
“Why?”
Because she wasn’t stupid. Because she had chemistry with him and had practically propositioned him yesterday, which now topped her list of Most Embarrassing Moments Ever.
He gave her a sidelong look when she didn’t answer right away. “Give me one reason. A good reason.”
“And you’ll let me cancel?” Somehow, she didn’t think he’d make it that easy. For whatever reason, he enjoyed teasing her. She couldn’t quite interpret the expression on his face, either. There was something more than heat in his eyes. He looked possessive. Because maybe he had some fantasies, too, and they involved him letting her do certain things. Or not letting her...and wasn’t that an interesting thought?
They crunched up the path in silence for the next minute. Or, rather, she crunched and he walked silently. The man had serious ninja skills.
“Absolutely not,” he said finally, as the resort appeared through the palm trees. “You’re on the books for a massage today, and I know you like to stick to schedule.”
The walk was shorter than she would have liked, the massage cabanas by the edge of the pool too close. Worse, the pristine white sheets tucked over the padded beds gave her all sorts of tantalizing ideas that Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy striding along beside her didn’t squash. He’d shoved his wet suit down to his waist and the elastic band of some kind of European swimwear was peeking out—Speedo? She hitched in a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. But unfortunately, the water droplets disappearing down his flat stomach didn’t make looking away any easier.