Page 21 of Naughty Nelle

“Zoey…”

I will my unsteady legs to move. Every little step is an effort.

“Just stand up slowly,” I tell him softly, face to face, almost eye to eye. I avert casting my gaze downward.

He stays put. His warm breath heats my cheeks. His gemstone eyes glisten and hold me captive.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I think I’m allergic to that oil I used.” I fake a little smile before a telltale tear escapes.

He tenderly brushes it away with this thumb. “Thank you, Zoey.”

A thank you?

“You helped me with one of the issues I was dealing with.” He looks down. “Enormously.”

My eyes flick to his enormous erection. No way can Brandon Taylor, the sexiest man alive, be suffering from erectile dysfunction. He’s sex on a stick.

Trembling, I look back up at him and mumble one word: “Sure.”

“Do you want to share some wine with me?”

My heart skips a beat. He’s never asked me to share anything except those fries earlier tonight. I glance down again at the mega-tent between his legs and decline. I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust him.

“Brandon, I think what you need is a hot bath.”

His smoldering eyes stay glued on me. “Then, draw one for me.” Another order.

“No.” My voice is shaky. “I don’t do baths.”

“I suppose that clause is in your contract too?” A layer of sarcasm laces his voice.

“Correct.” Another white lie, though personally I’ve never taken one since Mama’s drowning.

Silence. The Titanic theme segues into “Going Home.” My cue.

“Well, I’d better be going.” While I put the bottle of oil back into my tote, he stays put on the massage table.

I move back to the table. I need to fold it up. Except he’s still on it. His bulge hasn’t budged either. “Um, uh, would you please—”

He cuts me off and clasps my hands in his. He raises them close to his lips, so close I can feel his warm breath skim my knuckles. Every nerve inside me is buzzing. His eyes stay on my hands and then they hold me fierce in his gaze.

“Zoey, your hands are magical. And they’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.” My voice is so small I can barely hear myself. It doesn’t help that my racing heart is pounding loudly. I’m sure he can hear it.

“That massage really helped me.”

“I’m glad I could help.” I learned in my massage classes about the power of touch. It can arouse feelings. Even bring back memories. In fact, just a single caress can become a symphony of passion, an unquenchable desire to possess.

“You’ve made me feel something I haven’t felt for a long time.”

My chest is tightening. And my heart’s beating so hard it may burst right through my bra. I force myself not to look down at his straining erection. “Feeling is the gift of touch,” I say softly.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter madly. Like he’s having some kind of seizure.

“Brandon, are you okay?” I ask anxiously. Maybe it’s associated with his head trauma.

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