Page 61 of The Final Faceoff
I narrow my eyes. “Where exactly upstairs?”
“My room. I’m going to give you a proper massage and then put an infrared therapy pad on your lower back for a few minutes.”
I blink. “That’s suspiciously considerate of you.”
“Shocking, I know.” He pulls me to my feet like I don’t weigh a thing, then starts leading me toward the stairs.
I hesitate. “Wait. Isn’t that dangerous for the baby?”
“Not if I’m putting it on your lower back and low-level laser therapy is known to have no risk to the mother or baby during pregnancy. In fact, it reduces the chances of late-onset preeclampsia.” His tone is patient, like he’s already researched this. Which, knowing Leif, he probably has and bought the pad for me.
We head upstairs, and I’m prepared for his room to be . . . well, Leif-ish. Functional, neat, maybe a little impersonal. But when he pushes open the door, I stop short. It’s massive. Practically an entire apartment within this penthouse. But instead of feeling cavernous, it’s cozy. The bed is ridiculously oversized, a comforter so plush it looks like a cloud. Anyone could get lost just by throwing themselves onto it. There’s a sleek sitting area with a leather armchair and a bookshelf lined with—oh my God. Pregnancy books?
I arch an eyebrow at him. “So when did you become this guy?”
“What guy?” He heads toward the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of oil like this is a normal, everyday occurrence.
“The I-read-pregnancy-books-for-fun guy. The let-me-give-you-a-massage guy. The I-have-a-bed-that-probably-costs-more-than-my-rent guy.”
He doesn’t even look up. “When my best friend became pregnant.”
This isn’t good. He’s infuriatingly nice and at this rate I’m going to fall madly in love with him and . . . I can’t handle that many changes in my life. One at a time. I glance at the bed, then back at him. “I should take this room since there are two of us now. Technically.”
Leif smirks. “Tempting, but I’m afraid you’d never leave.”
I flop down onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “You’re not wrong. This is unreal. How is it this soft? This is what clouds want to feel like.”
“Glad you approve.” He moves to stand beside the bed, watching me expectantly. “Now, roll onto your stomach.”
I blink up at him. “You do realize I’m pregnant, right?”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t even have a bump, Hailey. You’ll be fine.”
I consider arguing, but honestly? He’s offering me a massage. I’d be an idiot to refuse. I shift onto my stomach, adjusting until the pillow props me up comfortably. I pull up my shirt so he can have access to it. Then his hands land on my back, and—oh.
Oh.
I bite my lip as his palms move along my spine, the heat of them melting into me, his fingers pressing slow, deliberate strokes along the places where tension has taken up permanent residence. His thumbs dig into the knots near my lower back, working through the stiffness with a patience that has me exhaling into the mattress.
I make a noise I don’t entirely recognize—soft, breathy, completely beyond my control.
Leif chuckles. “That good?”
I want to be annoyed, but I can’t even find the energy. My limbs feel boneless. “I hate how good you are at this.”
“Don’t lie. You love it.”
He’s not wrong.
His hands move higher, fingers kneading along my spine, then easing up toward my shoulders. He presses in, thumbs sinking into the tightest parts of me, and I swear I feel it everywhere. Like a slow-burning warmth uncoiling deep in my stomach, humming low in my bloodstream.
I let out another sound—longer this time, dangerously close to a moan.
Leif stills.
I freeze.
Not because I don’t want this. Definitely not that. But because it’s been years since anyone has touched me like this. Not in passing. Not in a way that felt obligatory or fleeting or careless. But in a way that makes my skin hum, makes me sink deeper, makes me?—
