Page 37 of Gamble
“Excellent,” Elijah said. “Thanks.”
Only when they were alone, did Reagan question him. “This is way too expensive. Why didn’t you just book normal massages?”
Pinning her with that scary glare of his that didn’t frighten her at all, Elijah reminded her. “I think I told you there would beconsequences the next time you questioned how much money I was spending today.”
It was a statement. Not a question.
Her heart pounded faster, distracted by his athletic body. He had a better six-pack than any other guy she’d ever dated. And the dark chest-hair with a twinge of grey reminded her that Elijah was all man. Confident. Mature. Sexy-as-hell man.
Reagan swallowed hard as their eyes met. The raw sexuality he exuded in a simple glance had her off-base.
Without taking his eyes off her, Elijah closed the distance between them, reaching for the white terry rope holding her robe together. Untying it, Elijah opened her robe, exposing her body to his hungry gaze.
“I think you have too many clothes on, Ms. Murphy,” he teased, pushing the robe off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.
Her breath hitched, waiting to see what consequences he might have been thinking about seconds earlier.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have time for me to take care of reminding you why you won’t be questioning my spending money right now. But… during your massage, I want you thinking about all the delicious things I might have up my sleeve to teach you just how serious I am when I talk about consequences.”
Reagan’s breath hitched.
Why did his veiled threat turn her on? Shouldn’t she be afraid? At least scandalized?
A knock on the door should have interrupted their connection, but Elijah stayed close, letting the two middle-aged masseuses flutter into the room, busying themselves with their preparations.
Just when their visual showdown felt awkward, Elijah leaned in closer to whisper against her ear.
“I’m taking my trunks off now. If that makes you uncomfortable, I suggest you look away.”
Had his voice always been that husky?
Reagan shook her head, trying to shake herself out of Elijah’s trance she’d fallen prey to. Did he think her some kind of virginal prude with his warning?
But if his hungry gaze was to be believed, he knew damn well she was no innocent. His glare never left her as he pushed his swim trunks down to gather at his feet.
She didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of not checking him out. Breaking their visual connection, Reagan lowered her gaze, her breath hitching at the defined V pointing at Elijah’s very healthy cock. Like the rest of his body, it was glorious—even semi-flaccid.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we may need to cancel the massage. I’m sure the Bellagio would not condone exposing their masseuses to the couples massage I have in mind.”
Reagan felt heat rising in her cheeks as she looked away, catching the sly smiles Joy and Marian exchanged.
She heard Elijah getting situated on one of the padded tables as she stood frozen. Did she reciprocate? They barely knew each other. What kind of message would she send if she got naked too?
Then it hit her.
What kind of message would she be sending if she didn’t get naked?
Thinking of her options in that way made the decision easier. She wasn’t a demure prude. She was a mature woman. Married and divorced. There may be a twenty-year difference between them, but that didn’t mean she was an innocent.
Reagan reached back to untie her bikini top, letting the fabric fall away from her breasts before lifting the top over her head, throwing it to the floor next to Elijah’s trunks. Before she couldsecond-guess herself, she slid the tiny bottoms off, kicking them into the pile before climbing onto her own table, lying face down.
Only when she was situated did she glance over at Elijah. The heat in his gaze ensured he’d been watching her undress. The sly smile on his lips confirmed he’d liked what he saw.
“Beautiful.”
It was the one and only word he spoke before Joy and Marian joined them. While she may not get massages often, she’d had enough sessions in her past to recognize how different this one was. It wasn’t just that they were both in the same room together. The differences were much more than that.
The women didn’t ask about what kind of music or scents they wanted, yet the music and scents were perfect. There was no discussion about massage styles or boundaries—questions she’d always felt awkward answering.
