Page 162 of The Vacation Mix-Up
I lean forward and read it. “Are there any areas of your body that you prefer not to be massaged?”
“Yeah. What did you put down for that?”
“I wroteNo.”
“Does that mean it’s a free-for-all?” he asks, lowering his voice.
“Free-for-all?”
“Yeah. My entire body.”
Laughter bursts from my throat. “I don’t know what type of massage you think this is, but I’m confident certainpartsof you will remain untouched, at least by the staff.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “At least by the staff?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not staff.”
I pass him his drink and sip my own. “Hand her yourclipboard, Riley.”
He clinks my glass with his, passes over his paperwork, and picks up a crystal, rotating it in his hand. “Roni likes these fancy rocks.”
“Those are not fancy rocks,” our hostess says. “They communicate with the energy flow of your body, assisting in realignment and healing.”
He stares at it. “This little pink rock talks?”
“Not exactly.” She snickers. “It communicates loving energy, replacing negativity and opening you up to self-forgiveness and trust. It’s also known to help increase fertility.”
He places it down again and murmurs into my ear, “Is she saying I could be pregnant now?”
Subtly elbowing him, I force a smile when she lifts her gaze from my paperwork and hugs the clipboards to her chest. “Perfect! We’re all set. Please come with me.”
We follow her into a dimly lit room with two massage beds in the center, plush white robes and towels neatly folded on top of them.
“I’ll give you both a minute to undress to your underwear, lie down, and cover yourself with the towels provided. Once your massage is complete, feel free to wear your robes and use the spa’s other facilities, such as the sauna and infinity pool. We also offer mud baths and?—”
“No more mud,” Riley blurts, wrinkling his nose as he swallows his champagne. “My hair still hasn’t recovered from Iceland.”
Laughing, I say, “Thank you. I think we’ll just stick with the massage… for now.”
“Very well. Your masseuses will be along shortly.”
She leaves the room, and I turn in a circle, looking for a bathroom to undress in when Riley discards his empty glass, removes his T-shirt, and starts to unbutton his jeans.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, swallowing my last mouthful.
“Getting ready, what does it look like?”
He wrenches down his pants, then takes a seat on the leather bed, his legs lazily swinging as he leans back on his hands and smirks.
“What are you doing?” I ask again.
“Waiting for you to get ready. What does it look like?”
Unable to drag my eyes off his delectable thighs and abs, the chuckle climbing his throat snaps me out of my daze.
“Turn around,” I snap.
