Page 7 of Trust and Obey

I woke the next morning with more energy and enthusiasm than I remembered having felt in a long time.

In fact, until this moment, I hadn’t realized my passion for the job had been leeching away bit-by-bit. Who knew it only took a little kindness from a smoking hot guest to bring back the spring in my step?

After showering and donning a brand-new crisp uniform, I made my way to the staff kitchens. One glance at the smart board showed that Deacon had placed his breakfast order from the menu on the supplied tablet in the villa. There was only enough food for one and I brushed away the brief pang of disappointment.

It was highly unusual to eat dinner with a guest. It probably broke a few resort policies, too. I wouldn’t know. I hadn’t read the employee handbook in forever.

But I wasn’t going to be foolish enough to expect the same treatment twice. Besides, the food in the staff cafeteria was enough to get me by.

I ate breakfast quickly—scrambled eggs that I didn’t pay attention to long enough to taste—and went by the kitchens just in time for Deacon’s meal to be prepped. I was early enough that the bacon was fresh off the griddle.

On my way out to the villa, I exchanged a couple of nods and smiles with other relaxation consultants. Most had that ‘just woke up’ look in their eyes while I was fresh and ready to go.

Tone it down Kendall, I told myself. It’s not like you got laid last night.

Shame.

The lights in Deacon’s villa were on, indicating he was awake.

I knocked softly at the door. “Room service,” I sang out.

So much for toning it down.

There was barely even a pause before Deacon’s voice rumbled, “Come in.”

I entered with a tray of covered food in hand.

“Good morning.” I was disappointed to see him fully dressed in loose pants and a shirt. My weird fantasy I’d had on the way over had featured him wrapped in a towel. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Very well.” Deacon sat at the table and grunted in surprise when I uncovered the first of the trays to show off the best of what our chefs could throw together. The food was so fresh it steamed in the slight morning air. A carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice followed.

Deacon took up a fork and then glanced at me. “But I think I’m still tight from the airplane flight yesterday. I’ll take you up on that massage.”

“My specialty.” I glanced at his broad shoulders. I could not wait to get my hands on him. I hoped my smile wasn’t too friendly. “We have massage tables set up down at the beach whenever you’re ready.”

He chewed for a moment and thought, then swallowed. “Actually, would it be possible to set something up in here?”

Privacy was not an unusual request. In fact, I had lucked out. Most men requested their masseuses to be pretty ladies. “Easily done,” I said. “Enjoy your breakfast while I get it set up.”

The setup was easy. The row of massage tables, chairs, and accessories were put in place early every morning by Tommy and the rest of the porter crew. They were as lazy as I had been at eighteen years old, and so the whole rig was easy to move.

One lady was already at the beach, getting her shoulders worked on to the sound of rolling waves and Elle gave me a wink and a smile in greeting even though her hands didn’t falter across her client’s back.

I grabbed the collapsible table as well as a few extra towels and went back to the villa.

Deacon had just finished up breakfast and was lounging on the couch. He made a move as if to help me set the table up, but I waved him back with a smile.

“I got it. Why don’t you get yourself ready?” Belatedly, I remembered my masseuse training to put clients at ease, especially the straight male clients who may or may not be used to having a stranger’s hands all over their body. “Feel free to undress to your level of comfort.” It took me seconds to snap the legs out of the table, set it up, and replace the cushions. “I’ll be right back with the oils.”

A little house secret: we had a full supply of massage oils underneath the main bathroom sink, but I chose to gracefully exit out of the sliding doors to gather our supplies left from the tables at the beach. That way Deacon could have a moment to himself, and more importantly, I would have a moment to get a freaking grip. Why? Because my heart was thundering out of my chest, and I could feel a slight tremor in my fingers. I couldn’t wait to touch him, I wanted to make him feel good, and not in a professional way.

Wow, apparently, I really did need to get laid if one nice gesture had me completely undone.

I took a few deep meditative breaths, counting in and out. By the time I returned, I had myself back under control.

And that went completely out the window the second I laid eyes on him.

Deacon was lying face down on the table, completely nude with a folded white towel draped over what had to be a muscled ass. Why did I say that? Because the rest of him was more muscled than I had dared in my fantasies, with wide, flared shoulders and definitions I could see across the room. He was sleek and built in a way that spoke of gyms back on the mainland. His skin was as tanned, as if he spent some of that exercise time outside and shirtless.

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