“I’m supposed to be in room ten, but—”
Only, the number on the doorisroom ten
“Or, uh—” I stutter, turning back to get the card with Mr. Clarke’s information on it. Only, I slip on the bottle of oil between my feet and nearly hit the floor. “Shit!” I shake my head, reorienting myself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to swear, sir. That was very unprofessional of me. I’ve never walked into the wrong room before.”
I bend down and grab the bottle, my greasy hands slathering oil all over the container. I hear a slight chuckle behind me and the room feels like it’s suffocating. I try to wipe the bottle off with the towel, but I just end up making a mess of everything. So, I bundle it all up—bottle, hand, towel—and decide to take them with me. I’ll get Naomi to replace them.
I grab my client card and shoot toward the door.
“Again,” I apologize. “I am so, so sorry for—”
“Esme!” Desmond sits up and jets out an arm, catching me by the waist and pulling me toward him. “You’re not in the wrong room.”
Suddenly, I’m right in front of him, bottle and towel fisted in one hand, and my other hand up in the air like a criminal. His entire naked torso is inches from me, the sheet twisted precariously around his gorgeous hips. I attempt to calm my breathing, but his hand is on my waist, heating my whole body with his proximity.
“Desmond—” I shake myself at the familiarity of using his first name. “I mean, Mr. Pike. I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be helping—”
“I’mMr. Clarke,” Desmond says directly, and my eyes snap to his.
“What?”
He nods, his amber eyes glittering in the candlelight. “It’s a pseudonym. I’m checked in under that name so nobody knows who I am. It helps with the press and the fans. This way there isn’t paparazzi waiting for me outside the spa.”
I don’t think oxygen is getting to my brain. Did Desmond just say he is Mr. Clarke? He’s my deep muscle massage client? My pussy trills with excitement, ready for me to put my hands all over him. Only, this is my job—my profession—and there’s no way my pussy gets to weigh in on anything in this situation.
“You’re Mr. Clarke?” I ask tentatively, my hands still hanging in the air awkwardly.
“Yes.”
“Right, uh … You can see my confusion.”
He smiles softly, his hand still on my waist, and that pulse of electricity bleats between us. He shouldn’t be touching me, which only makes me more aware of how naked he is and the fact that I’ll be touching him in a minute. Oh dear Lord, this must be a test! I’m not going to be able to handle gliding my hands all over his hard muscled body without being banished to the great flaming underground!
“Okay,” I say, biting my lip and stepping back so his hand falls off my hip. I lower my arms gracefully and remind myself I’m a freaking professional. “Let’s try this again. Mr. Clarke, or, uh—? What do you want me to call you?”
“Are you into kinky roll playing and want to call me Mr. Clarke, Esme?”
“No!” I flush, the playful heat in his eyes more than I bargained for. I shake my head, flustered. “Sorry, I—”
“Why don’t we stick to Desmond,” he says, amused by my blush.
“Good,” I nod, thankful. “Now, Desmond,” I say his name firmly, trying to regain some sense of composure and balance. “If I could get you to lie back down on the table, we could start this massa—”
He stands up before I have a chance to finish and the sheet falls to the ground. I yelp, twisting around as quickly as possible.
“Sir!” I say sharply, trying to give him some privacy. “If you need a moment to get back on the table, I’ll be happy to step outside!”
“No need,” Desmond says casually, as if he’s just fine with the fact that I just got one hot eye-full of the full Desmond. And damn—my core is doing backflips for a reason! “If you’ve seen episode three ofBillionaire Heat,this is nothing new.”
“I think we established last night that I haven’t seen your show!” I squeak, my core pounding. I want to hiss at my own body, my ovaries doing somersaults in excitement. But I’m at work. And Desmond Pike is not supposed to be showing me his naked body—well, ever!—but, definitely not at my job!
“Well, if you want the full tour,” Desmond says cheekily. “You can start with episode three and then skip ahead to the end of the season, that’s where most of the nudity—”
“Desmond!” I cut him off. “Please!” I do my best to keep my voice calm, but the image of his full torso, his thighs, his—yup, I’m not going to make it through this appointment. “Could you please just get back on the table?”
He chuckles again and I wait, listening to the sounds of him moving, praying he’s picking up the sheet and covering himself properly.
I tiptoe over to my station as he gets in position, and I wipe the oil off the bottle again. After what feels like too long fiddling with the oils and creams, I sneak a peek behind me, and to my relief he’s on the table, face down, with his ass covered. I oil up my hands again and walk to his side, my eyes inappropriately taking in the strength and shape of his thick arms.