Page 171 of Eight Years Gone

He raised the remote, pressing play. “Let the thinking begin.”

Forty-Four

Grace lay with her eyes closed, savoring the soothing music and gentle touch of her massage therapist, while Jagger lay on the table next to hers as they enjoyed their ninety-minute couple’s treatment.

The afternoon had been pure bliss—lunch at her favorite restaurant and now this. Jagger had made the day unforgettably sweet and ultra-relaxing with a blueberry pancake breakfast in bed and a bubble bath.

Debra, the massage therapist, made her final sweeping stroke along Grace’s arm before she stepped back. “That concludes our session today,” she said quietly.

Grace blinked her eyes open.

Debra smiled down at her in the dim light. “How was that?”

“Really nice.”

“Good. I hope you’ll take your time getting up. Feel free to use our bathroom to freshen up.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll step out now.”

Grace smiled as Jagger’s therapist repeated the same spiel to him.

The therapists stepped out together.

Jagger turned his head, looking at her with sleepy eyes and spiky hair. “That was awesome.”

She grinned, finding him irresistible. “Yes, it was. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so pampered.”

“Maybe we could pay them to come back and do that again.”

She chuckled as she reluctantly sat up, pulling the soft covers back.

Jagger raised his brow as he tracked his gaze down her panty-clad body. “You’re looking pretty slick. Pretty sexy, too.”

She tucked the hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “Thank you.”

He reached out his hand to her. “Why don’t you wander on over this way.”

Her grin returned as she shook her head. “People are having treatments in the next room.”

“We’ll be quiet.”

She laughed. “No, Jagger.”

Getting up, she headed toward the bathroom. Jagger caught her by the wrist before she’d taken two steps.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, fully aroused in his boxers. “You’re slippery.”

She closed her eyes, struggling with a whimper as his mouth moved along her neck and his hands wandered up to slide over her naked breasts. “Jagger, we can’t do this.”

“We don’t have to.” He slipped his hand beneath the elastic of her lacy thong, playing his fingers over her. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

Her breathing came faster with his teasing. “You’re not.”

His fingers moved with firmer pressure. “I’ve had you a lot of different ways, but never after a massage.”

She turned to face him. “We shouldn’t.” But she didn’t stop him when he lifted her to sit on the edge of the massage table, dropped his boxers, pushed her panties to the side, then eased his way into her.

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