time in his life.
Elijah didn’t expect his cousin to fix his problems now; he was a big boy. He’d fix them himself. But it would be nice fixing them here.
With that in mind and ready to get started, Elijah rolled out of bed. He snagged his jeans from the floor, fishing out his cell phone to check the time: 8:05 a.m.
Elijah tugged on his pants, then strode out of the room in search of hot coffee and his cousin. He found neither. But as he wandered the apartment, he did find a note propped against the coffeepot.
Sorry! Got called away to step in as referee for a big match. Gotta follow the money. You chill here, take it easy, rest up. We’ll talk when I get back. I know I got things to explain. Get your massage—you’re booked for 8:30. I’ll be back in a few hours. In the meantime, coffee is ready to go, just push the red button.
Elijah read it twice, but no amount of cryptology training was making Mack-speak any clearer. So he took the last part to heart, pushed the red button and noted he had enough time for coffee and a shower.
He was still feeling good when he stepped out of the apartment. Damned good.
It wasn’t pride that made Elijah take the stairs down to the Fit Wellness Clinic. It was a desperate attempt to work the stiffness out of his leg before someone started pummeling it.
Located in the same building, the clinic was as unisex and comfortable as the rest of the gym, with wide glass doors opening to the street and a juice bar along one wall. The narrow hallway leading to the treatment rooms was guarded by a display counter showcasing fitness gear, energy bars and insulated bottles. Sitting behind the counter was a pretty blonde who looked like she’d gotten lost somewhere between deciding if she wanted to be a hippie or a sex symbol. Her dreadlocks were tied back from her face with a wide magenta hairband, her shirt appeared to be made from hemp and her lips were painted bloodred.
Elijah approached her with a wary smile. “Hi. I’m booked for an eight-thirty massage.”
“You must be Bruce Banner.” Her smile was appreciative. “Mack said you were a big boy.”
“Is that what Mack said?” Not as big as the Hulk, though. Figuring there was no point trying to explain his cousin’s joke, Elijah shrugged.
“You’re in room one. Go ahead and go on in. Strip down naked and get comfy on the table.” She inclined her head toward the first door on the left. “You let me know if you need any help.”
“You the one who’s going to come work the kinks out?” he asked.
“I wish. But you’re down for an injury rehabilitation massage, and we only have one person qualified for that.” Her sigh said that person wasn’t her. “Your therapist will be with you in a few minutes.”
Therapist. Elijah grimaced. He’d had enough of that. But he didn’t figure anyone rubbing his burn-scarred flesh was going to ask what was going through his head. They’d be too busy holding back their gasps of horror.
He stepped into the massage room, letting the door close behind him as he checked it out. The therapists must have free rein on their decorating choices, because this was not a room done by Mack.
The colors were soothing, cream and tan with splashes of black and red to keep it from being boring. There was an Asian feel to the art and statuary, with delicate coins on a red string hanging in one corner and chimes in another. But the star of it all was the massage table. Bigger than most, it looked sturdy enough to hold an elephant and was set at its lowest height, telling Elijah that the massage therapist was probably a woman.
Cool, he grinned.
He wouldn’t mind being rubbed down by female hands. Something that his recovery had put on the no-fly list for the last few months.
He stripped down, neatly folding his clothes and stacking them on the chair. Comfortable with his nudity, he reached for the ceiling, stretching out muscles still tight from yesterday’s drive, then climbed under the sheet.
Maybe that was his problem, Elijah considered as he propped his chin on his fists and began systematically relaxing his muscles. He started with his toes, breathing deep, relaxing each digit before moving on to his ankles and calves.
Maybe all he needed was a good lay. A hot ride to clear his pipes, knock loose the kinks and get him back in fighting condition.
His eyes drifted closed as he felt a few of the tighter knots loosen in his thigh. Seemed like his body was all for that idea.
About the time he’d breathed relaxation into his shoulders, he heard the door open. A familiar scent tickled his awareness, teased his senses with both desire and dread.
“Sorry I’m running late, Mr. Banner. Bruce, is it?” There was humor in the friendly words and a hint of doubt. “I hope my delay didn’t upset you.”
Elijah didn’t have to turn his head to know who had just walked in. Like her scent, he’d know her voice anywhere.
Fuck.
He was going to kick Mack’s ass sideways.
He forced his expression to clear before he turned on the massage bed, propping himself on one elbow and offering as close to a friendly smile as he could manage.
“Hello, Ava.”
“ELIJAH?”
Elijah Prescott?
Her emotions ricocheting between denial and delight, Ava tried to think straight. Her fingers itched to reach out, to touch that gorgeous face, to caress that warm skin. To see if he was real.
But all she could do was stare.
Then, in her next breath, her initial surge of joy-filled pleasure died a fast, ugly death as memories flashed in a painful cacophony of images. White lace and teddy bears. Gold rings and baby bottles. Basic black and a tiny coffin.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, stepping away from the table as if breathing his air would suck her back into the past.
“I thought I was getting a massage, but clearly I was mistaken,” Elijah remarked in that deep, easy voice of his. Once that unflappable calm had comforted her, had made her feel safe and secure and even, yes, on occasion, had turned her on.
Now it made her want to storm over to that massage table and kick him.
Hard.
“Why are you here?” she asked again. “Here. In Napa. In the spa. On my massage bed?”
“Yours?”
Those sharp bottle-green eyes angled around the room. Not a flounce, flourish or bit of fluff to be seen. She didn’t need his arched brow to tell her that he didn’t think she fit this setting.
Good. The woman he’d known didn’t fit here. Ava took comfort in that. But comfort wasn’t much of a cushion against the shock of seeing Elijah Prescott again.
