She simply read their body needs through the tips of her fingers and gave the body what it desired. But this time it was her body that was in need, her body that longed to be touched.
Without effort or apparent intent Maurice had awakened her sleeping sexual giant. And it needed to be fed. The pulse between her thighs quickened. A fire lit in her belly. Heat infused her. Her breathing escalated. She saw herself standing before him. Her robe dropped to the ground. She stretched out her arms. He came to her in the dimness. His mouth brushed the pulse that fluttered at the base of her neck. Her nostrils flared as she tried to breathe. His head moved lower down along the swell of her breasts…
Maurice groaned every so softly.
The sound rippled up her spine. She blinked. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. She ran her tongue across her dry mouth.
The room came into a hazy kind of focus. Damn, she muttered under her breath. She glanced down at the sculpted specimen beneath her fingers.
“All done,” she said softly. “How do you feel?”
“Like I could stay here forever.”
Layla expelled a nervous laugh. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. After you get your things and get dressed I’ll meet you up front.”
“Hmmm,” he murmured unmoving.
Layla slipped out, closing the door silently behind her.
There was one thing that Maurice was totally thankful for, he thought, slowly rising to a sitting position on the table, and that was that she hadn’t asked him to turn over onto his back. He glanced down at the rock-hard rise beneath the towel. That could have been embarrassing for both of them. Or maybe not.
While she ran her hands all over him he was able to forget that he wasn’t whole—forget that he was crippled and scarred. Under the expertise of Layla’s fingertips he felt complete, came alive again, things he had not felt since he woke up in the hospital more than a year ago.
Gingerly he got down off of the table, expecting the usual pain to shoot up his leg into his hip. But nothing happened. All he felt was a soothing warmth deep in his muscles. He took a step and still no real pain. He reached for the robe that hung on the hook and shrugged into it. He took a quick mental inventory of his body. A hint of a smile moved his mouth. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt. His throat clenched and his eyes burned. He didn’t care if the relief only lasted for a minute. But for right now…
Layla was sitting in front of the computer screen when Maurice came up front.
She stopped what she was doing. “So…how was it? Can I add you to my list of satisfied customers?”
He crossed the space and sat down on a stool in front of the desk. “Oh, most definitely.” He grinned.
Layla tried to stay focused on whatever it was she should say next rather than memorize the way his lips moved when he talked and wonder if they were as soft and sweet as they appeared.
“Looks like I owe you a drink and dinner.”
She laughed over her nerves and waved her hand. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“A deal is a deal.”
Layla didn’t breathe for a second. “Drinks and dinner?”
“Mojito, right?” His eyes glowed.
“Um, yes.”
“How about eight?”
She swallowed the last lump of hesitation. “Eight is fine. I can meet you…by the bar.”
Maurice bobbed his head. “See you later.” He started to turn then stopped. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
Layla sat transfixed until the sound of the chimes over the door signaled Maurice’s departure. She shook some sense back into her head. She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. Dinner with Maurice Lawson! She had a little more than an hour to get ready and it would never happen with her sitting there with a goofy grin on her face.
And maybe over dinner and after a drink or two he would tell her a little bit about his very famous family and why that woman’s mentioning them seemed to get under his skin.
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