Page 15 of Hard Hitter
She turned her potent smile on him. “You say that so convincingly.”
“Don’t I?” He found himself smiling back.
Ari patted his arm. “I’m going to try to warm you up for a few minutes. After that we’ll go back to the same active release technique as last time, because I think it was starting to work for you. How does that sound?”
“Fine,” he said. Because what was the alternative, really?
Standing at his side, she adjusted the towel, keeping his crotch covered, but allowing access to his hip. There was something precise about her motions that made everything a little less weird than it should have been. Her strong fingers began kneading the muscle of his upper thigh and his waist. She moved slowly, firm hands squeezing, fingers sliding...
Goose bumps broke out on his chest.
Christ.
He wasn’t a prude. But it was justweirdhaving her hands on his body. Nobody ever touched him—reallytouched him. Sure there was sex, but that was entirely different. When he was horny enough to go home with a fan or a girl in a bar, it was because they both wanted something from one another. It was a fair trade. And the promise of release—and a drink or five—was enough to get him past the awkwardness.
This was a completely different experience, and he didn’t know what to do with it. The intimacy made him wary. Usually he found Ari’s lavender scent appealing. But he was too aware of it at such close range. And sometimes when she applied an especially firm grasp to his larger muscle groups, he could hear her exhale through the effort. The closeness made his skin prickle.
Her strong hands relaxed all at once. “You’re fighting me, Patrick,” she whispered. And the sound of his own name brought the goose bumps back.
“Sorry.” He made an effort to relax, but she moved around the table until she was at his head, looking down. He couldn’t avoid her gaze.
“I know this isn’t your favorite thing. I get it.”
He admired the shape of her big brown eyes and tried to imagine what was going through her head. “You must think I’m a total nutbar.”
“Not atall,” she said vehemently. “I could give you a sermon about how I’m a professional and this is just business, yada yada yada. But that would be bullshit.”
“It would?” He couldn’t help enjoying the shape of her sweet mouth as she saidbullshit. “You’re not a professional?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I am. But when you walk into this room, you don’t just bring your muscles and your bones. You bring your whole history as a human being. Youbring yoursoul. And when someone touches you, they’re touching all of that, too.”
“Okay...” He’d never thought about it that way.
“Did you ever stop and wonder why we shake hands?” She extended one of hers and shook hands with the air. “It’s a cultural thing. But do you know why?”
“Can’t say I did very well in social studies in school,” he admitted, wondering where she was going with this.
She grinned. “I haven’t the faintest idea where the tradition came from. But I have a theory. We touch someone we meet because it establishes trust. Maybe it’s only a tiny little bit of trust. But if I shake your hand, I have to get close to your body. There’s a brief exchange of heat and sensation. Give me your hand.”
He reached up, and she took his hand in both of her smaller ones, and he forgot to hate being touched for a second because his palm tingled under her touch. “See—this is just asmallextension of trust. But when you’re on my table, the trust you extend to me is a lot greater than that.” She released his hand, but not his gaze. For a second their eyes were locked together, and he saw boundless compassion there.
That made him just a little uncomfortable, too. Damn it.
With quiet deliberation, she put a hand on his bare shoulder. “Patrick, people have all kinds of reactions to massage. I think you’d be surprised. Some guys get chatty and tell me a hell of a lot more than they would if my hands weren’t all over their naked bodies. Some guys fall asleep right away. This is all completely normal. Some people even start crying when I touch them.”
O’Doul barked out a laugh. “Seriously? Do I know these people?”
Ari lifted her regal chin. “I wouldn’t tell you that.Never. Just like I wouldn’t tell another soul what reaction you have to being on my table.”
“Sorry.” Now he just felt sheepish. “I know.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not giving up on you. But any ideas you have for making this easier on you, I’m all ears. I don’t know if you’re a fan of meditation, but that’s something we could try.”
“Eh.”
She laughed. “Fine. Lie back now. And tell me this—where and when do you feel most relaxed?” She moved around the table to stand at his head, and then began to rub both his shoulders. That felt pretty good.
Though answering her question wasn’t easy. He really didn’t want to get into it. “At home. In my bed. Just like anyone.”
