The Masseuse by Sierra Kincade Read Free Book Online

tips, gaze more penetrating than it had been even in my dreams. He wore a black suit that had been tailored to fit his broad shoulders and lean waist to perfection, with a white dress shirt left unbuttoned at the collar. When he stood, his slacks moved in such a way that offered only a hint of the long muscles beneath and made me curious as to just how well-endowed he actually was.
    “Anna.”
    The word from his mouth made my breath hitch; his voice was mesmerizing. It conjured images of him hovering over me, growling my name against my neck.
    The space between us crackled with electricity; I felt it humming in my blood, making my body sensitive and damp. Fearful I would drop the two drinks I was holding, I set them down on the table beside me and tried to pull myself together.
    “If it isn’t the neighborhood watch,” I said, scarcely more than a whisper.
    His lips quirked, and I wanted to lick them. The butterflies in my belly were going haywire.
    “What do you mean?”
    I blinked, trying to break the spell. “I don’t know your name.”
    “Alec Flynn.” He moved closer, and his hand rose to my long, wet hair, twisting the ends around his fingers.
    “Did you just get out of the shower?”
    I nodded, unable to move.
    His eyes darkened, like storm clouds over the ocean. I could feel my temperature rising and the tension building inside me, the muscles I’d just stretched out growing taut again.
    “It’s bad enough you’re wearing those pants,” he said, referring to the black tights I’d tucked inside my knee-high boots. “Now I’m thinking of you naked
and
wet.”
    “Is that a problem?” Seeing the desire in his face made me bold.
    “Depends on how long you’re going to make me wait to see you that way.”
    I swallowed, and reminded myself I knew nothing about him.
    “You seem awfully sure of where this is going,” I told him.
    “And you’re not?” His hand left my hair, trailing down my side before coming to rest on my hip. Heat streaked through the thin fabric of my flowing black peasant top, making me shudder. He must have felt my reaction because he moved close enough for his lips to skim my ear.
    “You kept me up last night, Anna. I know you thought of me, too.”
    I froze, memories flashing bright in my mind of the glass window against my back and my fingers sliding over places I wanted him to touch. He couldn’t have seen me; no one from the street could see up to the second floor. I’d checked it several times. It was nothing more than a cocky assumption, but I couldn’t help but feel transparent.
    Suddenly I became aware of our surroundings—the coffee shop, the people watching us, the barista with the goatee glaring from his position at the cash register. I took a step back, pulling my hair over one shoulder.
    “Do you live nearby?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
    He breathed in deeply, pushing his hands into his pockets. He didn’t have a drink; maybe he’d already finished it.
    “Just here for business.”
    “A little of this and a little of that,” I said, remembering what he’d told me the previous day in the study.
    “Right.”
    “It’s too bad,” I said. “I was going to say we should have coffee sometime. Now I’ve got to go to work.”
    “At Rave?”
    I felt my brows pull together. “How did you . . . ?”
    “I asked around,” he said with a devious glint in his eyes. Then conceded. “Ms. Rowe.”
    So he had been thinking about me. I felt the power shift back to my corner.
    “Well,” I said, fighting the urge to grab him by the lapels and drag him back to my apartment. “I guess if you know where I work, you can make that appointment we discussed.”
    He tilted his head. “I will. You owe me, remember?”
    I bit my lip; yesterday’s run-in with Maxim Stein and his redheaded mistress seemed more like a dream than reality.
    “I do.” I picked up my drinks. “Thanks for the coffee.”
    I could feel his gaze on my back until I was out