Until We Touch. Сьюзен Мэллери

along with shower shoes. Everyone came to her like that. She politely turned her back so he could hang the robe on the hook and slip onto the table.

      In a spa setting, she would step out of the room. After all, during a massage, her clients were naked. But the first time she’d tried that with the guys here, they’d told her not to bother. As Kenny had put it, “None of us have anything you haven’t seen before.” There was also the fact that she was frequently called into the sauna to rub aching muscles and they were all naked there. It was weird, but she’d gotten used to it.

      During her massage training there had been plenty of instruction on how to handle the awkward “you’re naked and I’m touching you” part of what she did. There were specific laws and codes of ethics that had to be followed. Not that her guys ever pushed the boundaries. They weren’t like that.

      None of them wanted to be covered at all when they were facedown. Larissa had fought that battle and lost the first year. When they turned over, she draped a towel across the, ah, private areas. Taryn didn’t even want to bother with that. As for the natural male reaction to a woman touching his body...Kenny sometimes got an erection, but he laughed about it. His humor made her completely comfortable with the situation. Sam rarely got hard. The man had a will of iron. And Jack, well, he seemed to fall in the Sam camp.

      Now she waited until she heard Jack slide onto the massage table.

      “Why do you always put out that stupid sheet?” he asked.

      “Because it’s my job.”

      She turned and saw the top sheet had been kicked to the floor, just like always. The regularity of the event made her smile.

      She picked up the sheet and tossed it in her dirty linens bin, then collected the moist heat pack. She worked quickly to slide it into its cover, then wrapped the ribbed warmth around Jack’s right shoulder. There it would loosen the muscles and scarring while she worked on the rest of his back.

      She began the massage by touching his upper arms, then moving across his back. She felt for any new tension, any areas of tenderness. Her touch was sure as she lightly kneaded familiar muscles. She worked her way down to the small of his back before retracing her steps.

      “Taryn’s keeping a stash of bridal magazines in her office,” she said conversationally. “But when I asked her if she and Angel had set a date, she wouldn’t say. I think she’s weirded out about what to do.”

      As she spoke, she dug into his left shoulder. While it was nowhere near as beat-up as the right, he’d suffered plenty of hits on that side.

      “Taryn can’t figure out if she wants a big wedding or to run off,” Jack said, his voice slightly muffled.

      “I know. A couple of days ago she announced she’s having a big wedding. Yesterday she said they were going to elope. I hope she decides on having a wedding. She would totally rock a great designer dress. It would be like theater.”

      “You’d have to dress up, too,” he pointed out.

      Not her favorite thing. “I could manage for a day. Would you give her away?”

      She asked the question without thinking, then remembered Jack and Taryn had been married briefly. She’d gotten pregnant and he’d insisted they do the right thing. When she lost the baby a few weeks later, they’d gotten divorced. As far as Larissa knew, they’d never been in love and the topic of their marriage wasn’t the least bit sensitive. At least not on the surface.

      “Taryn wouldn’t appreciate the idea of being given or taken,” he said. “My guess is if she goes the big wedding route, she’ll hustle herself down the aisle.”

      Larissa began to work on his back. His skin was warm and the oil she used allowed her hands to slide easily. The rhythm of her movements anchored her in place. The music was nice. Soothing, she thought.

      “I got another call about the chiweenies,” she told him. “They’re going to make one more visit to talk to the lady. They’re pretty sure it’s a hoarding situation. The animal-rescue people are working with local law enforcement to get her to surrender the animals to avoid charges.”

      “You’re not bringing dogs to my house.”

      She smiled. “Would I do that?”

      “In a heartbeat.”

      * * *

      JACK DID HIS best to give himself over to the massage. Much of the time, being worked on by Larissa was the best part of his day. His shoulder provided a steady ache and as he wouldn’t take drugs for it, he’d learned to live with the pain.

      The heat pack she used eased some of it. Later she would dig her needle fingers into the joints, searching out scarring and grinding it into submission. That part wasn’t fun, but the result was relief—at least for a few hours.

      Her voice washed over him. She told him about her causes and what was happening in town. Sometimes he listened and sometimes he didn’t. He’d learned that if it was important, she would tell him again.

      But today he couldn’t relax. Not the way he usually did. Something was off. Not the massage table. It was the same, as were the sheets and the music. Even the oil she used was familiar.

      But there was something. He tried closing his eyes, but that didn’t help. Her hands continued to move on his body, sliding down his back. Lower and lower. She worked his shoulder last—leaving it until he was ready to turn over. That way she could attack it from both sides. That’s what always happened. She put heat on his shoulder, did the whole back of him, then his shoulder. He turned over, she did the front of the shoulder, wrapped it in heat and then tackled the rest of him. They had a routine. It worked. So what was his problem?

      Her hands stroked lower and lower on his back. He knew what was next. She would slide down his hip, then come up to the side of his butt and dig in to some pressure point. She would grind until he was about ready to come off the table, and then suddenly it would ease. Pain would flow out of him as if she’d pulled the cork on a bottle.

      Sure enough she started on his right side. He wasn’t sure if she used her fingers or knuckles or what, but she unerringly found that damned spot every time and pushed to what felt like the center of his pelvis bone. The pain was sharp and white, almost like a knife. Nerve pain, he thought, recognizing the difference. He began to tense. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, there was a sudden absence of pain and he went limp.

      Larissa walked around to the other side of the table and rested her hand on the small of his back, as if silently telling him she was there. Her fingers slipped down the side of his hip then up to his butt where she dug in again. Her free hand rested on the back of his thigh.

      Did she always do that? Rest her hand there? Because it felt nice. She had good hands. Strong. The way she moved them. There was a confidence a guy could get used to. If she would just move that other hand a little higher and toward the center. If he parted his legs a little she could—

      The sharp pain grew, but it wasn’t enough to distract him, and when it faded, there was a new ache in its place. A growing ache that he couldn’t immediately place. It was as if—

      Jack silently swore as he realized he had an erection. What the hell? Now? During a massage? What was he—fifteen?

      Stop it, he told himself. No way could he be aroused. Not like this. He never had been before. Okay, maybe a couple of times when it had been a long time between women, but then he thought about his relationship with Larissa and knew that was never going to happen. They were friends. He cared about her. He knew better than to sleep with someone he cared about.

      The realization had always been enough to take care of the problem. But it wasn’t today. The more he thought he shouldn’t, the bigger he got. The more he told himself not to, the more he imagined what it would be like. Her hands moving all over him. Him touching her in return. His mouth exploring every part of her before he settled between her thighs and—

      Shit!

      Without