The Hot One(19)

She purses her lips, then she brings her fingers to her forehead like she’s shocked I did this. Like she can’t even process it. “I don’t know what to say,” she says, taking time with each word. “You’re naked at my work, and I can’t even think.”

“I’m supposed to be naked.”

She lifts her head and points wildly to the massage table. “You’re supposed to be naked under the sheets, not standing here at full mast, showing off your rock hard body and perfect dick. I can’t think straight when you look like this.”

I rein in a grin.

She inhales sharply. “I mean it. I can’t think at all.” She turns on her flip-flopped foot, yanks open the door, and strides in the hall.

Oops.

That wasn’t part of the plan. Time to improvise, since I’ve got no choice but to follow her. I don’t want her to get away from me again.

“Give me a chance, Delaney,” I say firmly. I won’t beg. But I will speak my mind. I cup a hand over my dick and walk into the hall.

Double fucking oops.

This time the coast isn’t clear. It’s stuffed with people, who all catch a glimpse of my Garden of Eden attire, my hand mimicking Adam’s fig leaf.

A short, muscular, forty-something woman wanders out of the ladies’ room and snaps her head toward me, her eyes widening.

A masseuse sporting a long braid down her back steps out of a massage room, calling over her shoulder, “Yes, come see me again tomorrow.” Then she sees me and asks, “Are you my ten a.m.?”

I’m about to answer with a no when Felipe rounds the corner and halts in his tracks. His eyebrows rise, and he clasps his hand over his mouth gasping, “Oh my.”

I raise my other hand in a casual wave. “Like I said, not a fan of robes.”

As his eyes roam my body, he utters, “I’m not a fan of robes anymore, either.”

The muscular woman waves her hand, like she’s calling for attention in class. “Honey—” The woman levels a sharp gaze at Delaney. “You need to give that man a chance.”

Delaney smiles tightly, nodding a thanks that I’m sure is hard as hell for her to give. Especially since I have more supporters.

The masseuse with the braid pipes in. “If not, I’ll take your chance.”

With her jaw set hard, Delaney gives a quick, “thanks for the feedback” wave, then spins around, smoke seeming to billow from her nose. She sets a hand on my chest and pushes me back into the Rainfall Room.

She slams the door behind her.





7





Delaney



* * *



This stunt.

This crazy, ridiculous, over-the-top stunt.

This goddamn parade of flesh.

I just . . . can’t even.

Can’t even stand how ballsy he is.

Can’t even comprehend what the hell I’m supposed to think, feel, or do.

He waltzed out naked in front of my employees and customers.

And now he’s nude here with me.

I stand in the massage room, my arms crossed over my chest as I lock my gaze with Tyler’s.

Let me state this for the record—I didn’t drag him back in this room because of that body. I’m not that shallow. But it's impossible not to notice his finer features.

His shoulders are deliciously broad, his arms are muscular, and his chest operates like a magnet for my hands. I cross my arms tighter to resist the force of attraction.

Don’t even get me started on those magazine-spread abs. A six-pack is my shrine. I want to touch it, lick it, and rub my head against it like a cat rolling in catnip. Meow, indeed.

I dig in my heels. Push my toes against the soles of my shoes, like I’m holding firm with my feet alone.

And let’s not forget his legs. His thighs are toned and look powerful. His calves are strong. He even has seductive knees, and hell if I know how that’s possible. Knees aren’t so sexy, but connecting those thighs to those calves, they are a mild aphrodisiac. My mouth waters as I take him in, and sadly I can’t even see his ass.

That’s what is so freaking unfair. I meant it when I said I can’t think straight. How could I? He’s naked. N-A-K-E-D. In front of me. Asking for a second chance.

This is the definition of “rock and a hard place.”

Because it’s him.

Tyler Nichols is more than the opening act, the closing act, and the main attraction of my dirty dreams. He’s the one who got away. He’s the guy I loved more than sprinkles. He’s the man who made me feel beautiful, adored, and cherished.

Speaking of all his parts . . .

Even though my eyes are locked with his, I got more than a peek of his cock. The man has a magnificent dick. Long, thick, proud, with just the perfect left hook to it.

It looks great soft. It looks glorious when it’s unapologetically hard.

But none of this would matter without the face. His eyes are like chocolate, his cheekbones could be carved by sculptors, and his lips are so damn kissable. His brown hair is thick, soft, and a little bit in need of a cut. The slightly unkempt style makes me want to drag my fingers through it.

And yes, my ode to his body might sound like I’m obsessed with the surface. But what I can’t get out of my head is that he pulled this off. He wanted to apologize properly so much that he stripped to his full birthday suit here at my spa, giving a preview of most of his parts to my staff and customers in the hallway.