What He Left Behind(33)

“Okay. Some people are, and I’d just as soon not get kicked by accident.”

“No kicking. Promise.”

Michael chuckles and then reaches down again.

Ian closes his eyes. He slowly releases his breath. “Wow.”

“This okay?”

“Yeah. That’s more than okay.”

I watch them over my wineglass. The tub’s bubbling surface obscures what’s going on below, but I can put the pieces together. I’ve had a foot massage from Michael before, and I’ve given them to Ian. I know what Michael’s hands feel like, sliding over skin and gently working tension out of muscles and tendons. I know how Ian’s toes curl, how his other foot won’t be able to hold still while the first is getting attention.

Eyes still closed, Ian brings his arm forward and wraps it around my shoulders instead of resting it across the tub’s edge. His skin is cool but warms up quickly, and his fingers absently knead my arm, as if mimicking what Michael is doing.

After a while, Michael says, “Other foot?”

They both shift, Michael sitting up for a sip of wine while Ian lowers one foot and brings up the other. When Michael starts again, Ian lets his head fall back.

“Why the hell are you not a massage therapist?” The words are barely more than a groan. But then Ian’s eyes snap open, and he tenses, as if he realizes what he’s said. “Um, I mean—”

Michael laughs. “You know I don’t work with people.”

Ian glances at me, and we both relax.

“Fine. Fine,” Ian says. “Get your license for animals.” He squirms, squeezing his eyes shut. “As long as you’ll work on us.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Michael glances at me and shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe I missed my calling.”

“You so did.”

I chuckle, but Michael’s words throw me for a loop. We all know he did miss his calling, thanks to he-who-doesn’t-need-to-be-named, but the fact that he can make an offhand comment about it is…good? And he didn’t bat an eye at Ian’s comment about being a massage therapist despite the fact that massaging means touching. Which he’s doing right now. Without any issue that I can see.

Ian glances at me, and that look sends a jolt straight to my balls. It’s just as well the jets are still going, because if I know that smoldering gaze, Ian is hard as a rock right now. We always keep the tub a few degrees cooler than normal for that very reason, so we can fool around if we want to, but I’m wondering now if that wasn’t a good idea.

Except he’d never let on and make Michael uncomfortable. I know my husband, though—I know what we’ll be doing when we’re alone later tonight.

He grins and squeezes my shoulder, then closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the side again.

Michael laughs. “If I keep doing this, we can probably talk about The Walking Dead and he’ll never notice.”

“Talk about whatever you want,” Ian says, almost groaning. “Long as you keep rubbing my feet.”

“I’ll have to remember that when the new season starts.” Michael releases Ian’s foot. “There. Better?”

“Holy shit, yes.” Ian pulls his legs back and sits up. “I’m serious when I say you would be an amazing massage therapist.”

“I think I prefer being an amateur.” Michael rolls his shoulders, as if he’s stiff from leaning forward, and reaches for his wine. “But any time either of you need it, just say the word.”

“And it’s okay for you?” Ian’s brow furrows. “I mean, with touching?”

Michael swirls his wine. A smile slowly comes to life. He meets my eyes, then Ian’s, and he nods. “Yeah. I think it is. So”—he raises his glass—“thank you both.”

“You’re welcome,” Ian says.

I smile. “You’re definitely welcome.”

Michael meets my gaze as he sips his wine, and my heart flutters.

Maybe he’s already come further than either of us thought.





Chapter Ten


When I walk into Michael’s apartment a few nights later, the whole place is dark except for warm light coming from his bedroom’s open doorway. The dog greets me as he always does, but then wanders into the living room.

I continue down the hall. “Michael? You here?”

“In the bedroom.”

Of course. Heart thumping, I walk into the room. And halt. And stare.

Michael’s lying back on the bed, grinning at me. He’s completely naked and…

Oh God. Completely hard.

He’s grinning at me and stroking himself. Air? Who needs air? Fuck.

“Right on time,” he says. “As usual.”

“Yeah. And it looks like…” Seriously, air? I clear my throat. “Guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t late.”

He laughs softly, and I’m completely mesmerized as he slowly, slowly strokes himself. Why the hell am I still standing all the way over here, anyway? I snap out of it, take off my shoes and socks and join him on the bed.

Michael pulls me over the top of him and kisses me. Jesus. Somehow, my clothes haven’t evaporated right off me, but I’m okay with that. There is something unspeakably hot about being on top of his naked body while I’m still dressed.