Cowgirl Up and Ride (Rough Riders #3)(61)

“You are amazingly good at this, AJ.”


“Thank you.”


“No. Seriously, wonderfully, awesomely, astoundingly good. How much school do you have left before you graduate?”


“One trimester, which is mostly clinical work. Then I can hang out my shingle.”


“You’ll be overrun with customers. And marriage proposals from all sorts of men who’ve experienced your magic hands.”


Would that last group include you?


Don’t go there, AJ. She kept her mouth shut and concentrated on his biceps and triceps.


But Cord wouldn’t let it go. “Where you thinkin’ of settin’ up shop?”


“Keely and I talked about opening our own place either in Sundance or Moorcroft, but that was before things changed.”


Cord tensed up again. “What sort of things?”


“Things like Mama selling the ranch. Things like Jenn and the kids moving to Billings. Things like my potential partner/roommate/BFF Keely neglecting to tell me she’d rather not be a massage therapist.”


“What? What does she want to do?”


“To continue her schooling and get a dual degree as a certified physical therapist and an occupational therapist.”


“Where does that leave you?”


Lost. “In Denver. It’s a real crapshoot at this point where I’ll end up come January.”


He didn’t respond.


She allowed her brain to slide into professional mode as she finished his upper back.


On to the gluteus maximus—or the best butt she’d ever had her hands on. How could she stay neutral while rubbing and stroking perfectly squeezable man flesh? Without thinking of how she’d clutched it tightly while Cord pumped in and out of her with such passion?


If she looked closely, she might even see scratches from her fingernails.


“What’s wrong?”


“Here’s the deal, McKay. It’s up to you whether I skip your very fine butt and move on to your very fine legs.”


“Why up to me?”


“In a situation where I’m not intimately acquainted with the client, it’s not a problem. We both know that’s not the case. I’ve had your tight tush in my hands. I don’t know if I can massage it without remembering my death grip the last time you—”


“Are you tryin’ to give me a hard-on, AJ? ’Cause it’s workin’.”


She bit back a smile. “No. We actually have a class entitled, ‘The Male Erection: Nothing Personal’ which is my favorite class.”


“This one’s personal,” he growled, “very personal. Intensely personal.”


“Okay, then I’ll focus on the backs of your legs.”


“Fine.”


AJ tried not to look at the area between his thighs. But her gaze was continually drawn to the heavy sac covered in crinkly dark hair, a contrast against the stark white sheet.


“Stop starin’ at my butt.”


I’m not. I’m staring at your balls. “Sorry.”


“Do you usually talk to your clients while you’re doin’ this?”


“Sometimes. Mostly they’re trying to relax so it’s minimal conversation. Lots of people wear iPods.”


“Don’t that bother you?”