Resonating Souls (Bermuda Nights #1)(21)

He grinned at that. “Then you might enjoy what I have in store for you.”

Wild hope leapt in my chest. “I thought this afternoon was it, until you came home to Boston?”

His eyes held mine, vibrant with desire. “There’s still a few more hours left in the afternoon.”

Heat blossomed in my breasts, settled down deep within my sex, and my heart hammered.

He guided me through customs, then security, then we got into the elevator, taking it to the top. My brows raised in curiosity as we reached the doors to the spa area of the ship.

“I have a friend who works in here,” he murmured as we walked past the front desk. “He’s letting me borrow his room. Turns out his afternoon client wanted a more … intimate setting for a massage.”

He pushed open the door.

The room was elegantly decorated in muted cornflower blue and lavender. Soft music was playing in sweeping chords. The gentle fragrance of rose drifted through the air. LED candles flickered from a number of surfaces.

I sighed. “Oh, Evan, it’s beautiful.”

Evan closed the door behind us and turned the lock. Then he waved at the massage table. His voice took on a slightly formal tone, as if I were a client, and he was simply here to provide my booked hour-long massage time. “Please, miss, if you would remove all your garments and lie face-down on the massage table, we can get started. I’ll turn my back as you get ready.”


He turned and, as indicated, stared placidly at the wall.

My body flushed with heat. I’d gotten massages over the years, but never from a masseuse who looked quite like this. And never in a situation where …

My sex grew moist just at the thought, and I quickly stripped out of my clothes, piling them on the chair in the corner. I climbed onto the table and put my face into the cushioned ring at the far end. My hair draped down around the edges, creating a curtain which hid the room from view.

His fingers pressed, warm, firm, against the muscles in my upper back. “And now we’ll begin with …” He paused, then pressed again, as if testing the muscle. His voice lost some of its distant formality, merging into surprise. “Good God, Amanda, your trapezius muscles are amazing!”

I grinned, flexing them for him. “The butterfly stroke,” I informed him. “Does wonders for your upper arms and back.”

“You’re not kidding,” he murmured, pressing his fingers along the length in a probing manner. Then he coughed and his tone regained its smooth tone. “I shall endeavor to remove some of these knots from your nicely toned muscles, miss.”

My mouth was in a wide grin. “You do so, and you might get a nice tip when we’re through.”

I could feel his chuckle shimmer in his fingers. “Well, perhaps we’ll try this …”

His fingers slid, pressed in deep, and a delicious ache plummeted through me, digging right through my core. My breasts firmed against the cool sheets. I groaned at the sensation.

His voice had a light lilt to it. “Was that too hard, miss?”

“Oh, no, no,” I moaned. “That was just right.”

“Hmmm, maybe you would then like …”

His thumbs dug into that sweet spot right in the core of my trapezius, where the aches always seemed to develop, and I was in agonized pleasure, wanting it to go on forever. My moan was even deeper.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “Let it all out. These rooms are fairly well soundproofed.” His voice gained a lightness, as if he were grinning. “They have to – they offer Rolfing sessions here. Those can be fairly … noisy.”

He sunk his fingers along my spine, and I gave up on holding in the moans. It seemed everywhere he touched soaked in his presence as if it had craved him for years.

Down … down … his fingers reached my ass and traced around the curves, the light touch sending my entire body into a shimmering tingle. I wanted him everywhere at once. My thoughts lost their coherency, and I was simply adrift in a sea of sensation, an ocean of desire, and his hands were my guiding star.

The fingers moved to my foot, and I had never dreamed that pressure on my inner arch could cause such intense pleasure. I was lucky I was lying flat on the massage table, for I doubted any limb could hold me upright. He worked his way up my calf, to that tender place behind my knee, and now my moans were coming with each breath, were the soundtrack to his every move. The background music, the scent of rose, the flickering candles, all of it faded into the background. There were only his fingers. Only his hands, only …

He slid his hand along my hip, easing the fingers around to my stomach, and my groan grew louder. His other hand pushed in beneath my chest, moving to cup my breast. His fingers brushed against my hard nipple, and the ache in me grew to encompass the world.

His body pressed against me, and I could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the richness of his scent, and I soaked it in. His hand at my breast pressed and rolled my nipple, while the other at my hip slid … traced … pressed …

His finger found my clit.

I pressed my hips down hard against the finger, craving it with all of my being, and his other hand squeezed hard on my nipple. I was beyond words. The cry from me was primal, echoing from my deepest reservoirs.

His finger in my sex slid through the thick moisture there, gently strumming a rhythm which echoed the beat of my heart.