Charming Cupid Page 8

  “But I think I’m most like my mom. I have her sense of humor. Her ability to talk to anyone. But more than that, I think I have her ability to see people, to see who they really are. And we both will do anything we can to make the people we love happy. That’s what matters to us. Accomplishments are great, but without the people we love to share them with, it means nothing.”

  His answer was so specific and self-aware that it took me by surprise and made me swoon like a heroine in an eighteenth century English literature.

  “What about you?”

  “Oh…um…” I had been so caught up in what he might say I completely forgot that I would need to answer. “Well, my dad was brilliant, charming, and a total narcissist. My mom is artistic, passionate, and blindly devoted. I can’t say that I’m like either one of them, really. When I was young, I had a friend who was adopted, and I remember thinking that if I was adopted it would make a lot of sense. A lot more sense than being the biological child of Phillip and Celia Cupid. At the time, I asked my mom if I was but she insisted that I was not. She showed me pictures of her at all the stages of her pregnancy. As I got older, I realized that I definitely have some of their physical traits. But it would still make more sense to me if I were adopted.” I chuckled and realized I’d never said that out loud to anyone.

  Coop grinned but then his expression grew serious. “I’ve never met your parents but if your dad was brilliant and charming and your mom is artistic and passionate, then I’d say that you definitely have inherited some of their non-physical traits.”

  Brilliant and charming were not ways I’d ever describe myself, but just like beauty was in the eye of the beholder, I could see how those would be, too. But, passionate and artistic…? No way. I was a thinker. I was an intellectual. I liked data and studying, deconstructing and hypothesizing. Those things were not usually described as passionate and artistic.

  “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body and as far as passionate…” I had to stop myself from revealing the last time I’d had a passionate encounter. It had been a year. Actually, closer to two years.

  “Are you kidding me?” Coop leaned his elbows on the table. “Have you read your book?”

  “Yes.” I knew a leading question when I heard one, I just had no idea where he was taking this.

  “How can you say that the person who wrote it isn’t passionate and artistic?”

  I started to argue but found myself opening my mouth and then closing it again. I guess I’d never thought of my writing that way. My jaw dropped again but this time I spoke, “Who are you?”

  “Is that the next question?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t written down, but it was what I needed to know.

  He took the card out of my hand and read it. Instead of calling me on the fact that I’d just lied, he handed the card back to me and smiled. “I’m just me.”

  The confidence he spoke with was both refreshing and arousing. More arousing than refreshing if I was being honest. My hormones were having a dance party and my internal voice was the cops breaking it up, telling them to turn the music down and go home.

  I cleared my throat and did my best to refocus, again. I started with asking the correct second question. “What is your perfect day?”

  “Having breakfast with a woman I haven’t stopped thinking about for six months. And then getting recruited to join her seminar where I have the opportunity to get to know her better.”

  It was a line, obviously. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t working.

  CHAPTER 12

  Coop

  “Are you sure about this?” Juliette asked as she ushered me into a room at the back of the spa.

  “Absolutely. I’m excited to see the results firsthand.”

  I lifted my hands, the hands that I would be using to massage the woman that was haunting my every thought, in the air. “Literally.”

  She chuckled at the corny joke but still seemed a little confused as to why I’d volunteered to work on a massage therapy client.

  Little did she know, it was not just any massage therapy client.

  When I’d stopped by to check on my products after the seminar, I’d noticed Vanessa’s name on the computer and saw that she had a massage appointment booked. I’d immediately volunteered my services. I’d never been so grateful that my parents had pushed me so hard to stay in school and finish my senior year of college instead of going into the draft after my junior year so that I would have a degree and something to fall back on when football ended.

  Not only had my degree in physical therapy given me something to fall back on it had also led to me getting certified in massage therapy while developing my therapy oil.

  “I wasn’t sure what you would need to work, so I just had the staff prepare the room the way they would normally.” She fanned her arms out spokeswoman style.

  I looked around the room. There was a large massage table in the center with a white sheet draped over it. The lighting was dim and there were several candles flickering, adding to the relaxing ambiance. Soft music filled the air. A high-end sink sat in a corner. There were decorative plants and towels on floating reclaimed wood shelves, and three bottles of my oils were displayed.

  “Do you have everything you need?”

  “I’m all set.” I smiled as I nodded at Juliette.

  “Camille will show your client in shortly.”

  She exited and as I waited for “my client” I could feel nerves begin to stir low in my belly. I wasn’t nervous about the massage itself. My nickname wasn’t Magic Fingers solely because of my ability to catch and throw a ball. Once I got Vanessa on the table, I knew I could do my job. My job that just happened to be to make her feel good.

  But there was a very good chance that I wouldn’t even get that far. There was a very good chance that she’d walk in, take one look at me, and turn around and walk out. There was a very good chance that none of this would go as planned. I knew this was a risk, but I had forty-eight hours and I didn’t plan on wasting any of them.

  I was on a roll so far today. First breakfast, then getting to stand in for Tom. And even though she hadn’t seemed overly thrilled about me showing up to either initially, I think I’d been able to turn things around.

  This was different, though. This was the real intimacy builder. She’d be practically naked and I would be touching her bare skin. My money was on her refusing to let me work on her, no matter how qualified I was.

  My pulse raced as I heard voices approaching. Thanks to years of practice listening through walls in order to spy on my eight siblings, I was able to make out what was being said.

  “Have you visited the hot springs yet?”

  “No, but I hope to before I leave,” she spoke with sincere desire.

  I made a quick mental note. I wasn’t sure how that could happen, but that didn’t mean anything. This morning I wasn’t sure how I could eat breakfast with Vanessa or ask her personal questions during her seminar, and I sure as hell never thought I’d be seconds away from possibly giving her a massage.

  “You really should. They are amazing.” Camille enthused as the doorknob turned. I held my breath. “Well, you are in for a treat. We have a guest masseuse here today.”

  The door opened and a lump formed in my throat as Vanessa entered the room behind a young woman dressed in the same uniform of black scrubs with an Oasis logo on the chest that they’d had me change into. Her attention was focused on Camille for a split second before it turned my way. In that split second I was struck by just how stunning she truly was.

  Each and every time I’d seen Vanessa, she looked like she could be posing for a photo op. Even in candid shots I uncovered while googling, not a hair was out of place and her clothes were always catalogue ready. But right now, her long locks were pulled up and piled haphazardly on the top of her head and she wore a robe and slippers. Her face was scrubbed clean and her cheeks were flushed.

  It was how she might look after taking a bath.

&n
bsp; When Vanessa saw me, her eyes widened and she clutched at her robe. “What are you doing here?”

  “This is Cooper Briggs—”

  “I know who he is.” Vanessa interrupted Camille but kept her eyes trained on me.

  “Mr. Briggs has a degree in physical therapy and has a new line of therapy oils that Oasis is proud to be debuting this week. He has graciously offered to step in as a guest masseuse today. It’s an honor to have him here.”

  “This is the soft launch I was telling you about.” I motioned to my products.

  Vanessa stared at me and I stared back as Camille listed more of my qualifications and sang my praises. I could see the internal battle she was having as to what to do. It was the same one I’d seen in the seminar when she’d been deciding whether or not to kick me to the curb or let me stay.

  When Camille finished her spiel, there was a moment of silence before she explained, “If you’re uncomfortable, we have several other massage therapists that can—”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  The corners of my lips twitched and it took everything I had not to smile from ear to ear. I may not have won the game yet, but I’d just scored a game-changing touchdown.

  “Great, we’ll step outside while you get ready.” Camille opened the door and I followed behind her. “You can hang your robe on this hook and then when you’re all settled, press the button on the side of the bed.”

  I followed Camille out of the room and nodded at her when she excused herself back to the front desk.

  I tried my best to relax. I rolled my shoulders and flexed my hands. When I did I noticed that they were shaking. Trembling. My hands hadn’t even shaken before the Super Bowl. I couldn’t remember another time that they had.

  I curled them into a fist and attempted to manage the quivering. When I did, I realized that my palms were damp. I paused and took a quick inventory of the rest of my body. I noticed that my breathing was shallow and nerves were pinging through me.

  I did my best to calm and focus myself as I inhaled slowly through my nose and exhaled out of my mouth.

  Confidence. That’s what I needed to project. Sweaty palms and hyperventilating wasn’t exactly going to inspire confidence in my abilities.

  My anxiety was born out of knowing what was at stake with Vanessa. My friends and family had always given me crap for being a player and not taking things seriously with anyone. They said things like I’d never settle down, insisting I’d be a perpetual bachelor.

  The truth was, yes, I’d enjoyed sowing my wild oats and then some. And I was happy that I had because all that experience taught me that what I felt for Vanessa was rare. It was real. It was the needle in the haystack.

  I’d known that even before the morning session. Before I’d seen the genuine empathy and grace in which she listened and genuinely cared. Before I’d opened up and shared things with her that I’d never shared with another soul. Like the fact that I always worried when I was younger that my parents would die because I didn’t think anyone would adopt all nine of us kids and we’d be separated. I told her that I used to cry before I went to sleep; terrified that something would happen to them. I’d never told anyone that.

  I’d known that she was special, that what I felt for her was special before I’d sat down in front of her today from listening to hours upon hours of her podcast. The way her mind worked was unlike anyone’s I’d ever met. She was so layered and nuanced, it drew me in and made me want to know more.

  And now there was a lot more between us than just a feeling, or the intuition I had about her. Now I knew that she was someone I could easily fall in love with. That I was falling in love with.

  That knowledge made this weekend even more important. Somehow, I was sure this was my shot and I wouldn’t get another one.

  The light flashed and I took a deep breath. When I stepped into the small room, Vanessa was lying face down on the table. I did my best not to notice the way her chestnut hair cascaded down one side of the table or the gentle slope of her neck and bare shoulders, or how toned her calves were.

  This was a client. I needed to treat her as a patient and nothing more.

  I picked up the oil and squeezed it onto my hands. It had a warming element and my palms tingled with the heat.

  “Do you have any problem areas, or areas you’d like me to focus on today?”

  Her response was a muffled snort that was accompanied by her shoulders flinching, before she offered a clipped, “No.”

  I knew it was physically impossible, but as I lowered my hands to touch her, I could feel her before I made contact. Not just the natural body heat that radiated off of her body, it was more than that. It was as if I was entering her soul’s force field. My hands began to tingle and I did my best to ignore them.

  This massage was not about me. It was about Vanessa and making her feel good. Actually, the goal was to make her feel better than good.

  I went to work on her knotted muscles, starting with her neck and working my way down to her shoulders. My hands expertly kneaded the tension from them with stroke after firm stroke.

  Damn, my hair-brained scheme had been born out of wanting to infuse myself into Vanessa’s weekend and spend as much time with her as possible. And let’s keep it real, I’d wanted to be the person touching her, relaxing her, massaging her into a blissful oblivion. But now that I was really digging into her muscles, I could see how much she needed this. She held a world of tension in her neck, her shoulders, and her back.

  A low moan rumbled in her chest.

  “Let me know if this is too hard.”

  “You can go harder,” she rasped.

  My dick jumped in my pants. My brain knew that she hadn’t meant her request to come out sounding like she was working a sex hotline. Unfortunately, that message got lost in translation as all of the blood flowed from the head on my shoulders to the one below my belt. Mr. Happy was cocked and loaded.

  As inappropriate as me popping a boner was, I had to admit I was relieved that he still had it in him. Jade was wrong. I had dated since the gala. Several times. It just never went anywhere because I still couldn’t rise to the occasion. I’d chalked it up to performance anxiety, but now it looked like someone was ready to take center stage.

  “Mmm,” she sighed as the therapeutic movements of my fingers, palms, and thumbs all worked together to relax and soften the tension in her muscles.

  I had given enough massages to know that she was going to feel a thousand percent better by the time I was done. I worked my thumbs in small circles down the two sides of her spine until I reached her lower back, then I widened the circles by about half an inch and worked my way up. I made that trip up and down her stiff back four times and as I reached her lower back on that final pass, I could feel her body begin to relax. By the time I made it down to her thighs, I noticed that her limbs were totally limp.

  I did my best to keep my thoughts as PG as possible but they hovered around NC-17. Still, I had to give myself props for not heading into XXX territory.

  Thirty minutes into the massage I ran my thumbs along her spine for a final pass and then I pulled the sheet up for privacy and was about to instruct her to turn over when I heard the muffled yet distinct sound of someone snoring.

  People falling asleep and snoring were not something new in the massage game. It happened a lot.

  I rested my hand on her shoulder and spoke in a soothing tone, “Vanessa. It’s time to roll over.”

  The only response I got was a much louder, shuddering snort.

  I had to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. I’d heard a lot of snores in my days but I’d never heard any of them sound as cute as she did. It was almost as if she were singing and snoring at the same time. I could listen to it all day. And night, for that matter.

  Instead of trying to wake her further, I decided to continue to work on her shoulders, arms, back, legs, and feet. I’d noticed the dark circles that she’d done her best to conceal with makeup. She
obviously needed sleep, and I needed to make sure that when she woke up, her body felt better than it ever had. I wanted her to be relaxed and happy. But just as importantly, I wanted her to dream about how amazing my hands made her feel.

  CHAPTER 13

  Vanessa

  My entire body is humming as I lie face down and Coop’s hands roam my body. He’s touching me everywhere but the one place I need him to be touching me. I want more. I want to take more. Coop’s hands slide up my legs and I part them in invitation.

  “Vanessa,” he growls.

  “Touch me,” I instruct with a confidence I’ve never felt before.

  I stare down at the Spanish-tiled floor as his hand continues north to the apex of my legs.

  “Yes,” I gasp at the first brush of his hand against the lips of my sex. “Right there.”

  He begins to massage my outer lips, running his roughened fingers up and down my seam easily. I’m wet. Very wet.

  I tilt my hips up, giving him full access. “More.”

  His inhale is sharp as I feel the tip of his finger push inside me.

  “Ohh!” I cry out as my body accepts his large digit. My inner walls stretch at the intrusion but it’s not enough.

  He presses deep inside of me, one pump, two pumps. It’s still not enough. If anything, it only serves to inflame my desire for him even more. I roll my hips away from his touch and turn over. The sheet that had been covering my back slides down to the floor. I’m totally naked and I watch as his eyes take me in. Surprise and lust warring behind them.

  “Take off your clothes,” I demand boldly.

  His nostrils flare and his stare grows dark. He removes his shirt in one smooth motion and my chest constricts from the sheer perfection that stands before me. The salty taste of saliva fills my mouth as I watch Coop take off his clothing, piece by piece.

  His athletic physique becomes sexier to me with every new inch of skin he reveals.

  Urgency rages in me. It’s too slow. There’s something about this encounter that feels like it might slip away from me if I don’t take matters into my own hands.