Page 22 of First Touch

I hoped it was. Because that would mean I hadn’t fucked up after all. That would mean that plan A was back on. It would mean that there could be more between Reeve and I, and that was increasingly becoming very important to me.

But after the way he’d left me the night of our date, I was almost sure that a friendly surprise was wishful thinking. And something about his tone felt icy. Ominous. Or was that my imagination, fueled by cobwebs remaining from my dream?

“You’re thinking too much,” Reeve chided, as if he could read my mind. “Lay down. Let your mind go.”

His eyes left mine to concentrate on his hands. He moved up to my calf now, digging into the sensitive knots with a walk of his knuckles. His touch was so specific, so concentrated. So in tune with what I needed.

I resigned myself to it and lay back down. But there was no way I could let my mind go again. Not now. There was too much tension between Reeve and I, and as he kneaded and stroked me into a listless puddle, the tension between us wound tighter. It was a much different experience than it had been when I’d thought it was Geoffrey hovering over me. Now the massage didn’t just feel good, it felt sensual. Now the firm pressure from Reeve’s hands wasn’t just good technique, it was intimate. Now the sheet didn’t seem modest, it seemed skimpy. Now I wasn’t relaxed, I was aroused.

Especially as his hands got higher. And higher. When he bent my knee. When his kneading met the muscles of my hips. When his fingers worked the inside of my thigh, up, up, the tips brushing the outer lips of my pussy.

Heat boiled in my veins. Want. Need. It took every ounce of my strength not to fidget and squirm. Everything not to beg for him to… what? More. That was all I could articulate. Just, more.

To keep myself centered, I watched him intently as he invaded the landscape of my body. He was focused. Restrained. Professional, when this wasn’t even his job. Controlled. Always controlled.

But his quiet intensity gave him away. I saw the effort it took. Saw the desire cloud his features. Saw his eyes sweep along my skin. I stopped wondering what this was and started wondering what it could be.

He tugged at the sheet and I hoped. But he merely covered my leg and moved to repeat the process on the other side.

Except this time, he spoke. “I hope you’re nice and relaxed, Emily. Because we need to have a chat.”

Apprehension fluttered in my belly. Chatting was definitely not the direction I wanted to go in from here. Whatever he had to say, I couldn’t possibly listen. I was too agitated.

But without him spelling it out, I knew those were the terms of this arrangement. He’d touch me – in his way. And I’d listen, whether I wanted to or not.

So I propped myself up again and gave him as much of my attention as I could.

“It’s interesting,” he said, his thumbs doing that amazing thing on the bottom of my foot, “how people respond to you when they believe you’ve gotten away with murder.”

My stomach dropped. No speech that started with murder had a happy ending.

“Most people are frightened of you,” he said as his hand stroked up my shin. “They pull their business. They stop attending your events. They certainly won’t let themselves be seen with you. It’s not really anything to fret over, losing those connections. You don’t want cowards in your court. Good riddance to them.”

“I’m not a coward,” I managed to say defensively. Though I wasn’t sure why I was defending myself. Or why I was anxious that he might mean good riddance to me when that was probably exactly what I should be wishing he meant.

He glanced up at me, amusement in his features. “No, you’re not. You’re not scared. Or you’re not scared enough.”

I barely fought the shiver that begged to stutter through my body. It was a menacing statement, and I wanted to deny it as well. Tell him that I was definitely scared enough. But what the hell did that mean, anyway? Considering how turned on I was despite everything I’d learned about him, still turned on despite the foreboding in his tone, well, maybe he had a point. I really wasn’t scared enough.

The amusement transformed to what looked more like awe. Then his attention fell back to my leg and I couldn’t see his face well enough to read him. But after he pushed my ankle back so that my knee bent, his touch changed. A single finger traced the line of my inner thigh. Softly. Sweetly. Just as he got to where I so wanted him to go, he abruptly stopped. One second passed. Two.

Then he resumed the firm pressure from before, reclaiming his restraint. For now.

I could wait.

His speech continued, his voice firm, icy. “There are other people, too. Those that respect you. They aren’t necessarily your friends, because they’re also scared – probably even more so than those who keep their distance. They continue their financial support of your endeavors. They invite you to their parties. Their children’s weddings. They look out for you. Because, you see, they’re afraid that if they don’t… well…”

My heart hammered in my ears. Suddenly I was feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with my nudity and everything to do with the frailty of my small frame compared to the strength of his much larger one.

As if to prove that point, Reeve increased the pressure of his kneading, digging his fingers into the flesh of my thigh with a bite that sang and stung. “It’s a very intense form of power, actually. Much like having money. I’m sure you’ve gotten a taste of that with the recent success of your show. Imagine that but multiplied by a billion.”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, a response that served as an answer though it was mostly an involuntary reaction to his hands. He’d reached the top of my limb again. Like before, the tips of his fingers brushed against my folds.

Goddamnit, I was wet. And trembling. And overwrought with anticipation. This time, would he let his touch wander farther up? In?

His hands left me. He pushed my leg down, pulled the sheet back over my leg and pinned me with narrowed eyes. “It’s also not unlike the power of being a very attractive person. Another privilege that you understand.” He scanned the length of my body, the sheet still a barrier between us, and let out an audible breath. “I imagine you must understand it very well indeed.”

It was an accusation. The grit in his voice and the weight of his stare said so. Fucker. Whatever hopes I’d had for this whole scene of his, it was clear now that his intent was not friendly. Punishing, more like. I still wasn’t sure for what exactly. For being in his pool. For using my beauty to draw his interest. For coming on to him without his permission. I’d thought his humiliating body search had been all the reprimand I was getting. Guess I’d been wrong.