He sat up straight. “Did your client say something inappropriate? Or touch you?”
Because he might not have fought anyone since high school graduation, but he kept in shape and had taken boxing lessons. He’d gladly wade into the fray for Lucy again, no more questions asked.
She gave him a little smack on his shoulder, and God, his dick was really confused right now.
“Of course not,” she said, her exasperation clear. “I told you these clients were trustworthy. No, he just wanted to buy a gift certificate as a present.”
“What’s abnormal about that?”
“Well…” Her elbow pressed into that knot again, and he almost howled. “He works at Colonial Marysburg, right? One of those people in colonial costume. But I swear to goddess, Seb, the dude has money. Lots of money. He lives in a mansion, as I found out today. And the woman who calls to make his appointments once referred to herself as his butler. Not his assistant, hisbutler. And she backtracked quickly, but really. What kind of costumed interpreter can afford a mansion? Or an assistant, much less one with pretensions of butler-related grandeur?”
“So maybe he doesn’t have to work, but wants to.” Propping his own elbows on the table, he covered his face with his hands. “I still don’t see the abnormal bit.”
“I’m getting there. Anyway, so Adam wanted this gift certificate, but I reminded him I’m leaving soon. He said that was okay, because he planned to tell the recipient she’d wona contest and would have to redeem the prize—my certificate—within the next week. And I was supposed to go along with his story, no matter howincredibly, awe-inspiringly crankyshe got. His words, by the way.”
Sebastián frowned. “That is weird. Why not just give the certificate directly to her?”
“Exactly what I asked. But he told me that was how it had to be, and I wasn’t willing to push him. I haven’t been seeing him for long, but he’s a good tipper, Seb. I mean, areallygood tipper.”
“Did you agree to his request?”
“Of course. If he wants to give an anonymous gift, in however weird a way, I don’t see the harm. He even covered her tip.” She started massaging his temples with those strong fingers, and he tried not to moan in pleasure. “So I’m expecting a phone call from a cantankerous colonial woman who thinks she won a contest, but hasn’t, and who needs to schedule a massage within the next week, all due to the machinations of a butler-having colonial dude who tips a hundred percent, lives in a mansion, and smells like an expensive tropical vacation.”
His brows drew together. She’d noticed how this guysmelled?
“So it was a bit weird, as I was saying.” She was working on his neck now, digging her thumbs into either side of his spine. “But entertaining.”
“Are you seeing him again before you leave?” If so, he planned to accompany her and wait in the car during the appointment. The guy sounded like a weirdo. A good-smelling weirdo with philanthropic tendencies, but a weirdo nevertheless.
“Nope. No time. ” She patted Sebastián on the shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” To his surprise, it was even the truth. “Really good. Looser.”
She grinned. “All in a day’s work. Just make sure to drink lots of water tonight.”
He pulled on his tee without delay, oily sheen be damned. Fully dressed once more, he rose to get each of them a glass of ice water, but paused when she settled herself into the chair next to his.
Time to see whether Lucy had been fibbing earlier.
As she let the seat take her weight, she made an almost inaudible noise and stretched her back just a bit. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely—if he didn’talwayswatch her so closely—he’d never have noticed either telltale signal.
But he had, and he did. She was hurting.
For all her talk about a good night’s sleep, she’d been on her feet the entire day. She’d also been lying on a rock-hard school bus mattress. And he knew her last conversation with Allie had bothered her more than she chose to admit. Her quasi-friend had not taken the rejection of the bus well, despite Lucy’s sound reasoning. It needed too many repairs and modifications for Lucy’s budget, ease of transport notwithstanding.
Plus, there were all the dicks. So, so many dicks.
So she’d spurned the school bus, politely but with more firmness and conviction than he’d seen from her in a while, and she’d remained unswayed by Allie’s displeasure.
Something about the tiny-house selection process, ridiculous as it was, seemed to have helped her. Maybe how it forced her to focus on her needs and articulate them? To defend them, or else find herself the proud owner of either a nudist stoner’s elf cabin or a dick-adorned bus? He didn’t know for sure, but something was working for her.
Still, she hated conflict, and she hated disappointinganyone. Especially a so-called friend, one she’d had since before they could walk.
In other words, he wasn’t the only tense, tired person in the house. And she didn’t know it—because he’d never told her, for good reason—but she wasn’t the only person with massage training in the house either. Hers was much more extensive, of course, but he’d taken a couple of classes. Because, embarrassingly enough, he’d wanted to understand what she did on a daily basis and be able to picture her working at her job.
A smart man would drink his damn water, beat a hasty retreat to the Pullout Couch of the Damned, and pretend to fall asleep shortly after sunset.
But something about the last few days had changed him, too. Whetted his desire for her proximity and her touch. Coaxed him to reveal himself in ways that didn’t come easily. Made him question whether all the stringent rules governing his life still made sense.
