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Oh, wait. Should I not have booked a massage?
That must be it. Aw, heck, I overstepped my bounds and took advantage of his generosity.
I quickly apologize. “You said I could order anything and charge it to the room, so I thought….”
Torben rasps and closes in like a big cat cornering a mouse. “You ordered someone? I’m right next door!”
I blink at him. “I didn’t know you were a masseur! I would have asked you if it meant that much to you, but you did say I could order up room service or anything else the hotel offered. I’m sorry…I’ll pay you back every penny.”
A lump forms in my throat. I thought it would be okay.
Torben blinks as if coming out of some sort of fugue state.
“That was…that was…”
“My massage,” I say slowly, nodding. “That’s what I get for deciding to treat myself. I got too big for my britches.”
“What are britches?” His brows pull together.
I briefly glance down at the towel he holds by the short end, barely covering everything below his waist.
I can see the ridges of his stomach and the vee lines at his hips. The fuzz along his thick, bare thighs makes me weak, as does the pleasure trail pointing to the most fun bits of all.
Woof.
“Britches are the things you forgot to put on this morning before barging into my room!” I say, getting a hold of myself and holding up a hand to block the view of his downstairs.
Torben is not calming down at the rate he should.
His eyes still track me. He’s a feral barn cat, and I’m a tiny rodent trapped between his paws.
“I came barging into your room because I heard a man’s voice,” he says, low and even with an edge of danger that eats away at the rational part of my rightly-outraged brain.
“And you thought…you thought I was entertaining a stranger in here with my vagina? For kicks and giggles?”
“The giggles…I did hear giggles…”
I straighten up taller and plant my hands on my hips. “And so what if you did? Not your circus, not your monkeys!”
He pauses. “I do not know that expression.”
I don’t have the will to explain American idioms to this man. I’m too riled up over him coming in here, naked and damp, with a heaving chest and a rippling jaw.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, sucking in a breath when the realization finally hits me. Gosh, I’m dumb sometimes. “You’re jealous!”
“No!” he says, but his face says yes. “I thought you were in danger…”
“You are terrible at the art of bullshit; do you know that?”
“Yes,” he growls, his shoulders twitching and rippling, like he’s ready to pounce. But pounce on what? I did nothing wrong.
“And?”
“And, yes! I was jealous!” Torben admits. “I came in, saw a man leaving, smelled sex oil, saw the candle, you looking…happy…wearing a bathrobe, and your hair all a mess….”
Sex oil? Really? I cross my arms over my chest. “Sir. Of course, I was happy. It was a fucking great massage!”
Torben growls. Actually growls from deep in his chest, and there goes the rest of my rational brain.
