Escape to Ecstasy. Jodi Lynn Copeland

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СКАЧАТЬ glanced over. “I’ve got one. She works nights, so her schedule’s off. She’s sleeping right now.” He looked back at the television, asking in a humdrum voice that said he could give two shits about the answer, “You?”

      “Oh, I’ve got one, all right.” Chris packed the enthusiasm into his voice that Ted was missing. The blond guy glanced over again, and Chris gave a smug smile. “Treah pulled her aside for me for fear no one else could handle her—if you catch my drift.”

      “That’s why you get paid the big bucks, right?” Ted asked dryly.

      Chris was feeling like a jerk more and more. At the very least Ted’s indifferent attitude didn’t seem to suggest Nic had shared his murderer speculation with him. “I’m not exactly hurting for money,” Chris offered in his best Nic-the-bragster imitation. “Stick around a few years, pick up some tips from us seasoned experts, and you might be working for more than room and board, too, bro.”

      Something flickered through Ted’s eyes. Bafflement over the way Chris was acting or annoyance over the assumption he made jack for a wage? Whatever it was, Ted didn’t take the bait to do some defensive bragging of his own, just shrugged and concentrated on the golf tournament.

      A half minute of silence passed that felt damned awkward to Chris. He was about to leave when Ted asked, “Treah took off?”

      Why did he want to know? Was he hoping Gwen went along for the ride, leaving easy access to Treah’s home and office? “I don’t know, did he?”

      Ted frowned. “The Pacific branch opened last night. At the last staff meeting, he mentioned heading down there to see things started up smoothly.” He came to his feet. “I should get back to the cabin. See if Brenda’s up yet.”

      Get away from the screwball way Chris was acting: Ted’s frown clarified that much. Did it also say he wasn’t guilty of stealing money? Hell, Chris couldn’t tell.

      Giving up on the act, since no other guys were around and he sucked at questioning anyone other than his clients, Chris went to the front of the room. After trashing the untouched coffee cup, he grabbed the communication clipboard and pen from the wall ledge. He scribbled a request for one of the other healing coaches to bring their client by his cabin at some point during the week, and then headed home to give Claire the sex he’d earlier denied her.

      For a price.

      “Ready to take that walk?”

      Claire’s heart kicked into high gear with the unexpected sound of Chris’s voice. After he’d left, she’d familiarized herself with her temporary home. Checking out his closets paid off in that she found her laptop and, shortly thereafter, discovered that the island had wireless service. A snippy e-mail to Erin had done wonders for her mood. Starting a review article for the Herald had time slipping away and, obviously, place as well, given how completely his return startled her.

      She saved her work and closed her laptop. Setting the computer beside her on the couch, she shot him a get-real look. “I’m ready to go home.”

      “No, you aren’t.” He smiled as he toed off his tennis shoes. “The change in venue is exactly what you need and you know it.”

      She eyed his feet as he started over. Bare again. Was there any chance his sweatshirt would go the way of his shoes? “Okay, so I don’t hate it. I can’t say as much for the thought of how I’ll get home.”

      He didn’t remove his shirt. He did move her laptop farther down the couch so he could sit beside her. Right beside her. Outer thigh rubbing against hers, he brought his hands to her shoulders and turned her upper half until her back was angled toward him. His fingers pressed into her muscles, kneading at knots of tension seven months in the making. “That’s weeks away. Don’t worry about it.”

      Claire’s head lolled to the side as a shiver chased through her. Despite trying everything from meditation to masturbation, she hadn’t been able to relieve the knots. But, oh man, he had some fingers. The knots were either unraveling, or the flush of desire caused by his proximity was making it feel that way.

      Sensual warmth slipped over her as Chris’s fingers continued their magic. With a happy murmur, she closed her eyes and sank into his touch.

      Dare she keep going? Slip right back against his chest and onto his lap? Tip her head to the side so that her mouth could fuse with his and get another sampling of those dynamite lips? Yeah, she’d told him not to touch or kiss her again, but that was when her mind wasn’t functioning on all cylinders. Now she remembered what a once-in-a-lifetime chance spending these next weeks indulging in ecstasy with him could be. The key was to not get lost in pleasure to the point that he could get her outside.

      “Why do you call it The Incident?”

      Claire stiffened. So much for the magic. She opened her eyes and attempted to pull away from him. He curled his fingers around her shoulders, making the move impossible. Fine. She could be a big girl about it. Maybe. “What should I call it—‘The day that seriously fucked up my life’?”

      His fingers returned to their kneading. “You weren’t hurt.”

      This time the knots stayed firm, her body tense as never-far-buried memories threatened to surface. Physically, she hadn’t been hurt. Mentally, she’d been blown apart. “Like I said before, you wouldn’t understand.”

      “Like I said, you’d be surprised what I understand.” Chris’s hands moved back to her shoulders, and he used his grip to bring her around to face him. Awareness filled his eyes. The kind of keen insight that suggested he really did get what was going on in her head. It had to be a trick of his training.

      A slow, soft smile spread across his face. His hands left her shoulders to move down and take hers into them. “It’s not survivor’s guilt. Nah, it’s the small-world complex. It always seemed so big and like no bad guys lived in your tiny corner of it. Then one day you were forced to wake up and realize the world isn’t so big after all and the bad guys live right next door.”

      How could he do that—make things feel so intimate between them while speaking of a day that had all but destroyed her life? Claire’s belly tumbled with lust even as her mind sought a defense. “Been witness to a lot of murders, huh?”

      “Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of evil. I’ve also seen things that appeared evil but when it came right down to it were little more than an accident at the hands of stupidity and boredom.”

      Was the passion in his voice another trick of his training, or did firsthand experience back up his words?

      Even if he answered that question, she wouldn’t have any way of knowing he spoke the truth. And even if he did have firsthand experience, what difference would it make in his ability to heal her? Likely, none. Focusing on the feel of his hands in hers, the strength of his body mere inches away, the warmth of his breath as it left his mouth…these things could make a difference. These things could get her through the countless long, lonely days and nights that lay ahead.

      Looking at him from beneath lowered lashes, she circled her thumbs against his palms. “The sex doesn’t have to be off.”

      “Better to fuck than talk?”

      “We’ve been talking the last seven minutes. I haven’t fucked anything more substantial than a vibrator in over seven months.”

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