Enraptured Read online

  She nodded. Her father had been the same. He hadn’t liked the fuzzy sensation, or the vulnerability that came along with it.

  ‘You like to keep alert, huh?’ Her gaze dropped to his shoulder. He’d been shot. That much she had read. Read it twice, actually. It wasn’t every day she had to treat a gunshot victim. So he wasn’t ready to relax his level of awareness. Hypervigilance could be a defence mechanism. She could understand that. She nodded. ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘What, no lecture?’ His good eye narrowed. Damn, he was a suspicious one. Well, he had been shot. She guessed she couldn’t blame him for his wariness.

  She shook her head. ‘You prefer the pain. I get it.’

  He frowned. ‘You make me sound like some sort of pervert.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t judge my clients, Mr Martin, but I understand the need to remain alert and in control when your body is so vulnerable. I’m here to help you with that,’ she said sincerely. ‘Let’s start with a massage on that shoulder and neck region, shall we? Take off your shirt, and lie face down on the table for me.’

  Gabriel stared at her for a moment, his gaze dark.

  ‘Can you take your shirt off, or do you need some help?’ Was that why he was hesitating?

  ‘I can undress myself,’ he muttered, and one by one he undid the buttons down the front of his shirt. She busied herself getting some things ready, pulling a large towel out of her bag, along with one of the larger heat packs she carried. She turned to face him, then halted.

  Hoo-yeah. The man was – built. Like a brick shithouse, her father would say. Broad-shouldered, his body tapered down to a narrow waist. She gaped. A dark sprinkling of chest hair dusted his torso before arrowing down to his navel, framing his muscles in a way that revealed his core strength rather than concealing it.

  His abs rippled as he shifted on the table, and he rolled awkwardly, favouring the injured shoulder as he lay down. He laid his arms down along his sides.

  Her gaze skimmed across his back. His skin was golden brown, his muscles corded along the length of his arms.

  Damn, he was – wow. Gorgeous. His body was well defined. Really well defined. Holy heck. She got to rub her hands all over him, too. Heat flared across her cheeks. She’d massaged hundreds of clients, some of them fit, good-looking athletes – but she’d never had a reaction to a client where she wanted to drop everything and climb onto the table – or any other horizontal surface – with him. Not until now, anyway. She tore her gaze away from his smooth back – oh, wow, his butt in those denim shorts looked so…squeezable.

  She cast her gaze to the ceiling and reminded herself that he was a client. Not a stripper. Not a toy boy. She turned one way, found herself facing a wall, and turned around again. ‘Um, I need some heat,’ she rasped. She coughed. ‘I mean, I need to heat up. The pack, not me,’ she explained as she left the room and headed up the hall toward the kitchen.

  Oh, dear lord.

  She crossed to the microwave oven she’d noticed earlier and placed the heat pack inside. I need to heat up. She shook her head. Dork. Could she sound any more desperate? She took a deep breath and gazed up at the ceiling. He was a client. He was in pain. What was she thinking? Getting all hot and horny over a guy who needed her to treat him, not jump his bones? Okay, she hadn’t had sex in… a while. That must be it. She’d spent so much time looking after her father, and there certainly hadn’t been time, let alone opportunity, to get romantic with a man. Not that there were any candidates on the horizon. She winced. By this stage she was probably a born-again virgin. Obviously any good-looking man would have the same embarrassing effect on her. She pictured Gabriel again in her mind, the way his stomach muscles dipped and rippled as he moved. She swallowed. Okay, so he was…gorgeous. He was also a cranky little prick.

  She nodded at the mental reminder, then tilted her head. His shoulders were really broad, and he was a tall guy. Maybe he wasn’t such a little prick? She blinked and shook her head. It didn’t matter how ‘little’ or otherwise he was, it was none of her business.

  She came. She fixed. She left.

  The microwave dinged, and she removed the heat pack, juggling it in her hands until she could wrap it in the towel. She walked back toward the room. She’d do her job, and then she’d move on to the next assignment. She needed this job. Her father’s medical bills had been considerable, and there was no way for her to move forward, to move on with her life, until she sorted out the financial mess she was currently in. This job paid well, and she couldn’t afford to lose it over inappropriate contact with a client. No. That would be a career-limiting move within the Southern Sydney Health Service.

  She pasted a serene smile on her face and swept into the room. ‘Okay, then,’ she said breezily. ‘I’m going to place this heat pack on your shoulder for about ten minutes, and then we’ll get to work.’

  His acquiescence was a low grunt as she positioned the heat pack over the zone she wanted to work on. She draped another towel over him for good measure – to keep him warm and comfortable, she told herself, not to hide his honey-toned glory. She reached toward the sideboard, then frowned. Hadn’t she put the moisturiser out? She glanced around the room before rummaging through her bag.

  Her frown deepened. She couldn’t find her pump-tub of lotion. Strange. She could have sworn…she shrugged her shoulders. Oh, well. She had a spare tube in the side pocket of her bag. She unzipped the pocket and retrieved the moisturiser. She’d have to go into town tomorrow and grab some more. She eyed her patient on the table. He was big, she was going to need lots of it.

  She stepped outside the room for a while, as much to relax her client as to compose herself. She made some more notes on the clipboard – the body diagram didn’t do the man justice – then quietly stepped back inside the room. She paused for a moment. Gabriel’s breathing was deep and regular. If he wasn’t asleep, at the very least he was relaxed.

  She removed the heat pack and draped the towel over his lower back to keep him warm. She grabbed the tube from the sideboard and squirted some moisturiser onto her palm, gazing down at the expanse of muscle. Her heart pounded just a little faster. Keep it professional. I’m a healthcare professional. She reminded herself repeatedly as she placed her hands on the warm skin of his back.

  I’m a healthcare professional.

  She slid her hands over the smooth skin of his shoulder, the heat seeping into her palms. She chewed her lip.

  I’m a healthcare professional, and I’m going to hell.

  ***

  Gabe’s eyes opened as he felt her touch. His face lay pressed against the keyhole headrest, and he stared down through the cut-out to the floor below. Her touch was…warm. Gentle, but firm. He watched absently as her feet shuffled into view. She wore black sneakers. They looked comfortable. Her shoelaces caught his eye, and he was surprised he hadn’t noticed them before. They were white, with a green four-leaf clover pattern.

  Over the last four months he’d found himself staring at the shoes of many physios. They all seemed to wear a uniform of black, serviceable, comfortable shoes. Well, all except for What’s-her-face, the first one. His lips pursed. She’d started to wear open-toed heels that displayed her red-painted toenails.

  His shoulder started to feel quite warm, and he winced when Bella found a knot and started to press on it. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. Her strong fingers manipulated the muscle, alternating between pressing and smoothing, pressing and smoothing. Her touch became rhythmic, and he timed his breaths with each glide of her hand. It was quite relaxing, and he could almost drift off …

  ‘Ouch!’ She’d found another knot. He opened his eyes again.

  ‘Sorry,’ she murmured in a suspiciously unapologetic tone. She pressed even harder on the knot at the point where his shoulder met his neck. Pain radiated up the back of his neck, and a headache exploded at the base of his skull.

  Jesus H. Christ. He glared down at the damn lucky shoelaces, hitching his breath.


  ‘Relax,’ she crooned.

  It felt like she was pulling his spinal chord out through his damn neck. ‘Sore,’ he muttered. He couldn’t quite breathe, let alone talk. He certainly wasn’t going to bloody relax.

  ‘I understand,’ she murmured, but her touch didn’t ease up.

  Perspiration beaded his brow and his lip as he stared down at the floor, feeling the pain sweep up and wash over him. He wanted to yell, to swear, but it was as though with one press of her fingers she’d immobilised him, making him incapable of speech and movement.

  Gradually the pain subsided, and she started to rub the area. He blinked as he finally relaxed enough to suck air into his starved lungs. Holy friggin’ hell. Her touch was warm against the corded muscle of his neck, and then she smoothed her hands up and found two spots at the back of his skull and pressed.

  For the first time in his life, he was tempted to hit a woman.

  Throbbing pain reverberated through his skull, building, building – and then like a wave crashing on a shore, it rose to a crescendo, then faded.

  Her hands glided down his neck and smoothed over his tortured muscles, soothing, gentling. He could hear her little exhalations as she worked on his shoulder and upper back. She adjusted the angle of his arm, and massaged his upper arm muscles, and he alternated between clenching his teeth against the pain and rolling his closed eyes in bliss.

  ‘Okay, you can roll over now,’ she said, sounding breathless.

  He levered himself up and turned over, and she helped him, making sure he didn’t roll off the table.

  ‘Lie back,’ she murmured.

  He kept his eyes on the moulded ceiling as he reclined, following the patterned plaster. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she halted, her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘It’s okay, relax,’ she urged. ‘Close your eyes if you need to.’

  He held her gaze for a moment. Her hazel-green eyes gazed back at him serenely, a small smile on her lips, before he finally shut his eyes.

  He heard a splutter – probably more of the lotion. He was surprised that there was no scent. Her hand slowly trailed over his shoulder, a soft glide that, with his eyes shut, brought all of his available senses into sharp focus. The faint floral smell of her deodorant, the gust of her breath on his cheek and forehead, the quiet sound of her regular breaths, and that slow, silky slide of her skin against his.

  Her fingers brushed against him with a firm, alternating pressure that lulled his body into a relaxed state. Over and over, her hands worked their magic. Her touch had an almost euphoric effect on him, after the pain of just moments ago. Her movements extended from his shoulder to his upper torso, and he had to fight against the urge to arch into her caress.

  God, could she feel his heart rate accelerating under her touch? Warmth flooded him, and for a moment he let himself drown in sensation as her hands slid over his pectoral muscle and down to his side. His nipple tightened, and his breath hitched as he waited for her next touch, hoping she’d trail her thumb over his nipple.

  His hands clenched around the rim of the table as he felt his cock stir to life. Uh-oh. She was making him horny. That would be embarrassing for both of them, if she noticed. It wasn’t like he could hide his desire, in this position. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard. He consciously thought of saws he used at work – in alphabetical order. Back saws, bandsaws, bowsaws, uh, damn that felt good. No. Chainsaws. Circular – oh, yeah baby. He liked that – no, damn it. Saws. Focus on the tools. Not your tool, damn it.

  It sounded like she was really exerting herself, and her soft breath puffed against his cheek. He wondered if she’d make those same sounds when having sex, then regretted the thought as he felt himself lengthen in his briefs. Her hands slowed their movements across his chest. A vision of her straddling the table, straddling him and rubbing more than just her hands all over his body burst into his mind, and his jaw tightened as arousal flowed, hot and free, throughout his system.

  Uh-oh. He was hard.

  He slowly opened his eyes, one blinded by a patch of darkness. His gaze slid to her, her cheeks flushed and her mouth parted when she met his look. He gaze slowly wandered down her body, and stopped at her chest.

  He could see the hard little nubs made by her nipples through the soft material of her t-shirt.

  He raised his eyes to meet hers, heard the soft hitch of her breath.

  Her lids were low over her eyes, her gaze dark. She was standing so close. It would take next to no effort to slide his arm around her narrow waist and tug her down on top of him.

  He kept his gaze locked with hers as his hand rose from the side of the massage table.

  Chapter 3

  The doorbell rang.

  Bella gazed down at the one brown eye she could see, the stare hot and intense.

  The doorbell pealed again, and she blinked. Someone was at the door. She gazed down at the broad expanse of male torso at her fingertips. Darn.

  ‘I better, uh, get that,’ she said, her voice low.

  Gabriel nodded slowly, the warmth in his gaze slowly changing to something more reserved, but no less intense.

  ‘Uh, here’s your shirt,’ she said, dropping her gaze as she reached over for the checked fabric. She gave him the garment, careful not to touch him as she quickly backed away from the table.

  Oh, wow. She fanned herself with her hand as she strode down the hall. Um. Wow. The doorbell rang again, and she frowned. ‘I’m coming,’ she called, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. She should be thankful for the intrusion – er, interruption. She’d lost all perspective as she’d stroked and kneaded Gabriel’s flesh. She fanned herself faster. He’d felt so good, too, damn it.

  She jerked the front door open, and stared in surprise at the middle-aged couple on the doorstep. They were neatly dressed. The woman wore a prim floral dress, and the man wore brown slacks and a cream coloured shirt. Bella’s brow furrowed. They were a little off the beaten track for Jehovah’s Witness or energy supply sales representatives, surely?

  ‘Can I help you?’ Bella asked.

  The woman smiled. ‘Does Gabriel Martin live here?’

  Good grief. Were they relatives? Bella glanced from one to the other. Both wore friendly smiles on their faces. Too friendly and warm to be related to Gabriel, from what she’d observed.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Great. We’re his support staff,’ the man said. ‘This is Ellie, and I’m Ramsey. Ellie and Ramsey Pell.’

  The woman shot the man a quick look before turning back to Bella.

  Bella frowned. ‘Support staff? What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re here to look after Mr Martin while he recuperates,’ the woman informed her, her smile bright. ‘Ramsey looks after the grounds and property repairs, and I cook the meals and look after the house.’

  Bella cocked her head. ‘I’m his live-in physio. I thought I was supposed to be looking after the house and meals.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Bella turned. Gabriel was walking down the hall, his shirt on but not buttoned, and she quickly tore her gaze away from his physique. He looked dark and dangerous, with his ruffled hair, eye patch and carelessly worn shirt.

  ‘Uh, this is Ellie and Ramsey Pell,’ Bella said, gesturing to each in turn. ‘This is Gabriel Martin,’ she told them, completing the introductions. ‘Apparently they’re here to help.’

  Ellie smiled as she gazed at Gabriel. ‘Yes, well, there was a mix-up with the paperwork. Your insurance actually pays for in-home care, so you get the benefit of a live-in therapist, as well as property maintenance, housekeeping and cooking.’

  Gabriel stared at the woman for a moment. ‘Do I know you? Have we met?’

  Ellie laughed. ‘No, but I’m told I have one of those faces. Has nobody rung you?’

  Gabriel shook his head slowly as he stopped next to Bella, and she was conscious of his tall frame next to hers. ‘No, they haven’t.’

  Ramsey sighed. ‘N
ot again. We have a new office junior who is still in training. She was supposed to call you and let you know what was happening.’

  Gabriel’s frown deepened, and he raised his good arm to lean on the doorjamb – above Bella’s head. She felt surrounded by the man. And she wasn’t budging.

  ‘I got shot several months ago, and this is the first I’ve heard of this cooking setup,’ Gabriel responded. His tone was gruff. Good to know it’s not just me, then, Bella thought.

  Ellie nodded, her expression apologetic. ‘Yes, well, that’s about the time our new junior started, and we’re finding a number of errors. We wouldn’t have picked up on this one, actually, if your policy holder hadn’t called to follow up.’

  ‘His policy holder?’ Bella queried.

  ‘Yes, a Ms Melanie Rhys, I believe. Look, here’s our card. You can call the office, ask to speak to…Missie,’ Ellie said, handing over a small rectangle of white cardboard. Bella managed to get a quick glimpse of a winged logo.

  ‘Melanie called?’ Gabriel’s tone softened, and Bella glanced up at him. Who was this Melanie, and what did the woman do to deserve the respect and admiration she now saw in Gabriel’s face?

  ‘Yes. Her call is what got us looking into your file, which is when we noticed the issue. She wanted to make sure you were being looked after.’

  Bella kept her expression neutral, although her curiosity had just rocketed up a level.

  ‘Uh, okay, so how is this supposed to work?’ Gabriel asked.

  ‘Ellie and I will drop by every other day to check on the house and property and do anything that is required.’

  ‘I’ll cook meals that you can reheat when you need to,’ Ellie said, smiling at Bella. Bella frowned. This was the first posting she’d come across with this kind of arrangement. She was used to doing the cooking and cleaning for the clients.

  ‘So what am I supposed to do?’ she asked, keeping her tone polite. There went half of her duties. Did that mean her live-in status would be amended? She needed the money for her debts – she had a payment due in a fortnight, and this job provided the money. If she was relegated to day visits, then she would have to request a transfer. That would mean leaving Gabriel Martin. Not that this would be a problem, she told herself quickly, only Gabriel would then be subjected to yet another therapist, and she did so like to see her clients improve. She wouldn’t get that opportunity with Gabriel.