Turn It Up by Inez Kelley Page A

bed. The deep maroon print of his boxers highlighted the intense flush of his neck as he propped his chin on his crossed hands.
    “Let’s get this over with.”
    Charlie fished the oil back out of her bag with a chuckle. “You make it sound like you’re facing a firing squad. Hang on, I want to warm the oil a bit.”
    “Forget about warming it. I don’t need it hot. Just do it. The sooner you start, the sooner it’s over.”
    “Whiner.” She set the sealed bottle on his nightstand. The overhead light blinked off, leaving only the soft glow from the side lamp. “You’re going to like this, I promise. I even made sure to not get a girly scent so you won’t smell like a rose garden.”
    Her shirt hit his jeans. His damp blond hair smacked the air when his head spun to stare at the growing pile. “Leave your clothes on, damn it!”
    A teasing laugh trickled out. “Not part of the deal. You need negotiation lessons. Now hush.” Her shorts fell on top of her shirt and he groaned, face buried in his arms. Each muscle tensed as the edge of the bed dipped with her weight. “Relax.”
    “Easy for you to say. The woman you love isn’t naked and planning on touching every inch of you.”
    “I’m not naked. I left my panties on.”
    “Oh, big help.”
    Climbing up, she straddled his butt, one bare thigh on either side. It was like sitting on a fence pole, he was so rigid. She leaned across him for the oil bottle and saw his eyes were clenched and his cheeks rosy. Tenderness made her pause. Most men would have greedily grabbed at the offer of personalized nearly nude attention. How unique he was and he was hers for the asking.
    Her fingers stroked through his hair before grabbing the bottle. The click of the cap made him jump before a deep breath expanded his chest. He held it and she smiled. Three single drops of oil hit his spine followed by her fingers spreading them out in a circle. He still hadn’t released his breath.
    Slowly and methodically, drop by drop, Charlie coated both her hands and his back with the fragrant orange oil. Warmth infused her motions from his skin and her hands. Tense muscles bunched and then gradually loosened as she leisurely massaged his shoulders down to his spine. She wasn’t gentle, using knuckles and the heels of her hands with punishing force. Not sex, comfort. Resistance bled away as her hands stroked and squeezed in rhythmic movement.
    One hard muscle under his tattoo resisted and she forced her thumbs deeper into it, bringing a low moan.
    “Like that?”
    “Yeah. This is kind of nice, actually.”
    “Told you so.” Her taunt made him chuckle and he relaxed more under her nonsexual ministrations. She pushed and prodded each inch until tension eased from his body. She kneaded the lines of his shoulders, sliding up onto his neck before gliding down his deltoids to the small of his back.
    “You’re good at this.” His murmur was muffled by his arms and the alleviation of his anxiety.
    “I took a class, thought about becoming a masseuse. But my hands are too small to do this all day.”
    “They feel the right size to me. Right there. Oh, yeah.” Grinding the mound of her thumb into the line just above his boxer band, she smiled at his groan.
    She’d bet anything Bastian didn’t talk while making love. Maybe whispered sweet nothings, but he wasn’t the type for dirty talk. Even the hidden dirty talkers slipped a word here or there. Not Bastian. He was too proper for that, but he would moan when pleased, gasp when delighted. The remembered resonance of his voice around the campfire shot through her, want festering in her belly. How would he sound in climax?
    So far, she’d kept her massage clinical and relaxing. Part of her, the sweet part, wanted to continue, to just ease him into blissful contentment. The other part, the vixen, wanted to bring him to the very edge of desire until he pleaded for release. His skin beneath hers did illicit things to her libido, things