body.
Then she was wrapped in warm, herb-soaked strips of linen and covered with the sheet, left to bake pleasantly under a heat lamp. Once alone, she listened to the sounds of the water hitting the rocks, of the faraway jungle, and nearly forgot all about her troubles. In fact, her entire being began to let go for the first time in a very long time.
The door opened. “Look at that,” someone said in a very low, husky Southern drawl. “Just what the doctor ordered-Emmaline Harris, bound and stretched out for my perusal.”
Em, flat on her belly, trussed up in her herb-soaked linens and sheet like a mummy, barely lifted her head. It was all the movement she could manage.
Jacob’s mouth was curved in a smile, but it wasn’t necessarily a friendly one. It held things, naughty, wicked things, and made her tummy tremble.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, struggling to sit up.
He held up a piece of paper. Her note, written to him in her own hands, inviting him to please come see her today, anytime, anywhere.
Admittedly, not her smartest idea. An open invitation.
Interestingly enough, the note was crinkled, as if he’d balled it up, then smoothed it out.
And if she took a good look at him, she could see his jaw was tight enough to tic, that those broad shoulders seemed tightened as hard as rocks.
Chef was looking a little tense.
“Jacob,” she said, still fighting the linen. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t.” He moved close, watching her tussle with the sheet for a moment before he gave her a hand, helping her to a sitting position so that her legs hung over the edge.
She kept a hold on the sheet wrapped around her body-her only armor-clutching it close, hoping not to expose any body parts. “I wanted to talk to you,” she said, “about the show.”
He hadn’t backed up. His thighs bumped her knees. “I’m not here to talk about the show.”
“Oh.” She smoothed the sheet over her legs, feeling the strips of linen beneath beginning to loosen. “But-”
“No business in here.” Reaching out, he stroked a finger over her shoulder-her bare shoulder-making her painfully aware that her sheet had slipped. With only the strips of the herb-soaked linen beneath, she wasn’t completely bare, but she felt pretty damn naked all the same.
Jacob was just looking at her, his eyes dark and unreadable, leaving her feeling like Little Red Riding Hood staring into the eyes of the hungry wolf. She fought with the sheet a minute, tugging, letting out a sound of vexation because it was trapped under her butt.
Jacob watched, a slight smile on his lips.
She finally managed to pull some of the sheet free from beneath her so that she could cover her shoulders, only she pulled too much.
And felt nothing but table beneath her.
Oops.
To complicate her situation-and this was most definitely a situation-her linen strips were loosening. Feeling extremely naked now, she squirmed about some more, trying to get herself completely covered, but it just wasn’t happening. “Maybe you could give me a hand here…”
He just slid his hands into his pockets. “You’re doing just fine.”
Oh, yeah. If fine was giving him a show! With some fancy maneuvering, she got her bare butt covered again-
A sound escaped Jacob at the exact moment she realized she felt cool air brushing over a breast.
Oh, God. She’d created her own Nipplegate. She told herself he couldn’t possibly be able to see in the dim room, and dared a quick peek at him.
His eyes were seriously smoldering. She heard the rough breath whoosh out of his lungs.
He’d seen.
“Damn it.” Leaping off the table, she pulled the sheet tight around her and prepared to lie back down, but it was too late. Beneath her, the herb-soaked linen began to slide down her body, hitting the floor.
He lifted his hands. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You don’t have to. That’s the point.”
“Except become a cooking show host.”
She let out a breath and hugged the sheet closer. “Look, if you believe nothing else, believe that I’m sorry about that.”
With characteristic bluntness, he let his gaze roam over her, from her out-of-control hair, to the sheet she was hugging around her for all she was worth, to her bare toes. Without a word, he again stepped closer, staring into her eyes while the pad of his finger stroked over the very base of her throat, at the pulse she knew was drumming there. An innocent enough touch, but it felt intimate. Forbidden. And she wanted more, a realization that made her swallow hard.
His gaze locked on the movement her throat made, and his finger trailed down, over her collarbone.
Her nipples hardened.
In reaction, he let out a very male sound and slowly ran a finger over her bare shoulder, leaving a line of tingly awareness she didn’t know what to do about. She stood there without a stitch on except the sheet, painfully aware of herself and the picture she must make, completely naked while he was fully clothed and yet…yet so aroused her skin felt too tight.
His finger retraced its trail, everywhere he touched creating a path of fire. She sucked in a breath.
So did he. “Tell me what you feel,” he said.
“Tell me.”
“Heat.” Her voice cracked so she cleared her throat and said it again. “I feel heat.”
“It’s the oil,” he told her, his hand smoothing slowly up and down her back. “It’s seasonally blended to create a warming effect in cool weather. It works the opposite way when it’s hot outside.”
“Oh.” An embarrassed smile escaped her. “I thought-”
“What?”
“That it was you.” Her eyes drifted shut. “Whenever you’re touching me, I feel so…”
“Aware?”
“
“That’s the calamus root and sandalwood powder.” His voice was low and quiet, and incredibly arousing, as much as the oil and his manipulation of it on her body. The man would be a huge asset to any spa, his presence alone making it millions of dollars.
“The combination is meant to stimulate.” His gaze held hers as his finger kept moving over her, lower than her collarbone now, just barely skimming the upper curve of her breast, right at the edge of the sheet. “But I’m very much enjoying that you thought it was me making you feel so aware.” His finger slipped just beneath the edging of the sheet.
“Jacob,” she gasped.
He used the backs of his fingers now, his knuckles brushing over her.
She couldn’t help it, she watched his fingers on her breast, mesmerized by the erotic sight of his big, tanned hand on her pale, creamy skin. Though her nipple was still covered by the sheet, barely, it poked against the material, begging for equal attention.
Other parts of her body were clamoring for attention, too.
He kept giving it, until she was a quivering, anticipatory wreck.
“I can’t stand any more,” she whispered.
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he slowly turned her away from him.
She stood there wondering what he was going to do to her, the wondering made more all the overpowering because she could no longer see him.
“Onto the table,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers in her sheet at the base of her spine.
