Listening to the blissful silence, she moved slowly towards her bedroom, wanting to just…not move! After almost two weeks in Tarin’s presence, with early morning self-defense classes and evening dancing lessons, she was sore in ways she’d never known possible!
Not to mention, the whole trip had been a long series of sexual frustration. Tarin’s touch was too much for her these days. She couldn’t take more of it before she exploded and begged him to…what? Make love to her?
For a long moment, she considered. Would he? There had been long, powerful moments when he’d looked at her as if he felt the pulse-pounding desire as well. But was she imagining it?
“Probably not,” she muttered as she slipped off her heels and hobbled across the lush carpet.
That was another thing! She hated hotel rooms! They’d traveled to Paris, London, New York City, Dallas, and were now in San Francisco. Rachel had traveled with Princess Talia plenty of times. But their trips had been one or two cities at a time, not a marathon tour of five or six! The tedious series of lovely hotel suites that were all beginning to blur together. All of the airports definitely looked too similar for her to remember where they were, and she now understood why airport terminals had the name of the city in huge letters somewhere easy to see. It was for travelers like them, who’d been in too many cities and needed the reminder.
She wanted to go home, she thought wistfully.
“What’s wrong?”
Rachel spun around, startled when she heard Tarin’s deep voice. “I thought you were going out to dinner with the architects,” she said, not even trying to hide her irritation. She had been looking forward to a hot bath to soothe her sore muscles. If he were here, she couldn’t have that bath! He’d want do something active, something that would require use of her muscles!
He moved deeper into the room. “I watched the way you walked out of the building and canceled the dinner. Something is wrong!”
He peered down at her, obviously concerned. “Tell me what’s wrong. Are you sick?” he asked, pressing his palm to her forehead.
“I’m not sick,” she said, pulling back but he only pressed his other hand to the back of her neck, still taking her temperature with his hand. “I don’t have a fever, I’m just...”
Rachel pressed her lips together, utterly frustrated. She wanted to be strong and capable and to keep up with him. But right now, all she wanted was an hour to herself, neck deep in the tub.
His eyes narrowed at her hesitation. “Just what? What’s going on?”
“I’m sore!” she snapped, losing her grip on her temper. “You’re all…” she waved her hand in the air, “physical and moving around all the time, and I’m more of a home body. Normally, I come home from work and I curl up in a chair to read or sew or just relax. There’s no relaxing with you!” she finished, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.
He blinked at her for a long, stunned moment, then threw back his head, laughing. He pulled her into his arms and Rachel leaned into him, inhaling the clean, masculine scent of him. Goodness, he smelled good and felt good and sounded sexy as hell! For a precious moment, she closed her eyes, leaning into his hard chest, reveling in the moment.
“You need a massage,” he told her softly.
Jerking away, she shook her head. “Nope! No massage,” she told him firmly.
He lifted a dark eyebrow as he looked down at her. “You don’t like massages?”
She shivered at the intensity in those eyes of his, but wrapped her arms over her stomach defensively. “Um…I’ve never had one before,” Rachel admitted. At his astonished look, she continued, “The idea of being naked while a stranger touches me is…” Rachel stopped abruptly, realizing where that statement was going. She grimaced when she looked up at his raised eyebrows. “Okay, that sounded weird.”
He laughed softly, moving forward. “I’ve pushed you much harder this week than you’re used to, haven’t I?”
She leaned back against the wall behind her. “Yes. But that’s okay.”
He moved closer, standing directly in front of her. “Now you’re sore and achy…and afraid of a massage.”
Her body stiffened at his charge, but since she really was sore, the effort only caused her muscles to protest. It was worse when he reached out to slide a finger along her jawline. “Will you let me make it better?”
Rachel closed her eyes, leaning into that touch. Just for a moment, she promised. Just for the sheer pleasure that it gave to her tired, aching body. Then she realized what she was doing and her eyes flew open, her lungs filled with air, and she tried to pull back. But he realized what she’d done! Looking into his eyes, they were…heated?
“I’m fine,” she told him, trying to pretend as if that moment hadn’t happened.
“You’re more than fine,” he replied, his voice rough and low. His legs now touched hers and the skirt of her dress danced around his slacks. Their clothing was a barely adequate barrier to the tension vibrating around them.
But then he stepped back abruptly, turning away from her. “A massage will fix your aching muscles. Pressing the lactic acid out will release it and help ease the pain and it will also help them heal.” He walked to the bar. “I’ll get you a glass of wine while the massage table is brought up to your room.” With that, he poured a glass of scotch for himself and white wine for her.
When Tarin looked over at her, still standing there against the wall, she jerked upright. “Thank you, but I don’t need a massage.” With a
