Chapter Ten
“Miss Cartwright? I have the items you asked for at reception.”
I almost forgot about the request I’d made with Stacey, thanks to Wyatt’s show of alpha-ism as soon as we got inside the cabin. Never mind, though, because I’m going to make the most out of our one night here. Nothing can stop me from enjoying this. The sun is lazy in the afternoon sky, all signs of the torrential weather are gone, and I have a massage booked in less than half an hour.
Beaming, I fling open the door and let the concierge inside, three bags dangling from his hand. I point toward the sofa, darting over to the small kitchenette to grab my purse, pulling out a tip as he sets the bags down.
“Thank you,” I say, putting the money in his hand.
“Any time, ma’am,” he replies, swiftly putting the cash into his pants pocket. “If you require anything else, don’t hesitate to call the main hotel.”
He closes the door behind him as he leaves, and I immediately grab the bags, turning them upside down, the contents scattering across the top of the bed Wyatt claimed. He left not long after dumping my things in the room upstairs, citing he wanted to “explore the grounds” or whatever, grunting when I reminded him of our spa appointments.
My lips twitch as I lift the bright blue swimming trunks the concierge picked out, my fingers trailing along the tiny white planes zooming around the legs. Stifling a laugh, I grab the bikini next. It’s the same color as the trunks and way skimpier than I’d anticipated.
Oh, how Wyatt is going to hate our matching suits.
Checking the time, I swipe the remaining items into one bag and carry them to my room. For all of my whining about wanting to sleep downstairs, the upstairs bedroom is beautiful. It has a large floor-to-ceiling window that takes up one entire wall and looks out onto the same space as outside the front doors.
Shedding my clothes, I quickly put on the bikini before wrapping the hotel-provided robe around me. Pocketing the shorts for Wyatt, I slide my feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, wiggling my toes against the plush softness. My last name might be a burden in the figure skating world, but it opens doors when you can afford to pay for the most expensive experience in luxury hotels.
It’s like I’m walking on clouds as I make my way back to the main hotel. Alone. The disappointment at Wyatt not coming back to join me is thick, doubt joining it in my stomach as I get the distinct feeling he isn’t going to show up for his appointment. I shouldn’t mind. He can do what he wants. Technically, he isn’t even working, but after what he did for me as soon as we landed—even if I want to cringe at the thought of my vulnerability blinking like a neon light—I’d like to pay him back somehow.
I try to remind myself he doesn’t owe me anything. We aren’t friends. We aren’t even acquaintances. Yet it doesn’t stop this niggling, deep and hidden away, that there’s something there, something between us, a spark, a pull, a magnetic tug that I swear gets stronger the more time we spend together. Maybe that’s why I want him to enjoy being here with me, to see if what I think I feel is real or in my head. To see if he feels it too, only he won’t admit it.
Hell, he still calls me Miss Cartwright, regardless of how many times I’ve told him otherwise.
Perhaps it’s because he works for my father or thinks he’s too old for me. But I’m not that young. And I’m certainly not naive. I’ve seen how he’s looked at me, the fleeting glances, the way it’s like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve, and god help me, I want him to. I want to get to know him, too. Want to know what makes him tick. Push past the roles of passenger and pilot. Employer and employee.
After all, he’s been working for my family for the last six months—specifically me, the last four—and I barely know anything about him. Other than that, Evan’s nickname for him is one hundred percent right. Wyatt Grant is a sexy pilot, more so now that I know what it’s like to be cared for by him.
“Miss Cartwright?”
I'm so lost in the thoughts of Wyatt that I barely realize I've arrived at the spa, interrupted only by the receptionist as he smiles and rounds the desk. “Yeah, erm, yes, that’s me.”
“Welcome,” he says, his voice soft and soothing, and I can already feel my stress evaporating from my body. He gestures to a large sectional by the far wall, his hand hovering above my back, not quite touching, as he guides me toward it. I sit as he lifts a clipboard from a side table, holding it out. “Please complete our medical questionnaire. If there is anywhere on your body that you’ve experienced tightness or any issues, please highlight it so we can spend more time there. Once you’re done, leave the form on the desk, and we’ll be ready for you in room three.”
He points down a hallway before bowing his head and leaving me to complete the questionnaire, which is simple enough that I finish in minutes. I leave it where I was told and disappear into the assigned room.
The lights are a dim blue when I walk inside, the smell of lavender, flickering candles, and soft music flooding my senses. This is exactly what I needed.
I’m about to shrug off my robe when the door on the other side opens.
“Uh…” My hands tug at the belt, pulling it back around my waist. “Oh, I’m not ready yet.”
I freeze as Wyatt lifts his head and mutters, “Shit.”
His gaze roams from my feet up, each sweep of his eyes lighting me up on the inside until it snaps to my face, his eyes comically wide that I almost laugh. Partly because he looks like a cartoon, all bug-eyed, and also because I’ve never heard him swear before. “What the fuck is going on?”
“As if I know,” I say, but then I notice not one but two massage tables, side by side. This time I do laugh, my hand flying to my mouth. “Oh, hell no.”
Wyatt’s stare still hasn’t shifted from my face, like he’s trying not to look anywhere else, meaning the implications of this setup have not yet sunk in. I drop my hand, sucking my lips between my teeth, gearing up to let him in on the secret when two masseurs join us.
“Welcome,” one says, her hands held in a prayer pose as her colleague closes the door. “My name is Jessie,” she says, pressing a palm to her heart. “And this is Elsa. Are you ready for your ninety-minute couple’s massage?”
“Couples, what?” Wyatt splutters, taking a step back.
Jessie looks between us, confused. “Is…something the matter?”
“Oh my god,” I giggle, grabbing the lapels of my robe and bringing them up to hide my face. Upon check-in, they gave us a romantic lodge for couples; why should a massage be any different?
“Is this…uh…” Elsa says, trailing off. I peek out from my hideout, my face hot from the awkwardness emanating from the two surprised ladies standing across from me.
“We are not a couple,” Wyatt states in a tone that holds zero amusement. The humor I felt mere seconds ago washes away like a wave on the sand. Does he really find the idea of us so repulsive that he couldn’t even pretend for the sake of an hour and a half?
“Oh, dear,” Jessie says.
“This has never happened before,” Elsa adds.
Raising my hand, I shake off their concern. “Honestly, don’t worry about it. I can move to another room.”
The pair glance at each other, silently communicating, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. While Wyatt might not think this is funny, I’m back to finding this hilarious. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any other therapy rooms available.”
“It’s fine,” Wyatt clips, making his way toward the door. “I’ll go.”
“No, Wyatt,” I call, and to my surprise, he stops with his hand already on the handle. I lift a finger, signaling that I need a second before approaching his side. Lowering my voice, I say, “Look, we both need this, and it’s not like we’re massaging each other.”
Even through his uniform shirt, I can tell his muscles are bunched together as he focuses hard on the wooden door, like he’s trying to burn a hole in it to escape.
This man is in desperate need of some deep tissue treatment; it’s not even funny.
I reach out and, for the first time, I touch him. It’s nothing more than a friendly gesture, but the zing it creates against my hand is unmistakable. His upper arm tenses at the contact, and I try to ignore it, ignore the arousal that floods my veins, and all because of a clothed bicep. I can’t read into how it feels to have my hand on him. At least not right now, not until I’m alone and can explore what that means. Getting Wyatt on that table is more important.
“Our heads will be in the face hole, so we don’t need to look at each other,” I say, my words a little breathy that I hope he doesn’t notice. “Plus, there are sheets that will be covering us.” I lower my arm, resigned that maybe this just isn’t for him, but it’s not in my nature to give up. “And if you’re so paranoid, keep your back turned, and I’ll slip in first and let you know when it’s safe for you to turn around.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye, and I stick out my lower lip, giving him my best puppy dog expression. “Please. I even got you a present.”
He’s quiet as I brandish the swim shorts from the deep pockets in my robe. He pushes his tongue into his cheek as he looks over the pattern before snatching them from my grasp. “Fine.”
Vindicated, I step away from him and grin at the ladies here to relieve stress. “You heard him. Let’s do this.”
Jessie nods and gestures to a screen near the foot of the beds. “Great. We will pop behind here and let you get yourselves ready.” She turns her attention to a scowling Wyatt. “Sir, you can either wear the shorts, leave your underwear on, or remove everything entirely. The preference is completely up to you.”
Wyatt’s face somehow simultaneously pales and reddens. “You mean, get naked?”
I roll my eyes and pull back the sheet on one of the tables. “Oh my god, Wyatt, just strip already. Look, I’m wearing a bikini…” Wyatt’s head snaps up so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash as I throw off my robe and stand before him.
I’m one of those girls who’s comfortable in their own skin, not really caring if people stare or judge me—I get enough of that when I’m on the ice fully dressed—but there’s something about Wyatt so obviously trying to avoid looking at me, that makes my blood heat with the thrill of a challenge. He’s staring at the ceiling like it’s the Sistine Chapel with Michelangelo’s Twelve Apostles painted on it.
Picking up the discarded robe, I toss it onto a chair in the corner before climbing onto the bed. The table creaks as I get myself situated under the sheet, pulling it up to my shoulders.
“Okay, your turn,” I say, my words muffled thanks to my face being squished on either side by the headrest. Holding my arms out wide, I wiggle my fingers. “See? Not even looking.”
There’s a pause, and since I told him I’d behave and keep my face in the hole, I can’t see what he’s doing. Unease nips at the corner of my mind, a small part of me wondering if he’d try to sneak out, but then I hear a long huff, followed by footsteps toward me.
I am not prepared for how my body reacts, every fiber prickling as he gets closer. At least, that’s what it feels like he’s doing, but then I hear the sound of his belt jingling, followed by the rustle of him undressing and the soft thud of fabric landing on fabric as I realize he’s placing his clothes alongside my robe.
My skin burns under the soft blanket as my mind runs free, picturing him foregoing the swim shorts… lying on his table completely naked… no sheet covering him and the masseuse is me.
My X-rated fantasies are becoming too much for the small room we’re in, the temperature rocketing, making me sweat. Thinking about my hands all over Wyatt, rubbing into his skin, feeling his muscles everywhere, has me squeezing my legs together and biting my lip hard. I close my eyes and focus on breathing, swallowing down the naughty urges that are whispering for me to turn my head.
I want just a glimpse—just a second to look at what I’ve been dying to see under his shirt for the last four months.
“ Oh god,” I mouth as he groans, getting onto his bed, the sound doing inappropriate things to me.
“Ready,” Wyatt grunts from beside me, and my stomach drops with something a cross between disappointment and guilt.
Yeah, because you were going to creep on the man who is clearly uncomfortable right now, but you missed your chance.
Warm hands land on my back, pressing lightly down, following the line of my spine to my legs. My eyes flutter shut, a groan slipping from my lips, and she’s barely started. I don’t know which of the two is working on me, and I don’t care because their hands feel amazing.
“Is this pressure okay?” the feminine voice asks as her fingers dig into my trapezius muscle.
“That feels unbelievable,” I breathe, my body slowly unwinding from today and what feels like years’ worth of tension stored in my shoulders.
“You’re very tight here,” the other girl says, and Wyatt grumbles some semblance of a reply.
“Is there anywhere you’d like me to focus on?” my masseuse asks as she finds a knot at my shoulder blade. My mind is mush, eyelids heavy, and my breathing has evened out as magic is worked on my body.
“Oh, god, right there,” I pant, quick to close my mouth as I forget how to swallow. I am in heaven, and my angel is called Elsa or Jessie. I moan, long and breathy, the sound close to dirty, as she finds that sweet spot between pain and pleasure, every muscle becoming pliant under her touch.
I hardly register the agitated sound of a sheet being thrown off, the squeak of the bed beside me, and the urgent, “Sir. Wait, sir…”
“No, nope, I’m out,” Wyatt protests, and I barely have time to lift my head before the door to the treatment room slams shut.
Jessie stands in shock, her oiled hands held out in front of her as she stares at the ruffled sheets. Her worried eyes flit to the door and back, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “I don’t know what happened. I just started working on his shoulders, and then he… he just… left.”
“Should we go after him?” Elsa asks, her hands hesitating against my back that I want to wriggle to get her attention.
Sighing, I shake my head. And here I thought I could help him relax. “Don’t worry about him. It wasn’t anything you did wrong. I promise.”
I offer them both an apologetic smile as Elsa leans down so she’s eye level, her green gaze soft as she checks, “Would you like to still continue?”
“Hell yes.” I drop my head back into the hole as she laughs, resuming her work, leaving me to wonder how exactly I’m going to deal with Wyatt when this is done.