Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
T he giant wooden door swings open. Inside, the smooth polished sandstone walls give relief from the summer heat gathering outside.
Down the long corridor is a large window showcasing a gorgeous view of the vineyards. The spa smells delightfully like green mint and cucumber. Soft piano and panpipes sound across the grand reception area, and in the middle a majestic stone fountain is trickling. Another minute in here and I’ll need to pee. In a corner is a white alabaster woman’s breast, a perfect Renaissance statue.
Ivy hangs from the eaves, as though Greek goddesses were about to come out and anoint my forehead, and I’m inching close enough to see if the ivy is real, when I’m greeted by a tall Amazonian blonde woman. Talia leads me down the white stone corridor to a large circular domed area with a spa pool. I breathe a sigh of relief. We’ll be with other people. In swimming costumes. Thank goodness. She offers me a champagne and excitedly I take a large sip.
Right behind me the doors swing open and Weasel walks through. ‘Well, hello.’ He nods as Talia offers him a glass of champagne. ‘Is this where the damage gets done?’
I look at him, shocked. Damage? ‘Keep it together, Thomas Ben. I don’t think violence is the answer.’
He whispers, ‘I meant the damage of us seeing each other in bathing suits. It’s kinda like a point of no return, isn’t it?’
I find myself looking away and concentrating on the fountain, trying desperately not to think of him half-naked. Talia peers at us strangely, but continues her spiel. ‘We have five emotional showers, a thermal pool and a series of couples treatment rooms.’
Weasel raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry, emotional showers?’
‘Yes, to balance. Standing in them is a magical moment that frees the mind and brings together the five senses in a “water jet”, with different colours, smells and sounds that cuddle and wrap around the body, while instilling a strong vitality.’
She gives us a warm smile. ‘But first, the mud!’
She wheels in a giant terracotta pot of mud. ‘We leave you here, to prepare.’
I look at her and then the mud. What type of preparation is needed?
Sensing my confusion, she adds, ‘Be free. Naked. This is a place for the couple to just enjoy each other, no clothes.’
God, the Europeans are always so free. She’s literally leaving us in here, with a ‘go ahead, have sex’ approach.
My face flushes red. She winks and leaves us. Now we’re alone. Properly. Without most of our clothes. I don’t look at him and that is an achievement. Instead, I look at the big vat of mud between us.
‘So, you first?’ Weasel looks at me.
‘I’m doing this in my swimmers!’
‘If you want.’
I clear my throat. ‘Well. Yes. I want.’
I take off my bathrobe and hang it on a hook. He takes off his too, and wow, the guy really is yoked . His shoulders are well defined – okay, they’re like rocks that some Italian sculptor has chiselled – and his chest is so smooth, I immediately want to run my hands over it, down to where his muscles dip in that familiar sixpack, a mountain of muscle that falls away into his boardshorts. He seems to be staring at me too, in my black bikini. It’s string, but still conservative enough. I may be slightly skinny in my legs, but I’m aware my hips widen, and then my stomach curves in, something past boyfriends always seemed to love.
I feel a bit nervy thinking about this giant vat of mud. ‘We could just do it ourselves, like mud ourselves up?’
‘We could.’ Weasel winks. ‘Or…’
I try to slow the hammering of my heart. Keep my voice even. ‘Yep, let’s just do it ourselves. Then we can help each other with hard-to-reach places, like our backs.’
‘Right.’ His voice is hoarse. Huskier.
He nods and then bends down to pick up some mud, and puts it on his feet. I try to bend down and pick up a handful, but the thing is, the mud is heavy and clay-like, and it needs two hands, but bending over makes it slippery and it seems like an accident waiting to happen. I drop the mud back in the vat.
He waits until my eyes met his. ‘This would probably be easier if we helped each other.’
‘Riiiight.’
‘In a very respectful pineapple way of course.’
We both laugh, which eases some of the tension.
‘Okay then. A pineapple non-romantic, friends-helping-friends mud-up kinda way.’
He steps towards the big vat. ‘I’ll go first.’ He takes a handful of mud, and then looks at it, and then me, as if he’s unsure where to start. ‘Feet?’
‘Yes! Good idea!’ I say as the colour blooms on my cheeks. Feet are safe. Feet are ugly. I’m suddenly glad I haven’t shaved that little patch of hair that demands to be known on each of my big toes. Perhaps that will dispel any strange feelings, which is exactly the plan here.
Weasel practically dumps two big handfuls of mud on my feet. It’s warm and wet and oozy. It feels delicious and gross at the same time. ‘Moist,’ I say, laughing, because who likes that word?
Next he crouches down and slips another handful of mud on my shins and calves. The warm sloppiness is like a giant hug, and it feels lovely. I take a deep breath in and relax a bit. Next, he does the knees then he suddenly skips the thighs, and he puts a glob on my stomach, almost throwing it at me.
‘Ouch! Unnecessary!’
‘Sorry, I just didn’t know if I should be … you know.’
‘I’m sorry, has Mr Radical Honesty lost his ability?’
‘I just don’t know if the lady would like the gentleman to get too near her nether regions.’
‘Disgusting. I wish you had lost your ability to find those words.’
‘So?’ He’s standing there with a pile of mud in his hands. ‘Am I?’
I’m suddenly a bit shy, even if this is just us helping each other out. ‘Do whatever you feel is…’
‘No, Gemma. I want you to say the truth. What do you want?’
I cringe a bit inside, then shut my eyes, so I don’t have to see his response, and I mutter, ‘Okay, put it everywhere.’
Suddenly I feel the warmth of his breath on my knee. We’ve gone from friends to … to this . Everything slows down. He gathers more mud and slides it up both legs. My heart flutters. He reaches my thighs, his fingers slowing to a crawl as he reaches the outline of my bikini bottoms.
God .
My breath catches in my throat. My heart skips a beat. I look down at his hands and wonder what it’s like to be one of those supermodels who hold his wide, masculine hands. I wonder what they talk about. I wonder if he massages them like this .
This is all going too far, too fast. But I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. Every single muscle wants to be touched, to be massaged, to melt.
I close my eyes again, my heart in my throat. Slowly, lightly, he covers my bikini bottoms, his fingers confident. My body shivers in a chill. He senses my goosebumps, rubs a spot on my hip with his thumb.
His fingers brush slowly up my skin and my stomach flips. Hard. Twice. So much so I’m sure he can see it. Stop giving meaning to this, I tell myself, it’s just a massage between, um, friends.
His strong, warm hands move up and down the curves between my ribs and hip.
My heart hammers. God, the man is kneading just under my bikini top like I’m dough. His fingers graze the bottom layer of string and I feel an urgent desire to lean into his hard rock wall of muscle. As if he can tell I’m about to overheat, he steps back.
I can hear him getting more mud from the vat before his hands continue to softly massage the mud across my arms and shoulders, and it gives me chills.
‘You can open your eyes now,’ he tells me, and when I do he’s standing above me. We lock gazes. His eyes are crystal blue, but his pupils are larger. A muscle flinches in his square jaw.
‘I need more permission.’ Was his voice always this deep?
And I know he means can he cover my breasts in mud, and who am I kidding, I wouldn’t mind it. In fact, a shiver runs across my body.
A corner of his lips tugs. ‘Normally I take control, but now…’
It’s the word control that does it.
Yes. Bottom line, I don’t want this to stop. I squeeze my toes. A little shiver runs across my stomach. As soon as I say, ‘Okay’ he looks at me with a sense of heat.
‘Really?’ He lays it down like a challenge, and there’s a primal sense about him I’ve never seen before. His body tightens. A pulse. Electric.
‘ Really . In a pineapple way.’
His hands smear more warm mud up my arms again, then down my stomach, everywhere but my breasts. My eyelids drift shut. I’m being lulled into relaxing and I feel like rubber.
Then he waits. He waits like a painter staring at a canvas. He gathers more mud. He’s teasing me and I know it.
Everything slows down. He takes a small amount with his right hand and starts smoothing it over my neck, then downwards, until he reaches the line of my bikini top, two small triangle pieces. My heart is pounding because never did I think this would happen, and it feels … good .
He hesitates for a second, and I think he’s lost his nerve. But when I open my eyes, he looks completely confident, and with one finger he trails slowly over each collarbone, like he’s painting.
‘That’s an S,’ he said tracing it again, lightly. Each time the shape gets bigger, and further down towards the top of my bikini.
One of his fingers accidentally catches the side of my string bikini at the neck. And for a second a small part of my white breast is exposed to the warm air. I expect him to be apologetic, or embarrassed, or at least make a ‘shit, sorry’ face, but he doesn’t. Weasel is all confidence. The tension between us skyrockets. My entire body tingles. A surge of heat shoots inside me. My pulse skyrockets. My heart is pounding. My nipples are hard points. In short, my body seems to know more than I do, because I can barely register what’s happening.
Just then the door swings open and Talia strides in, and part of me is glad, and another wants to shout OUT.
She looks at Weasel. ‘But you’re not even mudded up?’ She looks down at the vat and then at me, as if I’ve failed mud duties.
‘Uh…’ Because right now my words aren’t working. My pulse still skitters in my ears. ‘Could you help?’
I need some time to get my breathing back to normal because my skin is still sensitive, aroused, and I can barely look at Ben. I manage just a quick glance, as Talia slops the mud onto him in the most unromantic way, giving me time to take a deep breath, and cool my goddamn jets.
Thankfully, we’re directed into two separate shower rooms for the emotional shower. There are soft lights flashing and five shower heads against my body and it’s lovely and warm. As the mud drips off I slowly regulate myself back to normal.
Talia pops her head in. ‘Okay, bikini off, we will wash for you.’
‘Oh, okay.’ I slip it off and hand it to her in the barely lit room and cover myself with a towel.
‘Now, steam! Open the pores and the chakras.’
God, she sounds like Ruby. She beckons for me to follow her into a side room, and I’m thankful no one else is there because she instructs me to hang up the towel and go inside completely naked.
When I open the glass door, the entire room is filled with the sizzle of steam, the smell of lemon and honey. I look at Talia, feeling a little unsure.
‘I come and get you in twenty minutes. Relax and enjoy.’
I nod and step in. The floor is completely moist, and hot. I let the door close gently behind me. I can’t see a thing through the thick fog. I stretch out my hands hoping to find something, but I haven’t a clue how this room is set up, how big it is, or if there are seats.
‘Hello?’ I say gently, but there’s no response.
From the door – the only thing that I can see – I trace with my hands around the right side, until my legs bump into what feels like a tiled seat. I ease myself down onto it, and hear the gloop! slap! of my thighs as they stick to the wet tiles. For a second I feel a little rigid. I’m naked, and alone. But the heat feels nice. After a few breaths, I find myself relaxing, leaning back and tilting my head up, no longer worried that I can barely see my hands in front of my face.
I start to focus on breathing in and out. I listen to the drip, drip of the condensation falling from the roof, loud as footsteps. Giant drops, landing in water puddles.
Finally, a moment to myself. I take a deep breath and sink further back onto the warm tiles and let the faint scent of sweet honey open up my pores … or whatever it does. Weasel and I had a quick faux kiss. Then some stupid mud stuff. That’s all. Weasel is a smoking hot handsome man; of course any girl in this position would have a stomach flip and briefly feel things that they don’t actually feel.
I was just caught up in the moment. I take a long deep breath of honey-lemon air. Then I try one of those little oms or humming-chanting that people do to relax, and find it does actually relax me even more. As I’m finishing up an om, I hear a click.
‘Hello?’ I ask into the fog. But there’s no response.
But there’s something else I can hear, other than the constant drip, drip of the water. A slooshing sound of sorts, as if water is coming in from somewhere. I stand up and step cautiously towards the opposite corner where the sound is coming from. I hit something wet and slippery and hard. I know what it is. Almost immediately.
It’s another person’s body. A naked body. A naked male’s body, slippery, and warm.
As soon as we both realise this, it all happens so quickly. We both jerk away, we turn, then we’re falling.
I land on warm skin. My body smooshed against theirs. Everything is touching, our feet entwined.
The stranger exhales, winded from smacking against the tiles. ‘Jesus.’
And I know in an instant, it’s Ben.
I quickly try and untangle myself, but without sight it’s hard. We both try and twist our bodies to the same side and that just makes more of us slide together. My legs straddle him. I can feel everything .
‘I’m going to the right! The right!’ he says urgently.
‘Ohhhh God!’ I say, trying to scramble to my left. ‘Your right? I don’t even know where that is.’
‘Gemma?’ Suddenly he stops urgently trying to move me. He takes a deep breath. ‘Just stay where you are.’
His warm fingers brush down each side of my body, and I get chills. His strong hands, now on both my hips, give a small push to lift me up. I let out a gasp of surprise and try to use my feet to find the floor, but they slip on the puddles, which means I overbalance and fall back onto his body.
He groans softly. ‘Don’t…’ It sounds like a warning.
We pause for a second. I try and keep my full weight from lying on him, so I hold myself rigid, but even then, my body, honestly, is responding in ways that confuse me and I have a growing desire to stay right here.
I can’t move, or think.
Finally, I grip his shoulders with my hands and lift my chest up a little, so he can’t feel my breasts on him. I blush, and I’m glad he can’t see my face right now. I suck in several deep breaths and try to keep calm.
He confidently finds the back of my head with his hand, and I think he’s going to pull me in and kiss me.
Instead, he whispers in that self-assured tone. ‘So … hey, if you wanted to get close to me you just had to ask.’
Jesus . I suck in a breath. Everything about this feels dangerous. Even in the thick steam, where I still can’t see a thing, I’m painfully aware that my lips are inches, maybe less, from his.
‘Do you want to get up?’ I can hear the teasing in his tone.
I don’t know what I want.
Instead, I say in the steadiest voice I can manage, ‘Yes, obviously.’
‘Just relax,’ he says confidently. He lifts me up, this time easily, his hands on my hips until I can push myself back into a strange downward dog. And then I walk backwards on my hands and feet, until I’m clear.
I can barely think. Can’t speak. My heart is pounding. Ben covering me in mud, and now this… I don’t know how to stop these things that my body wants to do.
I quickly jump away from Ben and find my way to the glass doors, which I yank open. ‘Enjoy the steam,’ I say. And before I second-guess myself, I walk towards the showers and turn one on, as cold as it will go.