Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Austin
When my dick finally goes down, I dress and leave the treatment room.
“How was your massage, Mr. Adams?” the receptionist, Jody, beams at me as I leave.
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Would you like to book any other services?”
“No. No. Thank you.” I nervously grab a brochure and rush out of the spa, back through the luxurious hotel foyer, and while I’m waiting for the old-fashioned cage elevator to arrive, I thumb through the brochure.
My heart races when I see a picture of her. Liv Parker. The picture is black and white, but I can see that she has long, dark hair, and a wide smile that I immediately want on my cock.
Oh fuck.
Okay. I really need to get a grip.
I rush into my room and straight into the shower, sliding the water to cold.
After everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, the last thing I need is a scandal with a sexy masseuse splashed all over the tabloids.
Nothing happened, though. It was just a massage. She was just doing her job. And I was just… horny.
It’s okay. It’s normal.
It happens sometimes when you get a massage, right?
I jerk myself off in the shower, thinking of her sexy voice and magic hands on my ass, and then I go downstairs and hit the gym.
One workout and another cold shower in the gym changing rooms later, I grab a newspaper and take a seat in the main foyer by a window that overlooks the spa.
My knee bounces up and down, and I feel like an idiot just sitting here, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
To see the face of the woman behind the magic hands that had me hard as a fucking rock on her massage table.
I stare at the sports section like I haven’t already read it over breakfast. Eventually, I start to feel like a total creep and decide to forget it. I should take myself on a hike or a trip to the antique stores or just go get a whiskey at the bar.
And then my heart skips a beat as she appears.
Long, sleek chestnut hair, big, wide hazel eyes, cute as fuck freckles.
She’s a little older than I thought. Not sixty, thank god, but she might have a few years on me.
Luckily for me, that’s always been a fantasy of mine.
After over a decade of young women throwing themselves at me just because I’m in the NFL, the idea of a sexy, confident, older woman who knows nothing about sports is very fucking appealing.
She’s dressed in a tight fitting black, knee-length skirt, silky stockings, black ballet flats and a button-up shirt with her name, Liv, embroidered on the pocket.
She has a gorgeous body, perfect curves. My jeans suddenly feel way too tight.
Down boy.
I glance at her hand as she opens a flip phone and starts dialing. A jolt of excitement hits me as I think about the fact that those hands were on my ass just a few hours ago.
She walks through the foyer, and while I’m desperate to follow her, to talk to her, to ask her on a date, she’s on the phone and I don’t want to seem too forward, so I walk the other way, back into the spa.
“Oh, Mr. Adams,” Jody beams. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Can’t stop thinking about Liv’s magic hands?”
I clear my throat. “I’d like to make another appointment. For tomorrow.”
“Certainly. Another massage?”
“Yes. With Liv.”
“I’m sorry, sir, she’s all booked up tomorrow.”
I let out a sigh. Fuck.
“When is she next available?”
Jody starts turning pages, and I don’t like how many pages she’s turning.
“You know what? For you, Mr. Adams, I’m sure we can figure something out.” She taps her pen on the diary. “If I move a couple of things around, I can get you in with Liv at three-thirty tomorrow.”
“That late?”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“Then I’ll take it.”
“Would you like that here in the spa or in your room?”
My heart lurches. “I can get her to… come to my room?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a premium service, available to our most exclusive guests. There’s an extra cost involved if?—”
“Have her come to my room.”