Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I set the heavy table down and walked over to a large, framed photo on the wall. It was a woman in a wedding dress. The background looked like Vegas. I now realized the woman who answered the door wasn’t his wife; she must work here. The woman in the photo looked over her shoulder, her long, blond hair cascading down her back. She held a small bouquet of lavender roses. She was beautiful.
The lady returned, interrupting my thoughts. “It seems you have the wrong time. Mr. Moody indicates his appointment isn’t until one?”
My stomach sank. “Oh, gosh. Let me see.” I rechecked the schedule on my phone. She was right. How could I have messed this up? I shoved my phone in my pocket. “It seems I did screw up the time. I’m really sorry. I’ll come back.”
Just as I’d turned around and lifted the handle on my table, a deep voice came from behind me. “Wait.”
I turned around to find a tall, gorgeous, shirtless man wiping sweat off his forehead with a small white towel. He had a six-pack, and his body was insane.
This is Dax? I was expecting someone older. This guy looked like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ. He had to be in his early thirties max, was very built, and had light brown hair. He wore black trousers, which was an odd choice to work out in. His tanned skin glistened with sweat.
“We can just do it now,” he said.
I gulped. The thought of rubbing my hands over this guy suddenly made me very nervous. As someone who touched people for a living, I tried to compartmentalize. But jeez. He was hot as hell. A warning about what he looked like would have been nice.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind coming back. It was my fault.”
“Yes, I know. But you’re here, so we might as well get it over with.”
Get it over with? Massage was supposed to be a pleasurable and relaxing experience. “Okay, then. Just let me know where you want me.”
Dax stared at me for a few seconds before he said, “My office.”
Swallowing, I nodded. “Alrighty, then.”
“Let me get that.” He reached for my table and headed down the hall.
His housekeeper gave me an amused look. I still wasn’t sure what she found so funny about all of this.
As I followed, a waft of his cologne hit me, and I couldn’t help admiring the cut of his back. This guy clearly worked out a lot. Which made me wonder…did he expect me to massage him all sweaty like that?
We entered the office and he said, “You can set up in here.”
“Your housekeeper seems to think my being here is quite funny.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like me to order a massage. And I didn’t mention to her that you were coming. She’s always telling me I need to try to unwind. So she probably thinks she influenced this.”
“I see.” I paused. “I’m Wren McCallister, by the way. But you probably already know that since you requested me?”
He ignored my comment, instead saying, “I’m going to jump in the shower while you set up.”
“Okay.” I smiled.
Grateful to be alone for a bit, and not to have to massage a sweaty person, I blew out a breath and looked around. Holy crap. One side of the room had bookshelves built into almost every inch of the wall. His wooden desk was covered in stacks of papers. The large windows let in a lot of sunshine and provided a beautiful view of the colorful leaves outside. A vibrant Persian-looking area rug covered most of the floor. This office was pretty much the size of half of my house.
After unfolding my table and setting it up in the corner, I fished through my selection of oils, contemplating which one would be most suitable for him. Which scent signified darkly intimidating? I settled on vanilla—smoky and mysterious.
About ten minutes later, Dax returned. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me. His hair was damp, and he’d changed into a white T-shirt that fit his muscular chest like a glove. He wore the same black trousers he’d had on before, or maybe they were another similar-looking pair of pants.
The sound of a car starting drew my attention to the window. The car that had been parked in the driveway was backing away. Was it the housekeeper leaving? If she was gone, that meant Dax and I were likely alone now. I hadn’t heard anyone else in the house. His wife must have been at work, or maybe she was running errands. Did they have kids? I began wondering if I needed to be concerned about this assignment, considering his odd temperament. He didn’t seem happy for me to be here.