I see the corner of his mouth twitch when he turns to go inside. “I already told you it’s not what you think.”
After I regain my composure, I go inside, trying not to overthink everything while I use the bathroom. It’s not what you think. Then what the hell is it?
I dawdle in the bathroom, because even though I’m aggravated with him, I want him to touch me, and I want to touch him too. After primping my hair in the mirror, I brush my teeth with my finger because my toothbrush is upstairs, but mostly I spend the time hoping that his plans are exactly what I’m thinking.
When I get back outside, Gray has changed into a pair of light sweatpants. Shirtless, he’s covering the table where we had supper with fuzzy blankets, folded in half, and layered atop one another. I’m riveted by the muscles in his broad back, the way they contract, as he lays a snow-white sheet on top of the blankets, letting it drape over the sides of the table.
“What’s all this?” I ask, still riveted by his hard body.
Gray smooths the sheet and rests his backside against the padded edge of the table, his hands on either side for support. He catches me steal a glance at the outline of his cock through the thin, stretchy fabric. He’s not wearing underwear.
He doesn’t say anything snarky. Instead, his eyes wander over me from head to toe without a single word. I tuck some hair behind my ear while he appraises me, like chattel he’s interested in bidding on.
When he’s through with my body, he finds my eyes. “Take off your clothes for me, Delilah.”
His voice is cloaked in the warm, deliberate cadence of seduction. Maybe his game doesn’t need work. It’s so mesmerizing, I begin to reach for the bottom of my dress to pull it over my head. But common sense kicks in before my hands get anywhere near the hem. “You expect me to take off my clothes—out here?”
He tips his head to the side. “It’s exactly what I expect.”
“You said it’s not what I think.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“Then why do my clothes need to be off?”
“Because I asked you to undress, and you’ve agreed to trust me—even when it’s hard.” He’s got a take-no-prisoners kind of attitude going on, and I brace myself for an earful. “You’re not comfortable being naked in front of me, in a secluded area without another soul in sight, but you’re prepared to have sex while who knows how many men are watching?”
The bastard is actually calling my bluff.
“If you can’t do something this simple, then I don’t see how you’ll ever be mission ready in two weeks.”
He aimed well, and struck a nerve. “This is manipulative bullshit.”
“If that’s what you think, go pack your things and I’ll drop you off at your house tonight.”
I don’t move. Our eyes are locked in a pissing match that I’m clearly going to lose. I don’t want to go home. And it’s not just about the op.
While I’m trying to come up with a way to take my clothes off without seeming like I’ve given in to his whims, he gets up and cradles my face in his hands. His eyes never stray from mine. The heat between us is suffocating.
I can barely breathe, but I don’t look away. Not when his fingertips glide down my cheeks, over my jaw, and past my throat. Not when they reach the neckline of my dress and rest impatiently at the top of my breasts. Not even when he tears the sundress down the middle, and the decorative buttons scatter as they bounce off the flagstone floor.
“I asked you to get undressed. But it was too hard for you.” He pauses, his teeth scraping his bottom lip. “I’m here to help you when life’s decisions become too hard.” He’s holding the tattered fabric in his clenched fists. “If you’re partial to those panties, you’ll have them off before I’m finished preparing the table.” He opens his hands, letting the torn dress pool at my feet.
His show of strength leaves me breathless, and the tug of desire is powerful, and building as I remove my panties. I want him, but I’m not prepared to blindly hand over control. I will never again give my submission to a man who hasn’t earned it. I made that mistake with Kyle. I won’t make it with Gray. “What, exactly, is the plan?”
“Right now, I’m going to tie back your hair so that it stays out of the oil.”
Oil. He didn’t say lube. He said oil. Before I can question him, he takes my hair, handling it like this isn’t the first time he’s braided a woman’s hair. The jealousy creeps up, but before it causes injury, Gray intervenes.
“On the table. This side up,” he murmurs, squeezing my ass lightly.
“What’s this about?”
“Pleasure,” he says, and the word, with all its promise, vibrates between us. “You’re going to do nothing but lie quietly while my hands work out some of the knots in your beautiful body.”
“You’re going to give me a massage?” A massage? Now? It’s not at all what I expected and I’m off-kilter. But I suppose that was his intention.
“Lie down, Blue Eyes. I’m getting impatient.”
I climb on the table and stretch out on the soft, cool sheet, resting my head in my folded arms. There’s a light breeze over the ocean, and the surf has picked up, the white froth striking the shore before retreating. It’s a good night to sleep with the windows open. It’s all true and total nonsense, but it’s what I think about to distract me from my nakedness.
“Close your eyes,” he whispers, before bringing an unfamiliar scent to my nose. Something spicy, but subtle. “You okay with the smell of amber?”
I nod, opening my eyes slightly.
“It’s just lightly scented oil. There’s nothing in it that will hurt you.”
I nod again, letting my eyelids flutter shut. I do trust him—at least with this.
“Clear your head,” he commands in that bossy tone, “and just feel.”
With long strokes, he glides his hands up and down my back, before settling into my shoulders. My body yields without struggle as he prods the tight muscles to relax. The surrender is sweet, with soft moans escaping from my lips as he works.
“Where did you learn how to give a massage? And how am I just finding out about it now?”
“I learned a long time ago. It’s a nice way to reward good girls. You’ve had a rough few days. I thought you could use a little pampering.”
I gasp when he starts on my lower back.
An electric current races through me as his fingers coax the muscles into submission. It feels amazing, but I still can’t understand why there had to be so much secrecy about him giving me a massage. Had I known what he was planning, I would have gladly taken off my clothes.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me, up front, that you wanted to rub my back? It would have saved us both some grief.”
He applies more pressure, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh. “I lead the team. You need to follow my instructions, without hesitating, and without asking me to justify every order. This isn’t a foreign concept. It’s how every mission works. Right?”
I push the errant thoughts away. The ones that push and pull, messing with my brain and my body. And yes, my soul too. “Right,” I somehow manage, as his hands knead with unremitting focus.