everyone
chuckled.
With the tension broken, she relaxed enough she thought she
did fairly well, especially near the end of the interview when the questions
became tough. No, she didn’t have any extensive experience with therapeutic
massage, unless they counted the times she’d helped a cruise passenger who’d
pulled a muscle playing shuffleboard or slept funny and woke up with a stiff
neck.
She had, however, taken numerous classes on her months-long
breaks between jobs and was up to date and certified in several therapeutic
techniques. When she was asked, she had the confidence to say yes, between her
years of experience and the information she’d learned through those classes,
she felt fully qualified for the job.
Ben pulled his phone out of his pocket, then excused himself
as the end of the interview turned into each of the board members sharing
stories about cruises they’d taken to different tropical locations. She tried
not to think about why he wouldn’t stick around to say goodbye—she’d been the
one who’d gotten all uppity about the interview, hadn’t she?—and focused on the
people she was quickly starting to hope would be her bosses in the near future.
The interview went over by a solid ten minutes. She gave the
woman waiting outside Dr. Marks’ office an apologetic smile as she stepped out
of the room and headed toward the exit. No sooner had she turned the corner
leading to the main lobby when Ben popped out of an office along the corridor.
“I thought you were never going to get out of there,” he
said, wrapping an arm around her waist and swinging her in the opposite
direction. “Want to see the PT wing?” he asked, ushering her in what she
assumed was the direction of the wing.
Up close, the barely there smell of the fine cologne he was
wearing made her head feel wonderfully loopy.
“Sure,” she breathed. Between the wide span of his hand on
her side, the sudden close proximity of his body and that amazing scent, she
was powerless to protest.
“I’m relieved you didn’t cancel,” he told her, dropping his
arm and his voice. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“I think it went well,” she said, suddenly unsteady on her
low, narrow interview heels. “I was surprised you told them we know each
other.”
“Only that we went to school together for a minute.” He
pointed to the left and they turned down a partially dark and apparently
deserted hallway. “I left out the part about how we spent an entire night
fucking like animals this past weekend.”
He said it so easily, so casually, yet her physical reaction
was anything but casual.
“Ben, I told you on Sunday morning we—”
“In here,” he said, cutting her off by taking her hand and
pulling her into a room.
Sunlight poured through the wall of windows. The room was
completely bare and still in need of some major renovation. Canvas tarps lay on
the unfinished floors and a pile of painting supplies stood in the center.
The door closed with a click behind them and suddenly she
was in his arms, her hands pressed over the fine silk of his vest and her body
touching his from chest to knee. He held her tight to him, one arm around her waist
and the other buried in her hair, angling her head so he could take her mouth
in a long, deep kiss.
Her knees buckled when his tongue dove into her mouth. Pure,
electric charges crackled and snapped through every one of her nerve endings as
he groaned deeply and pulled her even closer. Her hands slid slowly over his
chest and shoulders until they were buried in his thick black hair.
“Christ, Rachel,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to
hers. “Seeing you naked the other night took my breath away, but you in a suit
is…pornographic.”
She shivered despite the temperature rising in her body.
“Ben.”
“I know.” He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils
dilated wide. “It’s completely inappropriate to drag you off and molest you
when I should be sitting in on
chuckled.
With the tension broken, she relaxed enough she thought she
did fairly well, especially near the end of the interview when the questions
became tough. No, she didn’t have any extensive experience with therapeutic
massage, unless they counted the times she’d helped a cruise passenger who’d
pulled a muscle playing shuffleboard or slept funny and woke up with a stiff
neck.
She had, however, taken numerous classes on her months-long
breaks between jobs and was up to date and certified in several therapeutic
techniques. When she was asked, she had the confidence to say yes, between her
years of experience and the information she’d learned through those classes,
she felt fully qualified for the job.
Ben pulled his phone out of his pocket, then excused himself
as the end of the interview turned into each of the board members sharing
stories about cruises they’d taken to different tropical locations. She tried
not to think about why he wouldn’t stick around to say goodbye—she’d been the
one who’d gotten all uppity about the interview, hadn’t she?—and focused on the
people she was quickly starting to hope would be her bosses in the near future.
The interview went over by a solid ten minutes. She gave the
woman waiting outside Dr. Marks’ office an apologetic smile as she stepped out
of the room and headed toward the exit. No sooner had she turned the corner
leading to the main lobby when Ben popped out of an office along the corridor.
“I thought you were never going to get out of there,” he
said, wrapping an arm around her waist and swinging her in the opposite
direction. “Want to see the PT wing?” he asked, ushering her in what she
assumed was the direction of the wing.
Up close, the barely there smell of the fine cologne he was
wearing made her head feel wonderfully loopy.
“Sure,” she breathed. Between the wide span of his hand on
her side, the sudden close proximity of his body and that amazing scent, she
was powerless to protest.
“I’m relieved you didn’t cancel,” he told her, dropping his
arm and his voice. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“I think it went well,” she said, suddenly unsteady on her
low, narrow interview heels. “I was surprised you told them we know each
other.”
“Only that we went to school together for a minute.” He
pointed to the left and they turned down a partially dark and apparently
deserted hallway. “I left out the part about how we spent an entire night
fucking like animals this past weekend.”
He said it so easily, so casually, yet her physical reaction
was anything but casual.
“Ben, I told you on Sunday morning we—”
“In here,” he said, cutting her off by taking her hand and
pulling her into a room.
Sunlight poured through the wall of windows. The room was
completely bare and still in need of some major renovation. Canvas tarps lay on
the unfinished floors and a pile of painting supplies stood in the center.
The door closed with a click behind them and suddenly she
was in his arms, her hands pressed over the fine silk of his vest and her body
touching his from chest to knee. He held her tight to him, one arm around her waist
and the other buried in her hair, angling her head so he could take her mouth
in a long, deep kiss.
Her knees buckled when his tongue dove into her mouth. Pure,
electric charges crackled and snapped through every one of her nerve endings as
he groaned deeply and pulled her even closer. Her hands slid slowly over his
chest and shoulders until they were buried in his thick black hair.
“Christ, Rachel,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to
hers. “Seeing you naked the other night took my breath away, but you in a suit
is…pornographic.”
She shivered despite the temperature rising in her body.
“Ben.”
“I know.” He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils
dilated wide. “It’s completely inappropriate to drag you off and molest you
when I should be sitting in on
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