Prince of Air and Darkness by Jenna Black Page A

therapist.”
    Jackson laughed. “And what exactly does a massage therapist look like?”
    She shook her head, refusing to be goaded by his amusement. “It’s not that there’s any particular look massage therapists have; it’s just that he has a particular look that screams he’s not a massage therapist.”
    “Uh-huh,” Jackson said, looking at her like she’d gone nuts.
    She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t explaining this well at all. Which was no surprise, as she couldn’t seem to straighten the thoughts out in her own head. “The man wears nothing but designer clothes,” she tried again. “He wears a full-length black leather coat.”
    “Ah, so massage therapists have no fashion sense!” Jackson said. “ Now I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
    “A little less mockery and a little more friendly understanding would be appreciated.”
    His eyes still twinkled with amusement. “When you say something I understand, I’ll give you the friendly understanding.”
    “All right, let me put it to you this way: how many drop-dead gorgeous, filthy rich, straight men do you know who do massage for a living?”
    He no longer looked quite so amused, and Kiera was glad to see he was actually putting some thought into the situation. “All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll concede that what you’ve described doesn’t match the stereotype. But what is it that you suspect?”
    She shook her head. “Damn it, I don’t know! All I know is that all my instincts tell me something is off about the guy.”
    “And one of the things that’s off is that you don’t think he’s really a massage therapist.”
    “I know it sounds like some kind of ridiculous, paranoid conspiracy theory. And I’m sure this is all just my imagination running wild. But I can’t shake the feeling, so when he starts pouring on the charm it just makes me that much more nervous. I mean, come on, Jackson: I’m not the kind of woman a man like that chases.”
    Jackson blinked in surprise as he poured them each a fresh cup of green tea. “Why ever not?”
    “Don’t be silly,” she scoffed. “I’m a long way from anyone’s ideal of beauty. And no, I’m not fishing for compliments or an ego boost.”
    He cocked his head as he looked at her, his brows drawn together in earnest concentration. “I don’t think men are quite as shallow as you seem to think. Well, not all of them, at least. All it takes is a little chemistry, and FLOOF!” His hands mimed an explosion.
    “I know,” she admitted, but the thought brought her no comfort. Did she think she and Hunter had chemistry? Certainly there was genuine attraction, at least on her part, but shouldn’t chemistry make her feel more at ease with him rather than less so?
    “Eureka!” Jackson cried suddenly, loud enough to make her jump and to make several other patrons in the restaurant look in their direction.
    “Uh-oh. I don’t like the evil glitter in your eyes.”
    His grin broadened. “I’ve thought of a way to settle the question of whether he really is who he says he is.”
    “Oh?” She was intrigued in spite of herself.
    “Do you have one of his business cards?”
    She frowned, trying to figure out where he was heading and failing miserably. “Not on me, but I have a couple in my apartment.”
    “You know, I’ve been having this terrible trouble with my back lately.”
    “Uh-oh,” she repeated.
    “So kind of you to refer me to a massage therapist.”
    “What are friends for?”
    He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’ll try to get an appointment with him, and I’ll really camp it up.” He’d been sitting in a casual slouch, but now he straightened to sit primly on the edge of his chair. The lines of his face seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes as he molded his expression into something vaguely pouty looking.
    Usually, when Jackson wasn’t dressed for effect, a stranger would be hard-pressed to realize he was gay. It wasn’t