Joanne Rock - Up Close and Personal

Whatever the reason for the reserve she sensed in him, Jessica appreciated it in light of her own hang-ups.

“Well?” Rocco’s voice emanated at breast level while she stood next to him.

The sound seemed to rumble right through her, sending frissons of response over her skin. And oh my, but that was an unusual reaction for her. She’d paid for every kind of counseling imaginable after the rape—well, she’d paid for it after college, during her internship at a psychologist’s office, since she hadn’t been able to afford it until then. Still, no amount of therapy had ever made her a wildly responsive woman in the sexual department. That coolness of her own desires had prompted her to study sensuality and make it her area of specialty in her seminars.

But being able to teach it and being able to live it were two different things. This waiter’s ability to ignite a physical response in her so quickly surprised her more than her father’s announcement, when she was twelve, that he was going to quit drinking. Of course, she figured this startling discovery would turn out to be as false as her dad’s promise.

“The goal of this massage is a deep understanding of your partner along with increased physical awareness.” She launched into her discussion by rote, her memorized notes coming to mind easily despite the highly unexpected circumstances of this talk.

The words made her feel in control again, arming her with much needed distance. Kneeling on the chaise beside the waiter who bore a stronger physical resemblance to the SEALs they’d seen out in the surf than to any server running around the hotel, Jessica was glad she hadn’t brought a massage table. She’d wanted to give the room a suggestive ambiance instead of a classroom feel, and she thought it was the right choice, even if it made working on Rocco a little challenging.

He was built like a truck. His shoulders taxed the seams of his white cotton shirt, the V of his back tapering admirably by the time her eyes reached his belt level. If she’d seen him on the street, she would have pegged him as someone involved in physical labor. And she definitely would have taken note of him. No wonder her students had come in from their manhunt positively glowing with their triumph.

Rocco was a first-rate male specimen.

His icy blue eyes studied her now, his attention intense if somehow clinical. She had the impression he absorbed far more of the finer points of massage than her paying students. The eight women who were here to reclaim their sensuality all seemed to be more interested in licking their chops over their guest.

Of course, if Jessica hadn’t been speaking, she might have engaged in a bit of chop licking of her own. She hadn’t really missed sex in the last few years since life had closed that particular door, but that didn’t mean she didn’t notice men. Far from it. Her imagination had always succeeded in painting more delectable interludes with men than she’d been capable of in real life, and the stud seated to her right had the power to inspire all kinds of tasty fantasies if she had the time to indulge them.

“If you’ll just turn sideways for me, Rocco, I think we’re ready to begin.” Jessica warned her hands not to be nervous as they fluttered over his shoulders and then landed softly on either side of his neck.

Holy Mary, Mother and Joseph.

She had to hold herself rigid in order to suppress her reaction to the electric shock that traveled through her fingers, up her arms, danced around her breasts and then seared all the way down to her womb. Did the reaction show on her face? She lost her place in her spiel for a moment as she struggled to stifle the hum of sexual energy vibrating through her now.

She peered down at her fingers, planted on his shoulders, as if she could perceive some cause for the phenomenon.

“Excuse me,” she intoned finally, closing her eyes as she prayed for some memory of what the hell she’d been talking about. “I seem to have lost my place.”

Rocco cranked his neck around to see her, his blue eyes sparking with the same live current she felt through her hands. She was so completely out of her depth.

“You were discussing the right times to apply a variety of strokes.”

Jessica swore she could fall right into those eyes of his. They didn’t appear icy anymore. The crystalline blue held a white heat that threatened to singe away all her carefully rehearsed words. Already she felt herself falling into a sea of sensations, her brain failing to grasp what strokes he was talking about.

Damn it, maybe she was having a stroke. Although heart failure seemed more likely with this amount of stimulation.

“Yes, Jessica,” chimed in one of her students. Ingrid was a Hollywood director’s wife who had driven all the way to San Diego to take the class in the hope of keeping her attendance a secret from her husband. “You were just about to show us how to caress him for maximum benefit.”

The chorus of laughter began again, reminding her that she needed to keep a tight rein on the group or they would commandeer the class with racy innuendo and bawdy talk. And she had so much more to offer than that—if only she could keep her focus. She could not afford to let her unexpected reaction to Rocco derail her new business after all the years she’d worked to get this far.

“You’d just mentioned that there were different benefits to fast and slow strokes,” another woman prompted before lifting a martini to her lips.

“And could you perhaps define what you mean by ‘maximum benefit’ for a man? Is that a euphemism for climax?”

Damn. Damn. Damn.

“No.” She raised her voice enough to drown out some other helpful soul only too happy to join the discussion. “I’ve remembered my place now and I’d appreciate it if you could hold your questions until the end of the session.” She moved her fingers experimentally around Rocco’s impressive shoulders. “I was in the midst of demonstrating the difference between a friction touch and a vibration touch. Ladies, feel free to move your chairs around or walk to this side of the room if you can’t see.”

As the dynamics of the group shifted and the attendees shuffled around behind her, someone knocked into Jessica just enough to press her up against Rocco.

For one breathless second, her abdomen and her pelvic bone grazed his laterals, the whipcord muscles flexing enough to provide her with an intense secret thrill.

And oh my sweet stars. She needed to focus on her job and not the ill-timed attraction. Peeling herself off him with an effort, she half wondered what he thought of her workshop. Her.

“This is the friction touch.” She applied the necessary pressure, her hands ratcheting up the heat even though his skin burned beneath his shirt to start with. “It requires a more aggressive motion and it can draw your partner into a more sensual frame of mind.”

She’d read as much about the massage she was licensed to give, but she’d never experienced the magnetic pull on the other end. Not that she’d had reason to give many massages to men. She’d grown out of her old sexual fears a long time ago, but even as she’d been proud of herself for facing those fears, she hadn’t exactly been wowed by sex as a college student or after. Three years after her last relationship ended, she still hadn’t felt any great urge to revisit that perspective.

Until tonight.

Touching this man had her wickedly distracted as she realized she would be content for everyone else in the room to fall away. While that wouldn’t be good for her business, she thought it would be deliciously good for her.

“Next is a movement called petrissage, which is a type of kneading massage.” She spoke in order to help herself maintain focus, to lead herself through this lesson no matter how difficult it might be. “This technique involves light squeezing, gripping the muscles and rolling them under your hands.”