‘ June Parker?’  His voice was an engine rumbling.

Figured. ‘ That’ s me,’  I said, standing and pulling my robe tight around me.

The ladies were atwitter, mumbling their approval.

‘ She hit the jackpot on this one-what a gorgeous face. Like a Greek god!’

‘ Look at those hands.’

‘ Like catcher’ s mitts.’

‘ I’ ve never seen such big hands!’

‘ And you know what they say& ‘

‘ That’ s feet they say that about.’

‘ Who cares? Anyway, with such an impressive front, I can only imagine what-’

Brie gave me a shove. ‘ Get going. We want to see him walk away.’

I waved good-bye to them. They cooed like proud mothers sending their baby girl off to lie naked on a table while a total stranger rubbed his hands over her.

He introduced himself as Runner and escorted me into a dimly lit room barely big enough for the massage table. The drill was the same as usual: He left while I stripped and lay facedown on the table underneath a blanket. When he returned after I’ d called out that I was ready, he was all business.

I wished I could have said the same for myself. Something about being naked and so near such a bastion of masculinity had me& well& thinking.

‘ Do you prefer hard or soft?’  he asked innocently enough.

‘ Hard,’  I gulped, not so innocently.

‘ Okay. Let me know if it’ s too much.’

He began massaging my back and shoulders in deep, firm strokes. I could hear him breathing as he worked. He was careful to keep me covered. I felt his hip graze against me, but it was all very clean and on the up-and-up and wholesome and, cripes, I was so horny. There was no getting around it. The candles& the soft music& a man’ s strong hands gripping me and rubbing me& his raspy grunts as he threw his weight into it. How could I not have filthy thoughts? Even though I would have been horrified if his hands actually wandered, that didn’ t mean I couldn’ t entertain the fantasy that they might.

He moved my towels around and then dug his fingers into the flesh of my thighs. It was all I could do to suppress a moan. I wondered how many women threw money at him and asked for the ‘ full service’  massage.

I wondered if he said yes.

And how much money would it take?

Not that I was interested, mind you.

Simply curious.

Runner told me to turn over onto my back, and then he covered my eyes with a cool cloth. My mind wandered, first to thoughts of work& and the list& and then to thoughts of Troy Jones swimming, the muscles on his back rippling as he dug through the water. The way he’ d smoothed the water from his hair when he’ d stepped out, completely wet, his swim trunks clinging to him.

I must have sighed at the memory, because Runner murmured, ‘ This feels good?’  His hands gripped my hips, pushing firmly up and down, which brought me back to the moment.

‘ Mmm-hmm.’

‘ Good.’

He continued, making a noise from deep in his chest from all that pushing and thrusting and grabbing. I was trying to do that thing men do to stave off arousal, think of something neutral like baseball-only I was imagining buying that new set of plates I wanted at Pottery Barn-when I sensed Runner shift so that he stood behind my head. ‘ We’ re almost finished,’  he said.

I felt his hand rest to put pressure on my right temple. Then his other hand pushed on my left temple. Then his other hand pushed firmly into the crown of my head.

His other hand?

I distinctly recalled him having only two hands when we started, so what was that pressing into my head?

Oh no-it was his penis. He was jamming his erection into me. I felt it rubbing against my hair, making firm, hard circles. I must have been sending out signals. He probably thought I was enjoying it!

I had no idea what to do. It was one thing if I’ d asked-Hey, would you mind sliding your throbbing manhood against me?-but I’ d done no such thing! Boy, if he thought he was getting the full 15 percent tip after this&

I needed to say something. Make it clear that he was out of line. Because although I was still covered by the towel, I felt naked. Exposed. How could he?

He made a noise& mmmm& yet I lay there with the cloth over my eyes, doing nothing. At the very least, I needed to slap him. Or report him!

Mustering my courage, I pulled off the cloth and opened my eyes. When I did, I realized that he wasn’ t digging his penis into me. He wasn’ t even standing behind me. He was to my side. One of his huge hands stretched across my face so he touched both temples at once.

Which left his other hand free to touch the top of my head.

‘ How was it?’  he asked warmly.

‘ Great,’  I said, trying not to blush.

Was it my fault the man had freakishly large hands? Anyone could have made the same mistake.

As I threw on my robe to join the other women before going upstairs to get ready for dinner, it occurred to me that that pent-up sexual energy had to go somewhere. And I knew exactly where.

It almost seemed unfair not to call Troy Jones and give the poor boy a running start.

Chapter 21

T his is your motorcycle?’

‘ Something wrong?’  Troy asked, handing me a helmet.

‘ Where do I sit?’

‘ Ah, I see you’ ve been spoiled.’  Then he patted the back half of what didn’ t seem to be a particularly large seat. ‘ Right here. Plenty of room.’

When Troy had offered to give me a ride on his motorcycle, I’ d told him I had riding experience. It was only a few miles to the hotel where Wayne Newton was performing. Although we could have taken a cab with Kitty and Gran, they wanted to go early for the buffet, which I chose to skip in favor of a nap and a vending machine dinner. Besides, Troy had said he was itching for a ride. As I had an itch of my own to scratch, it seemed reasonable to take him up on his offer.

That was, until now. This bike was nothing like Phyllis’ s Harley. Where was my motor home on two wheels? Where was my bucket seat? There wasn’ t even a sissy bar. One bump in the road and I’ d go flying off the back.

Troy helped me buckle my helmet, and then he climbed on the bike. I straddled behind him, leaving a reasonable distance between us. When I tried to feel the seat behind me, there wasn’ t one. My butt was hanging off the end.

Why did I have to wear these stupid shiny pants? Sure, they were cute, sort of a bronze color& and I’ d paired them with a black stretchy tank top and high heels. I was very Las Vegas-a little trashy, a little shimmery.

But I should have worn clothes with traction. Rubber. Surely I had something rubber in my closet I could have brought. I’ d bet anything that Brie did.

Troy started the engine, which sent up a panic flare to my brain. This was crazy-I was taking a cab.

I was about to jump off-tell Troy that his bike wasn’ t big enough for the both of us-when he reached back. With one arm, he gave me a firm tug so I was snug against him. Then he pulled on my arms to place them around his waist.

‘ Don’ t want to lose anybody,’  he said.

Oh.

Well, this was cozy.

We pulled out of the parking garage and onto a side road, and I thought about Phyllis’ s comment about me being a good ride. Troy leaned forward, and I leaned with him. It felt perfectly natural. There was anticipation. There was trust. There were my boobs and crotch smashed up against him and his firm muscles beneath my grasp. I couldn’ t help myself-I let my hands wander to his chest. Nothing too randy. Just enough so it could be mistaken for me getting myself adjusted.

Traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard was stop and go, but we wove through the sea of cars at traffic lights-one of the advantages of being on a motorcycle. A good thing since we’ d let ourselves get a late start.

The sun was low in the sky, and the air seemed to glow as much as the lights of the casinos we passed. My hormones buzzed. It was having Troy so close& and being kind of scared on the bike& and breathing in his scent of soap and heat& and the dense evening air& and the rumble of the bike beneath me&

Just then, a light stopped us. Troy held the weight of the bike with one leg, shifted around to face me, and started to speak: ‘ So how is the-’

But conversation wasn’ t what I had in mind. I’ d had enough of being coy. It was time to make my move.

I flipped up the bug guard on my helmet and then lifted his. Then, my hand on the back of his neck, I pulled him close in a lip-lock-or at least I tried to. Before my mouth got anywhere near his, our helmets collided.

I scowled, trying to see if I tipped my head a bit&

‘ It can’ t be done,’  he said, and he reached to unbuckle his helmet. ‘ But I have to say, I like the way you think.’

Traffic started moving around us. The SUV behind us gave a quick tap on its horn.

‘ Light’ s green,’  I said, my disappointment obvious.

‘ Mmm-hmm.’  His gaze never left me as he continued to lift off his helmet.

‘ People are honking.’

‘ Let ‘ em.’

He reached toward me, obviously intent on unbuckling my helmet.

‘ No!’  I protested, laughing. ‘ Are you crazy? The light’ s green! We’ re in the middle of the street-blocking traffic!’

Troy gave a good-natured sigh, but still he didn’ t turn around. His hand slid over my back, resting on the skin between my shirt and pants. Unable to reach my face through my helmet, he settled for gently kissing my bare shoulder. Let the kiss slide up to my neck. I felt his breath hot against me as he murmured, ‘ June& you have no idea& ‘

Oh, I had an idea all right.

If my habit was to burrow like a groundhog, at this point I’ d popped up from the hole I’ d dug. In fact, I was practically running around wild, tearing up the fields and humping people’ s legs.