Until We Touch (Fool's Gold #15)

“Because it’s my job.”


She turned and saw the top sheet had been kicked to the floor, just like always. The regularity of the event made her smile.

She picked up the sheet and tossed it in her dirty linens bin, then collected the moist heat pack. She worked quickly to slide it into its cover, then wrapped the ribbed warmth around Jack’s right shoulder. There it would loosen the muscles and scarring while she worked on the rest of his back.

She began the massage by touching his upper arms, then moving across his back. She felt for any new tension, any areas of tenderness. Her touch was sure as she lightly kneaded familiar muscles. She worked her way down to the small of his back before retracing her steps.

“Taryn’s keeping a stash of bridal magazines in her office,” she said conversationally. “But when I asked her if she and Angel had set a date, she wouldn’t say. I think she’s weirded out about what to do.”

As she spoke, she dug into his left shoulder. While it was nowhere near as beat-up as the right, he’d suffered plenty of hits on that side.

“Taryn can’t figure out if she wants a big wedding or to run off,” Jack said, his voice slightly muffled.

“I know. A couple of days ago she announced she’s having a big wedding. Yesterday she said they were going to elope. I hope she decides on having a wedding. She would totally rock a great designer dress. It would be like theater.”

“You’d have to dress up, too,” he pointed out.

Not her favorite thing. “I could manage for a day. Would you give her away?”

She asked the question without thinking, then remembered Jack and Taryn had been married briefly. She’d gotten pregnant and he’d insisted they do the right thing. When she lost the baby a few weeks later, they’d gotten divorced. As far as Larissa knew, they’d never been in love and the topic of their marriage wasn’t the least bit sensitive. At least not on the surface.

“Taryn wouldn’t appreciate the idea of being given or taken,” he said. “My guess is if she goes the big wedding route, she’ll hustle herself down the aisle.”

Larissa began to work on his back. His skin was warm and the oil she used allowed her hands to slide easily. The rhythm of her movements anchored her in place. The music was nice. Soothing, she thought.

“I got another call about the chiweenies,” she told him. “They’re going to make one more visit to talk to the lady. They’re pretty sure it’s a hoarding situation. The animal-rescue people are working with local law enforcement to get her to surrender the animals to avoid charges.”

“You’re not bringing dogs to my house.”

She smiled. “Would I do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

* * *

JACK DID HIS best to give himself over to the massage. Much of the time, being worked on by Larissa was the best part of his day. His shoulder provided a steady ache and as he wouldn’t take drugs for it, he’d learned to live with the pain.

The heat pack she used eased some of it. Later she would dig her needle fingers into the joints, searching out scarring and grinding it into submission. That part wasn’t fun, but the result was relief—at least for a few hours.

Her voice washed over him. She told him about her causes and what was happening in town. Sometimes he listened and sometimes he didn’t. He’d learned that if it was important, she would tell him again.

But today he couldn’t relax. Not the way he usually did. Something was off. Not the massage table. It was the same, as were the sheets and the music. Even the oil she used was familiar.

But there was something. He tried closing his eyes, but that didn’t help. Her hands continued to move on his body, sliding down his back. Lower and lower. She worked his shoulder last—leaving it until he was ready to turn over. That way she could attack it from both sides. That’s what always happened. She put heat on his shoulder, did the whole back of him, then his shoulder. He turned over, she did the front of the shoulder, wrapped it in heat and then tackled the rest of him. They had a routine. It worked. So what was his problem?

Her hands stroked lower and lower on his back. He knew what was next. She would slide down his hip, then come up to the side of his butt and dig in to some pressure point. She would grind until he was about ready to come off the table, and then suddenly it would ease. Pain would flow out of him as if she’d pulled the cork on a bottle.