Fires of passion
Waters of our hearts
Winds of love
To us, will you impart
Bring us our soulmates, for this we plea
With open minds and pure hearts, we implore
So mote it be”
Someone murmursso mote it be, so I say the words, holding on to the image in my head.
“Now, carefully dip your candle into the flames, and when it catches, drip the pink wax onto your card. Once you have seven drops, release your request into the Goddess’ care by dropping the card into the fire. Blow out the candle when you are done, but do not break it. I’m going to have you take it home.”
CHAPTER ONE
TRICIA
I take a deep breath and hope my smile isn’t as wilted as I feel. Getting together with the girls in Manitou Springs, Colorado, was great! All the laughs, the cool events, the endless drinks… Oh my, I hit that tequila way too hard. Two days after returning home, I’m still trying to catch up on hydration.
Reminiscing about the trip, my smile becomes more relaxed and natural. It was exactly what I needed, when I needed it most.
Though now I’m paying for it in more ways than one. Between the airplane tickets, the events, the tequila, and yes, the new wardrobe that I didn’t need, yet splurged on, my bank account took a hit that I really can’t afford. That’s why I’m here on my normal day off, taking on a few extra clients to pay for my overindulgence.
My first client of the day is new, both to me and the clinic. After a brisk knock on the door, I count backward from five and enter the room. He’s standing in the corner, facing the door, his hands held loosely at his sides. The white robe we provide for our clients stretches across his broad shoulders, leaving a wide V over his deep chest, showing off his collarbone and the springy brown chest hair that makes my fingers tingle with the need to run through that impressive pelt.
Quickly, I lift my gaze to his face, finding bright and gentle brown eyes quietly observing me. His chest isn’t the only place his hair is plentiful. He has a huge shock of it on his head. The sides are clipped short, which makes the longer hair on top even more noticeable. White, even teeth flash from within a full beard. This man is the very picture of a hairy mountain man. The white robe looks so out of place and ridiculous that my lips twitch to form a grin far different from my professional smile and I fight back the laughter bubbling up.
Laughing at your client is a definite no-no.
“Dr. Smyth?” I ask, stepping forward and offering my hand.
A warm, long-fingered hand tipped with short, well-kept nails, very much at odds with the mountain man image, engulfs mine and squeezes oh so gently. A flare of something jumps between us at the contact, my eyes flying up to collide with his warm, whiskey brown ones. “Matt, please,” he says, his voice low and raspy.
“Matt,” I repeat after him, his name flowing smoothly from my tongue with a sense of rightness like it belongs there. “I’m Tricia. I’m your massage therapist today.”
His fingers withdraw from mine, his gaze intent on me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gives a brief chuckle. “This is my first time having a massage, so forgive me if I’m nervous.”
From the moment our eyes locked, I’ve felt off-kilter. I could blame it on lack of sleep, a mild case of jetlag, or just post-vacation funk, but it’s not any of those. Something in me is being pulled toward Matt, a tingly awareness of him that is leaving me on edge and feeling things I definitely shouldn’t toward a client.
Attraction. I’m attracted to him.
Which, okay, it happens to some therapists. We see so many people, and there are always attractive ones. This is a first for me, though. I guess eventually it was bound to happen. I can push through this and remain a professional.
“Being nervous is perfectly natural,” I tell him, trying to calm my own nerves. “You’re a doctor, so I’m sure some of your patients are anxious when they see you.”
“I’m an orthodontist, so yeah, they’re terrified. Normally of my bill.” The skin around his eyes crinkles merrily and my mind goes back to the information on his chart. He’s in his forties. He’s too old for me. Even if he wasn’t too old, he’s probably married.
Desperately I cling to that thought even while another husky chuckle from him has a flicker of heat flaring to life within me.
“I guess it’s only fair that now I’m the uneasy one,” he says, his shoulders relaxing the more we chat.
“You’re scared? Of me?” The corners of my mouth lift at the thought of this big man being afraid of me and my touch. “No need for that. I promise you, once we get going, I’ll be your new best friend.”
I’ve said this line at least twenty dozen times since I’ve been a massage therapist, only now it strikes me how silly it is.