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.”
Rocco’s muscles were in such abundance it wasn’t hard to find a sample for her demonstration.
A student nearby cleared her throat before she spoke.
“It’s difficult to tell how much pressure you’re applying. Do you think we might be able to talk Mr. Easton into removing his shirt? Seeing your hands directly on his skin might be more helpful.”
Eight women nodded in tandem. Jessica’s knees buckled just a little at the mere thought of touching Rocco’s naked skin, as she noticed a tray full of scented massage oils waited nearby.
“I think we’ve probably detained our guest long enough as it is.” She hoped he would take the hint and sprint his sexy self right out the door before she melted all over him. “I hardly think we can ask him to—”
Rocco’s hands were already moving over the buttons of his dress shirt, his bow tie hanging loose and undone about his neck.
“It’s okay,” he returned easily, his movements relaxed despite the soaring temperature of his skin. “I’m finding your workshop informative too.”
And without another word, his white cotton dress shirt slithered off his shoulders, leaving Jessica facing the bronzed expanse of wide shoulders and taut sinew. From somewhere in the room, a dreamy feminine sigh seemed to encapsulate her thoughts completely.
“Maybe a little massage oil?” Ingrid said, passing her a bottle of vanilla honeysuckle blend. “It highlights the muscle groups, you know.”
The wicked grin on the woman’s face assured Jessica she was loving every second of class so far. Just what she wanted.
Working up her courage, she squirted some oil between her palms and rubbed them together for warmth. The scent filled the air as she lifted her hands to touch him again. Forcing her fingers onto his back, she braced herself for the electric shock all over again.
This time, her breasts ached and her breath caught. Her heart pounded so hard she feared the whole class would see the palpitations given that her camisole didn’t exactly provide extensive coverage.
“This is the friction touch.” She demonstrated briefly to minimize the sweet torment of caressing him. “And now we’ll learn the vibration touch.”
Scavenging up her autopilot teaching mode to take over, Jessica’s lips moved, spouting out her lesson. But in her head, she continued to linger on the idea of a vibration touch.
Never in her life had she found a need for the battery-operated toys some women used to find pleasure. But after tonight, she would seriously investigate the options ASAP. Something about touching Rocco Easton had made her realize she would need to find a way to take the sexual edge off her thoughts or she might never think straight again.
WARDING OFF pleasure—surprisingly—wasn’t all that different from warding off pain. Rocco had to mentally travel somewhere else in order to withstand the experience, his body growing more and more susceptible to its physical reactions.
Jessica’s hands proved as seductive as her charm had been to his father. Rocco fell deeper under their spell the longer she talked, the longer she worked her lubricated fingers over his skin. Interestingly, the seduction didn’t come from her obvious assets. She didn’t employ the more expected female tactics, like brushing her half-bared breasts against his back. Instead, she simply followed the guidelines she had set out in her workshop, using her professed techniques to the letter.
There was, he thought, something honest in that at least. And he had to believe he hadn’t abandoned his mission despite the way he’d allowed himself to come into such intimate contact with his investigative subject tonight. No matter what Jessica’s financial picture might be, he believed she sincerely embraced the principles she taught in this workshop by the way she kept the class on track.
Not once in the half hour—he glanced at the clock—no, forty-five minutes that he’d been here had Jessica rested her fingers or deviated from what he suspected was a well-rehearsed lecture. She gave her students more information than they’d ever retain.
“Ladies, this is a good touch to use on a man’s inner thigh.” Jessica’s words suddenly blasted their way into his consciousness, wrenching him back to the moment before he could steel himself for the impact.
A couple of the lecture attendees asked her some follow-up questions about that statement, but Rocco’s brain kept envisioning Jessica applying her skillful hands to his thighs. She touched him with light surface caresses in a quick, upward movement. What would that feel like if she transplanted it somewhere more overtly sexual?
Rocco was thankful for his foresight in putting his shirt on his lap after he removed it, as his blood surged south like a rogue wave.
“What do you