41

Thirteen years later
Sophie
He’s here.
The bells jingle on the door handle of the massage studio I share with three other practitioners, and I dart out to the reception area, heart hammering.
I’ve only seen Joey LaTorre a few times in the years since I was newly-fatherless, and he was the dreamy young mafia prince driving me away from the funeral. There was his father’s funeral a few years later. The one we had to attend to show respect to the Family. I brought him a pack of cinnamon guma silly, childish gesture that makes me cringe now to remember.
Seeing his name show up on my schedule this afternoon turned my stomach to knots. My hands are clammy now as I turn the corner and take in his broad shoulders, the expensive suit. Shiny, thousand-dollar shoes. He must be in his thirties now and is as gorgeous as I remember. Nomore. And he radiates far more power.
He gives me an appreciative once-over that makes my skin flush with heat.
I have to remind myself that I’m not happy to see him again. I don’t know what reason he has to come here, but it can’t be good.
“Mr. LaTorre.” I sound as breathless as I feel. “Wh-what can I do for you?”
“Sophie.” He steps into my space, clasping my shoulder with his large hand to lean forward and touch his cheek to mine in a lipless kiss. He smells faintly of cinnamon, conjuring up every foolish romantic fantasy he’d starred in during my youth.
“Since when do you call me Mr. LaTorre?” He’s opting for casual, like we’re still family.
I mean, Family, with the capital F.
“Um, never, I guess.”
God, I feel like a teenager againmy pulse tripping, my inner thighs squeezing in his presence.
I try and fail to swallow. My mouth is so dry! “Why are you here?”
Oops. That sounded rude. Never disrespect the mob boss. I had that drilled into me from a young age. I may want nothing to do with him, but I also need to be careful not to offend.
Joey arches a brow. “I thought it was obvious. I’m here for a massage.”
I blink. “What?”
His brow furrows. “Al told me you’re a masseuse.” Al is his half-brother, the ruling don of the LaTorre mafia family. I had no idea they were still keeping tabs on me. That they knew what I was doing or how to find me.
And wait…seriously? He’s here for a massage?
“I don’t trust strangers to touch me, but you’re family.”
“I’m a massage therapist,” I correct him. When he lifts a brow, I say, “Not a masseuse.”
“Yeah? What’s the difference?”
“Masseuse is the name for unlicensed practitioners. The kind who give massages with happy endings.”
Joey’s eyes darken and lips twist into a smirk. “I see.” Sexual tension floods the room.
My face gets hot. Great. We are both thinking about me giving him a hand job right now.
“Well, that” He scrubs a hand across his face as if to swallow whatever lewd thing he was about to say. “That’s ah, not why I’m here. I hurt my back lifting weights. It’s been a month, and it hasn’t improved. I was hoping you could fix me up.”
“I will try. Come on back.”
While I’m not thrilled about interacting with any member of the LaTorre family, at least I know how to fulfill this request. They’re not trying to suck me back into the fold or tangle me in their crime web.
Maybe if I weren’t afraid of offending him, if I had the guts my mom did when she pulled me out, I’d tell him I want nothing to do with him or his family. But not only do I not want to piss off the LaTorre family, I need the money.
He’ll probably leave a huge tip, which I could definitely use, since I can’t make ends meet being self-employed like this.
I lead him to my tiny treatment room. “Have a seat.”
His large frame and even larger presence fill the room, making it feel even smaller. He looks around in surprise, and I point to the chair up against the wall, taking a seat in the one beside it with my clipboard.
“If you could just fill this out for me…”
He makes no move to take the clipboard. “Soph, I just want to get on your table. Can we skip the paperwork?”
I don’t know why my nipples get hard because I’m fuming inside. Of course, he comes in and bosses me around. These guys make their own rulesthat’s how it’s always been.
I flush, my heart thudding against my chest as if he pointed a gun at me rather than embarrassed me.
“Sure. Okay.” I stand. “Take your clothes off and lie face down on the table. I’ll go wash my hands.” I escape the room, sucking in deep breaths as soon as I’m outside, as if he’d taken up all the oxygen in the room.
Beautiful devil.
I don’t know why I find him so attractive. Scratch thatI do know why. He’s panty-melting hot. Tall and muscular with broad shoulders and a square jaw. He even has one of those dimples in the middle of his chin.
But I shouldn’t find that alpha male macho thing such a turn-on. It offends me. He’s not my type at all.
Personal attraction aside, I don’t like rekindling any kind of relationship with my father’s former employers. It makes me downright queasy.
I wash my hands and give Joey a few minutes before tapping on the door and pushing it open.
“Oh. Jesus.”
Joey followed my directions and lay face down on the table, but he’s on top of both sheets.
Which means I now have a full, unfettered view of his entire, very naked, backside. The man is pure thoroughbred with more sculpted muscle than Michaelangelo’s David.
He lifts his head to look at me. “What?”
I’m suddenly overcome by the need to giggle. “You, um…” I try to hold it in. “You were supposed to get between the two sheets.” I reach for the door handle to retreat again. “I’ll give you anotheroh.”
He swings his long legs off the table and stands, giving me a full frontal view now.
“Joey!” I choke and turn my back, but not before the sight of his body’s Adonis-like sculpted beauty is forever branded on my mind.
Holy…um…wow. Just…yeah. Oh my. He’s the finest specimen of manhood I’ve ever seen.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I don’t know how this works.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I say quickly, although I’m not even sure what I’m sorry for. I’m definitely more embarrassed than he is.
I wait until the sound of his movements have quieted, then turn around and straighten the sheet over him.
“Would you like to listen to music?” I ask, although it’s hard to imagine he’d be into my usual meditative flute and chant fare.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you usually do.” His voice reverberates around the small room, the rich tones over-filling it the same way his presence does.
After turning on the music, I fold the sheet down to his waist and drink in the sight of his sculpted, naked torso as I dispense lavender-scented jojoba oil into my hands.
“What part of your back is bothering you?” I use my soothing murmur, the one I always employ in the treatment room, so making conversation is as soothing as being touched.
“Low back,” he grunts.
He flinches when I touch his shoulders, his muscles only growing tenser. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
I wait for more of an explanation, but he doesn’t give one.
“How’s the pressure?”
“Fine.”
I work over his shoulders and upper back, then slide my thumbs up the taut ropes of the muscles that run alongside his spine. He only grows more tense. Getting him to relax might be an impossibility. A man like him lives in danger every day of his life.
I glance at the pile of neatly-folded clothing he left on the chair and note the gun carefully placed on top.
I lighten my touch to see if I can get him to give up the tension. No dice.
I hold his trapezius between my fingers and thumb and gently shake. “Give this to me,” I tell him.
“Huh?”
“Let go.” I keep vibrating. “Let me have this.”
Finally understanding, he releases his tight grip and loosens the muscles.
“That’s it,” I purr, my fingers sliding over his skin, coaxing even more tension out of him.
I may not have wanted him here, and I may never want him to come back, but I can’t deny how pleasurable it is to touch this beautiful manthe object of all of my teenage fantasies.
I hate the LaTorre Family and want nothing to do with them, but Joey LaTorre gets a pass. He was kind to me when my life fell apart, and I won’t forget that.
I work my way down, finding the place he injured by the giant ball of muscles. I’m careful with the area, using energy in the tips of my fingers to kickstart the healing before I attempt to unwind his lumbar and QL muscles. When he finally lets go, I move lower, tucking the sheet between his legs to reveal one buttock and leg.
As I begin to rub his glutes, I note one of his hips is higher than the other. I move my fingers to the side of his low back to investigate if the pulling is still coming from a tight QL.
Oh.
Um, yeah. It’s not.
Joey has a hard-on.
The muscles in my pelvic floor lift and squeeze in response to that very revealing tell. I guess I wasn’t imagining the sexual tension between us.
I guess it runs both ways.
And it’s crazy how much I want to give him that happy ending now.
I slow my movements down, drawing in a deep breath. Circling his muscular buttock.
Nope. This can’t happen. As satisfying as it would be to fulfill all my teenage fantasies with Joey LaTorre right here, right now, I’m not doing it.
I will not get involved with anyone in the Family ever again.
My mom barely got us out of La Cosa Nostra. Even now, I find out they’ve had their eye on us this entire time.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy this situation a little.