To Catch A Cheat Part 23

He pushed his plate away, put his elbows on the table, and leaned forward, thoroughly enjoying this conversation. He'd waited throughout dinner to see how long it would take her to bring up her steamy admission. She'd maintained her cool throughout the meal, chatting with small talk in much the same way they'd chatted all day, as friends getting to know each other better, but now, the conversation had turned to that snippet he heard on the patio, and Trent couldn't be more pleased. If she was talking about it, then she was thinking about it. And if he could keep her thinking about it, chances were, she'd want to do more than talk and think. Trent was ready for that, too.

She took another bite, finishing off her etouffee, then pushed her plate forward before looking up. "Oh, man," she said, leaning back. "I think I ate more than you."

Okay, she changed the subject. Trent would let her, for now, but he'd make sure to eventually get her mind back on the conversation he had overheard . . . and on him. "Oh, there's no thinking to it. You ate more than me."

"A gentleman wouldn't have agreed," she said with a laugh. "But you're right; I did. It's just that I'm not used to good cooking." The color in her cheeks intensified. "I should probably forewarn you that tomorrow night won't be like this. In fact, Amy may send food from Boston Market tomorrow," she said with a guilty smile. "I can't exactly cook, or rather, I can't cook at all. Since we're friends and everything, I feel I should let you know. That, and because you may actually want to invest in some of that Mylanta Speedy mentioned."

He laughed. "Okay. How about I help you tomorrow night? I'm a decent cook. My mother said she didn't want me living on takeout through college, and I think she saw teaching me how to cook not only as pa.s.sing on her heritage, but also as a way of bonding. Dad had my attention with business; she got it with good food."

"I remember seeing your parents a few times when we were kids," she said. "But I didn't even realize how big your dad was in the business world."

"That's because he wanted it that way. He liked living a fairly normal life, in spite of the money, and he wanted to raise me like any other kid."

"You were really close to them," she said, and Trent could tell she wanted to say more, so he waited. But she remained silent.

"Yeah," he said, fishing for what she wasn't telling. "You're close to your folks, too, or you wouldn't get six messages from your mother in one day."

She laughed at that. "Normally, Mom calls every morning, religiously."

"And she's refraining from that because we're here?"

"I don't think so. She's on vacation this week, one of those bus trips to Branson with the Gwinnett seniors group. In fact, that was part of what Amy and Candi called to tell me; they think my mother has found a man there and that's why I haven't heard from her." She paused, as if deciding whether to say more. "My parents divorced twenty years ago, and she hasn't really gone out with anybody since, so this is a first." She gave him a forced smile. "About time, huh?" She didn't seem happy about it.

"Were you hoping your folks would get back together?"

"Oh, no, definitely not. I mean, don't get me wrong. I still talk to my father, on birthdays and Christmas," Rissi said instantly. "But I've never had any hope, or even a desire, for the two of them to get back together. That's the thing that kind of catches me off-guard about all of this. She said she didn't want to date again, because she couldn't get over my dad. Back then, it didn't matter what he did, she always took him back. Then, he didn't want to come back. He said he'd fallen in love, and we moved to Florida because she couldn't bear the thought of running into them out in public, my dad and his girlfriend."

"But you came back here."

"Eventually, but a lot happened in the middle. They got back together once," she said, then nibbled at her index finger.

"It didn't work?" he asked.

"No."

Trent nodded, and all of the pieces settled into place. The first cheater in Rissi's life wasn't even listed in her database. "Sounds like it might be good that your mother has met someone else."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "That's what Amy and Candi think, but what if she ends up with someone else who does the same thing?"

Aha. And there was the hold-up in Rissi's relationships with men . . . and with Trent. Unfortunately, the fact that Trent had cheated on Lily put him in the same cla.s.sification as her father, the kind of guy she described on her website as a "serial cheater." How was Trent supposed to prove to her that he was worth a chance?

"Sorry," she said, between nibbles on her finger. "Kind of brought a downer to our nice dinner."

Trent stood, moved his chair around the table, and sat beside her. He wanted Rissi Kincaid, wanted her in his bed, and in fact, wanted her in his life, but convincing her was a bigger challenge than he'd previously realized. Good thing Trent liked a challenge. He took her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her mouth. "There are no nails left to bite," he said, bringing her finger to his lips and kissing it softly. Then he eased to the next finger and did the same, distributing feather-soft kisses to each of her fingertips, before moving to her palm. He licked the sensitive center, then blew warm air over the damp skin, while she shivered. "You're so tense, Rissi," he said. "Let me help."

Her laughter broke the silence, and he looked up to see her dark eyes glistening. "Trent Jackson, your mouth is lethal, and I want you to keep it off of me. I was trying to talk to you as a friend, and your tongue on my palm definitely goes above and beyond the call of friendship."

"This isn't what you do with all of your friends?"

She shook her head. "Hardly."

"Seriously, Rissi, I realize that you're worried about your mother, and I really do want to help you relax."

"You want to help me out of my clothes."

He released her hand, looked into those intriguing eyes, and grinned. "Do you want want me to help you out of them?" me to help you out of them?"

She shoved him. "No, thank you. And for your information, friends typically don't offer to help each other out of their clothes either."

"No, but a friend would offer to help you relax."

"True, with a trip to a salon for a manicure and pedicure, or a ma.s.sage, or something like that. They don't offer to remove my clothes."

"I can do that," Trent said confidently.

"What? Take me to a salon? Tonight?" she asked, then leaned around him to look at the clock. "It's after eight, and I don't even know where one is around here."

"No, I I can do it. Not the manicure and pedicure thing, but the ma.s.sage. I can give a d.a.m.n good ma.s.sage." can do it. Not the manicure and pedicure thing, but the ma.s.sage. I can give a d.a.m.n good ma.s.sage."

One dark brow curved on her forehead. "You can give ma.s.sages? Something else you learned from your mother?" can give ma.s.sages? Something else you learned from your mother?"

"Trust me, she wasn't my mother," he said with a wink, while Rissi smirked.

"I'm not even going to ask," she said. "Seriously? You can give a ma.s.sage? As in something near professional, and not merely running your hands all over my body because you want to?"

"h.e.l.l, I do want to, but yeah, I seriously know how to give a semiprofessional ma.s.sage. I know we don't have a ma.s.seuse table around here anywhere, but I can always use your bed."

"I just bet you can."

He held up his palms. "I promise, I'll give you a great ma.s.sage, guaranteed to relax you enough that you sleep like a baby, and that's it. Unless you want want more than a ma.s.sage, and then I'm happy to oblige." more than a ma.s.sage, and then I'm happy to oblige."

"I knew that idea was in there," she said, pointing to his temple. "Friends wouldn't offer more than the ma.s.sage, but I appreciate your willingness to go above and beyond once more."

"No problem," he said. "Does that mean you're going to let me give you that ma.s.sage?"

"What about dessert? Your mother's bread pudding, remember?" she asked, once again attempting to change the subject away from things that made her think about s.e.x with Trent.

"I thought you said you were full."

"I am, but you you said we'd have it later, and if you give me a ma.s.sage, I'll probably end up so relaxed that I go to sleep right after, and we won't have dessert. I'm sure you wouldn't want that, so we shouldn't do the ma.s.sage thing." said we'd have it later, and if you give me a ma.s.sage, I'll probably end up so relaxed that I go to sleep right after, and we won't have dessert. I'm sure you wouldn't want that, so we shouldn't do the ma.s.sage thing."

The ma.s.sage thing. A funny way to put it, particularly if she knew exactly how well he planned to ma.s.sage her tension away, not stopping until she had at least one o.r.g.a.s.m. If he almost got her there with a kiss, his ma.s.saging talents would definitely take her over the edge, at least once, which was exactly what he wanted. Rissi Kincaid, letting go, for him.

"We can have the bread pudding for breakfast," he said. "It'll be just as good, and you can still get that ma.s.sage."

She swallowed, lifted one hand toward her mouth, then let it detour to run through her soft curls. The action caused her s.e.xy black swirl to tease her temple.

"Petie is asleep on my bed," she said, as though this would change Trent's plans.

"Then we can use my bed."

She darted a look toward his bedroom door, opened enough for her to see the king-sized bed on the other side. "No s.e.x, right? A ma.s.sage, something any friend would do for another friend?"

Trent's heart kicked up the rhythm. She was about to say yes, and he was ready. If he had his way, he'd put all worries out of her mind with the mere touch of his fingers, and he'd have her do more than say yes. He'd have her screaming it before the night ended. "No s.e.x," he said. "A ma.s.sage, from a friend."

"Just a ma.s.sage," she said.

"Just a ma.s.sage," he repeated. Guaranteed to make you come. Guaranteed to make you come.

Marissa settled against the soft comforter on Trent's bed and closed her eyes.

"With a deep-tissue ma.s.sage, your results would be much better if you were naked," Trent said.

"Sure they would," she said, keeping her eyes closed. He stood beside the bed, and more than likely, if she opened her eyes, she'd be approximately eye-level to his crotch. She wasn't about to go there. "But we'll have to get the best results we can in a tank top and shorts."

"Suit yourself, darling."

"I will," she said, grinning. It was bad enough that she'd forgone wearing a bra, since the tank top had a built-in liner. She wasn't about to rid her body of all clothing and then have Trent's hands on her. That wasn't what she wanted at all.

His fingertips pressed against the back of her neck, then slid out toward her shoulders, and a shiver of sheer delight shimmied down her skin.

Who was she kidding? Getting naked and having Trent's hands all over her was exactly exactly what she wanted. And now she wondered . . . could she make it through this ma.s.sage without asking him to give her what she wanted? She squeezed her eyes tighter, while those fingers continued kneading and probing and delighting. Good thing he'd already asked her about removing her clothes; she'd have a much more difficult time explaining why she shouldn't get naked now. what she wanted. And now she wondered . . . could she make it through this ma.s.sage without asking him to give her what she wanted? She squeezed her eyes tighter, while those fingers continued kneading and probing and delighting. Good thing he'd already asked her about removing her clothes; she'd have a much more difficult time explaining why she shouldn't get naked now.

"You're so tight." He applied more pressure, making a gradual path down her back with his hands. "Knotted," he said, and then put what felt like his elbow against one side of her back and pressed down. Hard.

Marissa opened her eyes, turned her head to the side and sucked in her breath. "Ow!" And yes, her eyes were directly even with his crotch, so she jerked her attention to his face, and cracked her neck in the process. "Ow!" she yelled again.

He moved one hand to the back of her neck and gently pressed her head back against the comforter. "You're going to hurt yourself, Rissi."

"No, you're you're going to hurt myself," she corrected. "What did you do to my back?" going to hurt myself," she corrected. "What did you do to my back?"

"Deep-tissue ma.s.saging has been proven to be the most effective type of ma.s.sage for removing muscle tension, and you've got some serious muscle tension," he said smoothly. "I was serious when I said I know how to give a good ma.s.sage."

"Maybe I don't want a good one," Marissa said. "Maybe I want a bad one. What was that, anyway, your elbow?" she asked. Her head rested on the bed, but her eyes were looking as high as possible, rather than at what was dead center in front of them.

"Yes. Deep-tissue ma.s.saging involves using fingertips, knuckles, elbows, and forearms. So far, you've only had one elbow to one knot."

"You mean there's going to be more?" she asked, unable to control the rising panic in every word of the question.

His laugh rumbled from his stomach, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. Petie darted in from the other room and c.o.c.ked his head as though wondering if he should bark, or run.

"It's okay, Petie," Trent said. "She's fine."

His silvery head bobbed to the side once more, as if he were trying to judge for himself, and then he evidently decided Trent told the truth, because he turned tail and headed back out the door.

"Some guard dog he's turning out to be," Marissa grumbled, while Trent laughed again. Then she looked up at Trent, now sitting beside her on the bed. "You actually learned how to give this ma.s.sage from a real ma.s.seuse?"

"Yep."

"I'm a.s.suming you were dating her at the time," she said.

"Yeah, but it didn't last long."

"Why's that?"

"Seems the only thing we had in common was a love of deep-tissue ma.s.sages," he said with a shrug.

"Well, I don't know if I can handle an entire deep-tissue ma.s.sage, if it involves your elbows bearing down on my back."

"Elbows, forearms, knuckles . . ."

"Right. Do you not know how to give a good old-fashioned ma.s.sage, the kind where it's your hands-and only your hands-and pressure applied? I think that'd be fine for my muscles, without all the deep-tissue extras."

He looked down at her and smiled. "I planned on trying to work out the knots in your back first, then move on to something like that, but I can start there if you want."

Marissa swallowed. Something about his tone gave her the impression that she wasn't sure what she'd asked for. "Trent?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice raspy as he put his hands on her back and started working his fingertips down her spine.

"What exactly are you going to do?"

"Help relieve your tension, with an old-fashioned ma.s.sage," he said. "Exactly what you asked for, Rissi."

His hands, now kneading the lower portion of her spine, inched lower, pushing the waistband of her shorts down in the process. In fact, she was fairly certain that he moved them low enough that the sides of her thong were visible. She glanced down her right side and saw the thin strip of red satin on her hip, and then she saw one of Trent's long fingers slide beneath that strip, as those magical hands moved outward from her spine to the curve of her bottom.

Marissa's top teeth grazed her lower lip. She should stop him now, even if this was totally a friendship kind of thing to help relieve her tension, because right now, her only thought was seeing what else those talented fingers could do. She should stop him. She should.

His hands moved up her sides, sliding up her waist, while Marissa closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of a man's hands, of Trent's hands, against her flesh. Maybe she should stop him, but no way was she going to. His fingertips grazed the curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s before continuing up her back to her shoulder blades, then repeating the pattern. Down the spine slowly, pressing outward. Marissa could actually feel the bunched muscles relaxing, could sense her back heating up beneath the pressure of his hands, and could feel her very center craving some of the attention he gave her back.

"Okay if I do your legs?" he asked, his tone husky and deep.

Marissa nodded. Like any woman in her right mind would say no. Not in this life.

Trent's hands cupped her bottom as he moved to the backs of her thighs and eased her legs apart. His hands slid simultaneously down both legs, fingertips moving in small circles as he progressed slowly down her thighs, then to her calves, while Marissa moaned her contentment. This was wonderful. Magical. And downright erotic. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the feel of those fingers as they moved slowly back up her legs, then she moved her hips and inched her legs out farther.

"Rissi?"

"Mmm?"

His hands returned to the tops of her legs, and his fingertips, moving in luxurious circles, eased under the edge of her shorts. She let them. In fact, she raised her hips to give him better access, wanting him to touch her everywhere.

"I need you to roll over now," he said, his voice thick and hungry, definitely aroused. "So I can do the front." He moved his hands to her waist and slid them under her to lift her body and help her turn.

She stretched as she rolled over, then looked into those smoky eyes. His hands moved to her stomach, thumbs dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts.

"Rissi?" he asked, and his fingers stopped moving.

"Yes?" Her hips lifted slightly from the bed. She wanted those hands to start again. In fact, she didn't want him to stop. Ever.