Midnight Bayou

rhythm of her place and worked. Charmed her customers, tolerated the grab-hands, and avoided a potentially ugly situation by using his wit instead of his ego.
    The longer she knew him, she reflected, the more there was to know.
    She tugged an envelope out of her back pocket.
    “What’s this?”
    “Your pay.”
    “Jesus, Lena, I don’t want your money.”
    “You work, I pay. I don’t take free rides.” She pushed the envelope into his hands. “Off the books, though. I don’t want to do the paperwork.”
    “Okay, fine.” He stuffed it into his own pocket. He’d just buy her something with it.
    “Now, I guess I’d better give you a really good tip.” She wound her arms around his neck, slithered her body up his. Eyes open, she nibbled on his lip, inching her way into a kiss.
    His hands ran down her sides, hooked under her hips, then hitched them up until her legs wrapped around his waist. “You need to get off your feet.”
    “Mmm. God, yes.”
    He nuzzled her neck, her ear, worked his way back to her mouth as he carried her into the bedroom. “Know what I’m going to do?”
    Lust was a low simmer under the bright glory of being off her aching feet. “I think I have a pretty good notion.”
    He laid her on the bed, could almost feel her sigh of relief at being horizontal. He pried off one of her shoes. “I’m going to give you something women long for.” He tossed the shoe aside, then climbing onto the bed, removed the other.
    Weary or not, her face went wicked. “A sale at Saks?”
    “Better.” He skimmed a finger over her arch. “A foot rub.”
    “A what?”
    Smiling, he flexed her foot, rubbed her toes, and saw her eyes go blurrier yet with pleasure.
    “Mmmm. Declan, you do have a good pair of hands.”
    “Relax and enjoy. The Fitzgerald Reflexology Treatment is world famous. We also offer the full-body massage.”
    “I bet you do.”
    The worst of the aches began to evaporate. When he worked his way up to her calves, overworked muscles quivered with the combination of pain and pleasure.
    “Do you take any time off after Mardi Gras?”
    She’d been drifting, and struggled to focus at the sound of his voice. “I take Ash Wednesday off.”
    “Boy, what a slacker.” He tapped a careless kiss to her knee. “Here, let’s get your clothes off.”
    He unbuttoned her jeans. She lifted her hips, gave a lazy stretch. He doubted she realized her voice was husky, her words slurring. “What else you got in mind to rub, cher ?”
    He indulged himself by cupping her breasts, enjoyed her easy response, the way she combed her fingers through his hair, met his lips. He tugged her shirt up and away, snapped open the front catch of her bra. Kissed his way down to her breasts while she arched back to offer.
    Then he flipped her onto her stomach. She jerked,groaned, then all but melted when he kneaded her neck. “Just as I thought,” he announced. “Carry most of your tension here. Me, too.”
    “Oh. God.” If she’d had a single wish at that moment, it would’ve been that he keep doing what he was doing for a full week. “You could make a good living out of this.”
    “It’s always been my fall-back career. You’ve got yourself some serious knots here. Doctor Dec’s going to fix you up.”
    “I just love playing doctor.”
    She waited for him to change the tone, for his hands to become demanding. He was a sweetheart, she thought sleepily. But he was a man.
    She’d just take herself a little catnap, and let him wake her up.
    T he next thing she knew, the sun was beating through her windows. A groggy glance at her bedside clock showed her it was twenty after ten. Morning? she thought blearily. How did it get to be morning?
    And she was tucked into bed as tidily as if her grandmother had done the job. Tucked in alone.
    She rolled over on her back, stretched, yawned. And realized with a kind of mild shock that nothing ached. Not her neck, not her feet, not her back.
    Doctor Dec, she mused, had done a very thorough job. And was probably at home sulking because she hadn’t paid his fee. Hard to blame him, when he’d been such a sweetie pie, and she’d done nothing but lie there like a corpse.
    Have to make it up to him, she told herself, and crawled out of bed to put coffee on before she hit the shower.
    She walked into the kitchen, stared at the full coffeepoton her counter, and the note propped in front of it. Frowning, she picked up the note, switched the pot back to warm as she