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  Copyright © 2013 by Nevea Lane

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the authors’ imaginations and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  1589 Skeet Club Rd. Ste. 102-237

  High Point, NC 27265

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

  Editor: Allie Hart

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  Formatting and Ebook Conversion:

  Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-61788-333-0

  To those who had to learn ‘how to deal.’

  Note about eBooks

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  Behold

  An ache formed in her chest as Celine Beauregard flipped through the chart for her next client. It was always the same heart wrenching ache every time she saw the name Xerxes Talmay on her schedule. She wished there was more she could do for the war-weary veteran besides these tense massage therapy sessions. Her ache wasn’t because he was disfigured physically. Actually, he was quite the opposite. Xerxes had all the bells and whistles of a very eligible bachelor: he was single, had a steady job, no kids, fifteen years of military service, several siblings and a doting mother. He even owned a loft in the heart of the city, a few blocks away from her studio.

  There was just the small problem of his social skills. According to friends and relatives, he’d always been slightly shy, but after six deployments to Afghanistan, Gunnery Sergeant Talmay had become less than himself, according to his mother, her fellow workers and the local Veteran’s Administration hospital.

  She’d been a trauma touch therapist since she witnessed firsthand what trauma could do to a man’s psyche. Her own brother would stare off into space for countless hours unless she touched her finger to his knuckle to bring him back to the present. To her, Xerxes was no different than her brother, who witnessed a brutal civil war during his nomadic wanderings throughout the Middle East. According to Xerxes’ paperwork, his social skills were remarkable, once he opened up. She kept telling herself he was just another client, but his despondency was becoming more personal with every session. It was the look in his eyes that made her feel like he was so much more than a client.

  She wasn’t a psychiatrist, nor was she a psychologist. Celine’s therapy was based on touch and a method of neuroscience taught to massage practitioners. Of course, she always had to deal with all sorts of assholes who assumed the title ‘massage therapist’ meant ‘fancy escort’ or ‘happy endings,’ but Xerxes was nothing like those men. The first time the closed off ex-Marine came in for a session, she’d managed to get his shirt off and a hand on his shoulder before he bolted out of the room like a band of jihadists was after him. She knew when she’d gotten the referral from her friend at the Department of Veteran affairs this wounded soldier would be a tough cookie to crack.

  Sighing, Celine mentally prepared herself for this particular session. She’d decided during their session the week before that this marine needed a new medicine. During last week’s session, a pencil rolled off the desk and clanked to the floor. The sound created something within Xerxes so fierce he didn’t stop to put his shirt on when he stalked out the door. Before the door slammed on her, he looked over his shoulder and simply said “Sorry.”

  Standing up from her oak desk, Celine began to coil her long raven tresses into a loose chignon. When she looked at the wall clock, she realized she only had fifteen minutes to prepare. Locking the door to her inner office, she looked toward the stairs to her apartment above the studio. This office had become her sanctuary after her own terrifying flight from an abusive ex-boyfriend. Her French mother had told her to run away, but she refused to head home to Chamonix. She loved France and she loved her mother, but her parent was somewhat of a wandering soul who never stayed in one place for long. It was no wonder her mother had fallen hard for her gypsy father. Their spirits were both nomadic and restless. How they stayed still long enough to bring Celine and her brother into the world was still a mystery.

  Heading up the stairs, she looked around her studio. She believed the soft muted mauves, tan and plum of her couch and drapes would be soothing to anyone in need of solace and comfort. The studio was her anchor. Every piece of furniture, wall-hanging and decoration was a form of her personal ‘state control.’ Her life and her schooling taught her everyone has an anchor, whether it is a sound, a touch or a sight. She became a master of her own environment merely because having one place instead of many to rest her head became her anchor. Finding a studio which she could rent the apartment above, she believed, was fate. Her anchors of home and work came together in one place. The harmony she felt in her studio was a harmony she wanted each one of her clients to walk out with. She believed many of her clients needed her to be in complete control of her environment as well as theirs.

  While she knew she had to take on all different styles of clients in order to make ends meet, her passion was veterans suffering from PTSD. She’d seen subtle breakthroughs with a few of her clients, but with Xerxes, she wanted to see more than a subtle breakthrough. She took a quick shower and dried off. She draped a sheer black dress made of the best batiste material her mother could find over her svelte frame. For this particular session, she was delighted her mother had the lauded French taste and a flare for the exotic. The dress lay against her skin like it was painted on, but the folds of the fabric allowed her to move freely.

  Celine knew how to make even the most subtle changes to her facade thanks to years of watching her mother apply makeup according to the purpose of the evening.

  “Smoky eyes, dear, create sensuality by batting an eyelash.”

  She could almost hear mother’s strong accent in her ear as she dabbed a bit of kohl eyeliner around her eyes. She slipped on thin ballet flats and tiptoed back downstairs. A knock sounded as soon as her foot hit the last stair. Always punctual, she thought, as she shrugged her shoulders and opened the door.

  Apprehend

  His eyes opened wide and the long look he gave her from head to toe made her shiver just a bit. At least she knew he appreciated her extra effort.

  “Um, we have a session today, don’t we Mademoiselle Beauregard?” He’d always called her by her proper name and even now, he looked very much the soldier with his ramrod straight posture.

  “Of course, but tonight, I’m just Celine. May I call you Xerxes?” she asked as she made a sweeping gesture for him to come in.

&nbs
p; “Please do,” Xerxes said as he walked into her studio and looked around. She’d pushed the massage table out of the way and left the middle of the studio bare, like a dance floor. The shades were pulled, the peaks of sunlight from the setting sun played cat and mouse with his dark features. The stubble on his chin looked a bit darker and his brown eyes appeared almost coal black.

  “Listen…” Xerxes began to speak before he even turned around, “…I don’t know how much these sessions are helping. I know they say there is no such thing as a lost cause, but I’m feeling more lost by the minute.”

  Xerxes shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair and finally turned to face her. For a brief moment she saw his face relaxed, yet vulnerable. In a blink, that exposed part of him was gone and he fixed a blank stare on her.

  There he goes again, putting his emotions into a tightly sealed box, but not tonight soldier.

  “Let’s not focus on ‘fixing’ you. I don’t think ‘fix’ is the right word for you. I believe we need to relax you,” Celine said while moving slowly to the CD player hidden in the wall and let the flowing sound of Miles Davis Blue in Green fill the air. As the melodious horn filled the room, Celine closed her eyes to the music. Her hips swayed and she could hear the swish of her dress as she pirouetted and sashayed until her cheeks were warm. She opened her eyes, chanced a glance at Xerxes face, and noticed his lips pursed into a frown. A frown was not going to discourage her. His downturned mouth did make her notice for the first time, in the six months she had been seeing him, that he had the most kissable lips. Shaking her head slightly to halt the thoughts coming to her mind, Celine smiled in response to his frown.

  Keeping in time to the music, she placed her hands on his shoulders, her fingers lightly caressing his taut muscles. Sliding his jacket off his shoulders, she let it fall to the floor. The key was to get him to focus on the here and now. Firmly, she let her hands run down the length of his arms, feeling the toned and hard lines beneath her hands. Still swaying to the music, she guided his hands to her hips. The heat of his warm fingers was burning her through the fabric, and she hadn’t felt such a tingle since her first date.

  “Don’t worry about steps. I’m not drilling you to dance a waltz. Just sway with the music,” Celine whispered her intent in his ear and his hands clutched tighter.

  His hips began to rock with hers, their bodies colliding at the pelvis, his movements becoming more confident. Soon his hands ventured from securely at her waist to the small of her back. The informal hold was a sign he trusted her somewhat and was giving in to the music.

  Taking a deep breath, she dared to press closer to his body, molding herself against his chest, hoping he wouldn’t retreat. Breathing in his scent, Celine felt herself begin to relax and let go of thinking of him as a client. This was a man, a man in need, and she was the one who could fulfill that need, as soon as she figured out exactly what the need was. His hands came up higher, finally resting on her bare back.

  As they swayed, Celine became determined that Xerxes establish an anchor. Even if that anchor meant her, she would freely give her time to see Xerxes make a breakthrough and become able to face his fears.

  “Is this a new form of therapy?” Xerxes had a voice that should have been bottled and sold as a sexual stimulant. His breath, warm on her ear, tickled the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of her chignon during her pirouettes. She let out a chuckle and pressed her body into his.

  “I wouldn’t call this therapy. Would you?”

  “Not according to any book I know. My self-medicated therapy to keep deploying didn’t help either.” His shoulders shrugged, but she kept a firm hold on him.

  “Why did you keep deploying?” Her question wasn’t a trick or a ploy. She had a genuine curiosity about what made this brooding soldier tick. Xerxes sighed, but he didn’t retreat. He pulled her closer and took the lead in their dance.

  “My first deployment. I admit I was green under the gills, but what I saw turned me into a true soldier, although I don’t know if that was a good thing.” Xerxes grabbed her hand and gave her a spin before bringing her body back to his. It was a smooth move, although not typical of what she’d seen of the man so far. She remained silent as he returned their dancing to the pace she’d originally set.

  “The first week, during a routine checkpoint, my company spotted a fifteen year-old kid walking up to our Humvees. Nothing out of the ordinary. There were always kids coming up to get a good look at the ‘Americans’. But this kid had a wild look in his eyes. The dumb kid was about eighty yards out before we noticed this wasn’t a typical kid. He was doing this run-type shuffle and we thought he could have been hurt, perhaps seen one of the guys on our card deck of insurgents.”

  Xerxes shook his head but gripped her waist tighter. She wasn’t going to press him to continue the story, but she could tell it weighed on him. Holding her feet still, she halted their dance. She merely stayed there with her head on his shoulder, feeling him breathe in and out.

  “Sixty yards in, he starts waving his hands in the air. Orleans, Skaggs and Boston had started to run toward him, thinking he was in trouble. That’s when we noticed this kid was strapped around his waist with enough explosives to take out the whole caravan. He had grenades in his hands. His hands had grenades in them. Fifty yards in, Orleans and Skaggs hit the deck and Boston slid down a sand dune. I had very little time to think. I aimed my rifle and fired. I shot that kid. It was my first kill and he was a kid. Not a crazy man you see on the propaganda networks, not some wizened old crony with gray in his beard. He was a kid. Almost the same age as my nephew.”

  Xerxes took a breath. He pulled her away from his shoulder and his eyes bored into hers. She knew that look. It was searching for someone or something to make sense in something so senseless.

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  “Hell no! I got home from my first deployment and everyone was making a huge deal out of ‘killing the baddies.’ No one ever asked or said some of the bad ones were merely kids. I wasn’t about to celebrate the fact that I’d killed a kid. He was a kid.”

  The look in his eyes was feral, angry, but most of all, it was hurt.

  “So I kept deploying, hoping that I’d find at least one bad guy who looked like those men on those cards, thinking I could atone for that one kid. Everywhere I looked, it was just more kids, teenagers, groomed to hate. It’s kind of hard not to become disconnected.”

  “I can understand why you would disconnect. And I think we’ve found what you need.”

  The quizzical look he gave her made her smile. His gaze dropped to her lips, and in that moment, that merest of seconds, he turned from a wounded soldier and client, to simply a man. A man staring at her with the most amazing and engaging eyes she’d ever seen. Clearing her throat, Celine had to remind herself that this was about him and his emotional needs, and not about her, or those sexy eyes or sensual lips of his.

  “What you need is an anchor, Xerxes. Something that will bring you back when you start having those feelings. It can be anything. Considering you opened up the most to me just now than you had in the last six months, perhaps your anchor is…music?” She ended her discovery with a question.

  She still wasn’t sure how he would take her suggestion. What she got was more unexpected than his impromptu sharing a moment ago. He smiled. That smile made her stomach flip over, twice. His teeth were remarkably white and straight, but his smile made his whole tanned face become more animated and alive. It was like she was seeing him for the first time.

  “I don’t think so, darling,” he said as he spun her around and brought her back to his chest and held her close. As puzzling as it was, she didn’t feel like questioning what he meant. She let him take the lead and dance them around the floor.

  Embrace

  Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her. She’d like to think she’d always kept the relationship between her and Xerxes one hundred percent professional, but in
his arms now, she questioned why she always made him the last appointment of her day. Maybe it was because she wanted his face to be the last face she saw before she settled in for the evening.

  “I’ve never tried to dance with a client before, Xerxes. This isn’t typical.” Celine felt like she needed to defend what she was doing in his arms, as if there was some sort of code of conduct she signed. The only code she was going by was her own personal morals, and she didn’t want to feel like she was taking advantage of someone.

  “I wouldn’t think it was typical for you, and if I had any inkling that it was, you wouldn’t have seen me after the first session. I’m a Marine, Celine. I’m trained to spot inconsistencies.”

  “Then you and I are a lot alike. I’m trained to spot them as well. Care to tell me what you think your anchor is, since I’ve been trying to figure it out,” Celine said. She didn’t expect him to twirl her around and dip her in a move that could have been in a Fred Astaire movie. When he pulled her into his embrace, and wrapped his arms around her, her body involuntarily shuddered with delight.

  “My guess is that my anchor,” Xerxes said as he looked her up and down, “is you.” His gaze strayed to her lips again. She knew he was going to kiss her even before he licked his lips. It was the look in his eyes, and she wasn’t going to stop him. Her eyes fluttered closed even as he took his time leaning down to her lips.

  The kiss was as soft as a whisper, at first, dancing across her lips, leaving the memory of his mouth on hers. Working with Xerxes over the past months, she’d always kept her distance, letting him find his own pace with their sessions. Now, in his arms, she realized the months of touching him, trying to soothe him, she’d formed an attraction to him that went beyond his mere physical appearance.

  He raised his head from the kiss, his deep brown eyes burrowing into hers, making her feel hot, desired, wanton and scared shitless all at the same time. She met his gaze unwaveringly, and tried to read his expression. It was lust for sure. She’d seen that plenty times before. However, Xerxes lustful look contained just enough longing to make her womanhood clench.