Free Bed of Lies by Paula Roe

frustration. The coal-black strands stuck up in spikes and she had the urge to smooth them down. Especially when she saw that flash of emotion in his eyes.
    In that instant, Beth realized she’d just caught a glimpse of the real man behind the veneer—how his perceived failures ate at his pride, how much his status meant. How totally ineffective he must be feeling.
    No wonder his reputation was perfect. He was a driven man and driven men often set impossibly high standards for themselves. And when they failed to live up to them, they frequently crashed to earth.
    Something inside her shifted. She had to help him, even though he had something she so desperately wanted. Her compassion, her training, demanded no less.
    “I can stop that ache in your neck, you know.”
    He barely gave her a glance. “Can you?”
    There it was again. More than anyone, Beth could understand his frustration. But right now he didn’t need empathy—he needed stress relief. She ticked off the telltale signs one by one and knew she couldn’t ignore his discomfort any longer.
    She stood, reached over and firmly removed his hand from his nape. “Let me help you.”
    The sudden heat flaring in his eyes disappeared as quickly as it started, yet despite that, it still had the power to warm her belly.
    “It’s my job,” she clarified. “You’re no good to anyone burned-out, and I can help you relax.”
    “You don’t need to—”
    “Yes, I do. Let me do this, Luke. Please.”
    They stared at each other for a few seconds before Luke glanced away with a shrug. “Okay.”
    And, dammit, her pulse began to pick up the pace.
    “Go into the living room,” she said in a too-thick voice. “I’ll get my things.”
    She hurried up to the spare room, determined to outrun the doubt dogging her footsteps. Right now was not the time to take a close look at her reasons for offering her help. She was a professional and she could do this, no matter that the body she was about to lay her hands on was six foot four inches of hard, warm male.
    Beth returned with her oils and pulled the curtains closed, casting the room in half shadows, then pulled out a massage table from under the stairs and unfolded it.
    He watched it all in silence.
    “So I take it you’ve never had a therapeutic massage,” Beth said.
    “Once, ages ago. Now I don’t have the time.”
    “You should make time.”
    “Before or after I solve world hunger?”
    Her mouth tilted. “Take off your shirt and lie facedown.”
    He did as he was told, settling his face into the cut-out oval of the padded table. Now that his body was within her grasp, she would get to feel every contour, every crevice. A deep breath was needed.
    Maybe another.
    Pouring some oil onto her palms, she rubbed them together and began.
    Her thumbs started gently at his lower back and Luke nearly leaped off the table. “What the hell…?”
    He twisted, but Beth placed a restraining hand on his back. “Lie still.” She stifled a smile.
    “But it hurts!”
    “Stop being a baby.” She pushed him down and tried again, this time easing back on the pressure.
    “You’re doing this on purpose!” he accused.
    “I’m trying to get the tension out, so yes, I am.”
    She went as softly as she could, warming up his muscles. She had to hand it to him, he managed to bite his tongue even though a few grunts made their way through his tight control.
    “Do you get migraines?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “Panic attacks?”
    “You think I get—”
    “Performance problems?”
    “No.”
    She bit her lip, swallowing a chuckle at his indignant reply. “Lucky. They’re all symptoms of a high-stress environment.”
    Luke stifled another groan. She was good. In fact, if they gave Oscars for massage, she’d win hands down. She had handfuls of his muscle and used pressure from thumbs, palms and all fingers.
    “So how is it,” she began, digging deep into his back, “that some lucky woman hasn’t already snapped you up?”
    A