Bad Boys for Hire_Nick Page 4

  Neither did giving him a blow job.

  Shoving aside his naughty thoughts, Nick tore his gaze from Carol’s open mouth and took the bag of cotton balls and tube of glue from the makeup artist.

  “Come on, let’s go to the gym down the street.” He gestured to Carol. “I have the rest of my costume in the training room.”

  “Okay, sure.” Carol snapped out of her awestruck state and put on her boss lady look. “We need to get back before the Santa’s lap activity.”

  “Isn’t that near the end of the party?” Nick placed his hand on the back of Carol’s wheelchair and walked with her to the door. “We have plenty of time.”

  “Only if we hurry. It’ll be the highlight of the party. Keep in mind that for most of the children, this is their first Christmas after their injury. They won’t be used to sitting on a lap they can’t feel, and some might be frightened.”

  “That must be weird.” Nick opened the door of the bar to let Carol out. “Not being able to feel what you’re sitting on.”

  “Believe me, it’s disorienting. I generally can’t feel my legs and feet, but I have a little feeling on my behind, which helps when I’ve been sitting in one position too long.” Carol’s strong arms propelled her down the sidewalk. “I’m an incomplete.”

  “Incomplete?” Nick had not the slightest clue what she was talking about.

  “Partial damage.” Carol looked up at him. “Means when I broke my vertebrae, my cord wasn’t completely cut. It was smashed in many places, but some signals are getting through. Not many. As for the kids, some are complete, some incomplete. Some are damaged at the neck and can’t move their hands and arms, and others are like me, with functioning arms and hands, but nothing below the waist. Everyone is an individual, and it’s their choice whether they want to sit in your lap or whisper to you while in their wheelchairs.”

  “Am I allowed to lift them?” Nick unlocked the door to the gym he worked at. He’d take her to a spare training room with gym mats.

  “If they or their caregiver want. I don’t know if you’ve been a Santa before, but everything takes longer with the disabled kids.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry as long as you’re paying me.” Nick guided her to the empty training room. “I brought you here so we can get comfortable. You can park anywhere. Just let me know how you want me to sit, or lay down so you can paste me a beard.”

  Carol stopped her wheelchair just outside the doorway. “Why are you bringing me here by myself? Couldn’t we do it in one of the common areas where people are working out?”

  She was suspicious of him? Nick rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. “Too many people asking questions. I don’t want anyone knowing I’ve been demoted to playing Santa.”

  “But they’ll see you walking out of here.” Carol still hadn’t budged from her position in the hallway.

  “Under disguise. No one would know who’s behind the cotton ball beard.” He waved his hand. “Come on in. I won’t hurt you.”

  She swallowed hard and her eyes dilated, but she held firm to the hand rim over her wheels. “I don’t know you. You have to understand. You might try to take advantage of me.”

  This was definitely new and weird. Other women couldn’t wait to get behind closed doors with him. He was usually fending himself off from their attacks.

  “Believe me, there’s nothing I want to take advantage of.” He tried putting on a sincere and grim expression to reassure her.

  She looked down at the ground and shrugged. “Maybe that’s your perspective, but I can’t be too careful.”

  “You’re perfectly safe with me.” He backed into the room which had mirrors on two sides, floor mats, punching bags, and large exercise balls. A fold up massage table leaned against the wall, and the shelves were filled with towels, essential oils, and aromatherapy contraptions.

  While he unstacked the mats, she wheeled herself into the room and slammed the door, obviously deciding she had nothing to fear.

  “I’ll sit on the floor and you can put your chest over that exercise ball so your face is arm level.” She dropped herself from the wheelchair onto the mat and arranged her legs to the side, so that she was at a forty-five degree angle to the ball.

  Nick stood over her with his arms crossed. “I’m not draping myself over an exercise ball.”

  “Then get on all fours and face me.” She took the cotton balls and glue from him. “I don’t care.”

  Was she upset or what? It wasn’t as if he’d made any moves on her. In fact, he’d reassured her that she was in no danger whatsoever. He was the one who should be insulted that she thought she was in danger being alone with him.

  “You know, my brother’s a policeman,” Nick volunteered as he dropped to the floor onto his hands and knees.

  “That’s good to know.” Her voice remained noncommittal. “I’m not afraid of you. I was just being cautious.”

  “Nothing to worry about.” He oozed his way toward her. Without the wheelchair in the way, he was closer to her than he’d ever been. So close, he could see the golden flecks inside her green eyes and feel the heat of her breath, and inhale the scent of her soap.

  “None whatsoever,” she agreed, as she ripped open the bag with the cotton balls.

  “Are we really going to fool the kids with these?” He found his voice lowered and going husky on him. Incredibly, his groin tightened. A warm fullness ballooned his cock, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her luscious lips.

  “It’ll have to do. There’s no time to find a real beard.” Her tone was businesslike. “Stay still and don’t move.”

  He licked his lips and stayed still all right, focusing his gaze on her delectable mouth. Her teeth were white and straight. Her lower lip was fuller than her upper lip, and she sported a tiny beauty mark right below the outer corner. He wondered how wide her lips parted and whether her tongue was agile and talented.

  She touched his chin to tilt his face away from her, and he had the sudden urge to taste her lips. But he moved his face to the side and stayed still as she pasted cotton balls on his sideburn area.

  He used his altered vantage point to check out the rest of her body. Her legs were thin, but not too withered, and she was wearing yoga pants. Her arms and shoulders were well-developed, lean and firm. Being so close to her, he could almost peek in between her cleavage as two beautiful and well-rounded globes filled up the stretchy tank top she wore. The turquoise color contrasted well with her nicely tanned skin.

  Paralysis or not, she was an athlete on the upper half of her body, and she moved with grace and power combined. Dropping his gaze, he studied the muscles from her shoulders to her forearms. No one should underestimate her strength, and he was pretty sure she could wield a mean bear hug. Her grip would be firm and tight around his …

  Sweating now, Nick swallowed his wandering imagination and counted backward from a hundred to calm his pulse. It wasn’t easy because she was affixing the cotton balls to his face. Her hands were nimble and gentle, and each time she touched his skin, he grew hungrier for more contact. Too bad the fuzzy balls of cotton got in the way.

  All he could picture was holding her down on the mat and plowing his tongue into her mouth, while exploring how sensitive she was above the waist. Those boobs beckoned, bouncing slightly as she raised and lowered her arms, and if he wasn’t imagining, it sure looked like her nipples were nice, tight buds.

  Eighty-seven, eighty-six, eighty-five …

  What was wrong with him? She wasn’t his type—at all. He hated aggressive women. Sure, it was part of his job to deal with them, and they were usually the best tippers, but they knew the score. He was the hired help and expected to do exactly as ordered.

  Like at the present moment. He was on his hands and knees being plastered with glue and balls of cotton. Thankfully, he would have a Santa suit to hide behind when he exited the gym. Even more thankfully, there were no hidden cameras in the spare training room where massages were given—some
with very happy endings.

  Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three …

  How much longer was this torture going to take? Everything she did, the way she dabbed the glue on his face, the caressing motion when she stuck the cotton on, and especially the skin-on-skin when she touched his face, tilting and turning, studying every angle, brushing her fingertips over his sensitive lips, stroking the side of his neck to decide where to end the beard … everything she did was stimulating him, turning him on, arousing him dangerously. Sweat dampened his body, and every nerve ending tingled and ached with heat.

  Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen …

  “There, we’re done,” Carol announced. She choked back a giggle. “Sorry, I missed a spot.”

  Nick looked across the room at the mirror and gasped. “This doesn’t look like a beard at all. You missed many spots.”

  “I can’t use up all her glue.” Carol pouted, but chuckles spilled from her lips. “You look like the marshmallow man exploded all over your face.”

  “Marshmallow woman.” Nick shifted from his crouching position to sitting in front of her with his legs pulled up. He placed his elbows on his knees to distance himself from wanting to jump her bones. “Only women explode all over my face. Not men.”

  “Not this woman.” Carol’s lips turned down. “Now, let me fix the missing spots.”

  She maneuvered herself to his side, expertly dragging her legs on the mat. Her breath flickered against his neck as she fixed the gaps where his tanned skin showed through. He had only to turn his head when she least expected it and what? Smother her face with jumbo-sized cotton balls?

  Lame.

  What did she mean by “not this woman?”

  Was she unable to come? Was that why she was so grouchy? Always threatening to fire him?

  Nick was a pro with sexually frustrated women. There hadn’t been a single nut he couldn’t crack. Whether by finger, mouth, or cock, detonating the female of the species was his specialty and talent.

  And no, he was not a prostitute. All sexual time was off contract and on his free time. He did, however, charge through the stratosphere for personal training and massages. Women he met through Bad Boys for Hire invariably flocked to the gym and booked one-on-one time with him. They paid to stretch, sweat, treadmill, and lift weights, and they paid a pretty penny.

  “I think we’re finished, big boy.” Carol patted his shoulder. Again, her eyes crinkled and her cheeks bunched up as a spasm of giggles hit her. “Go get your outfit and let’s get back to the party. Need help strapping on your fake belly?”

  “This isn’t funny.” Nick grimaced and stared at his image in the mirror. His dark brown hair and eyebrows contrasted sharply with the white fluffy cotton. He twitched his nose, suppressing a sneeze.

  “Oh, wait. I didn’t get your eyebrows.” Carol flapped her hands, still chuckling. “Maybe I can take the ends off a bunch of Q-tips.”

  “No more!” Nick fended her off by touching her shoulder. “We’re probably late already.”

  Now that he had his hand on her, he could feel her upper body strength. She wasn’t flabby like most of his squeezes who pretended to work out with the lightest weights. He ran his hand down her arm until he reached her hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” She spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Making sure you’re not going to put a fake belly on me.” He tugged her hand. “Come on, let’s go back to the Club Rachelle.”

  She yanked free from him and dragged herself with surprising speed to her wheelchair.

  Instead of standing, he crawled after her. Was it true she had no feeling in her legs and feet? How about that sweet butt of hers? Could she feel anything?

  He reached out to pinch her right as she turned to hoist herself into her chair.

  “I saw that.”

  “You have a piece of lint on your pants.”

  Her eyebrows arched to the sky. “Nick Wolff. Don’t get smart with me. You assured me there’s nothing you wanted to take advantage of. Nothing to worry about.”

  He advanced on her, prowling like a wolf, still on all fours. “Do I scare you or turn you on?”

  Now, her eyes rolled to the moon and back. “With that marshmallow beard? You look like the dough boy with chickenpox.”

  Snickering, she clamped her hand on his shoulder and used him as leverage to get back in her chair. “I’m going back to the club. See if I can slide into a few dance routines before the Santa event.”

  “Promise me a lap dance.” He jumped to his feet and stood too close, his crotch at the level of her face.

  “Why should I do that? I could have you fired for sexual harassment.”

  “Aren’t you at all curious if you can feel pressure, like you claim, on your bum? I’m betting you can’t.”

  “You’re … you’re …” Her face turned bright red and she huffed and puffed. “Fired.”

  “Cool. Now I can do you, and you can’t report me to Rex.”

  “Why, you, I,” she puffed some more and blinked. “There’s nothing to do. You’re being mean. You know full well I can’t feel a thing. You awful, awful man.”

  “You don’t know that.” Nick couldn’t help grinning at the effect he had on her. She was flustered and attracted, but denying it to the nth degree. “Tell you what. I’ll wear the fake belly, if you sit on my lap and tell me your secret Christmas wish.”

  Without answering him, Carol turned sharply and pushed herself to the door. She opened it wide, swung her chair out, and let it slam.

  Whistling to himself, Nick dug the fake belly out of his duffle bag and strapped it on.

  Silly girl. Hadn’t it occurred to her or any of the others that he was perfectly capable of gluing a cotton ball beard onto his own face?

  The only reason she jumped at the chance was because she couldn’t help it. She wanted to touch him and she needed an excuse to be alone with him.

  Nick laughed to himself and pulled on the oversized Santa’s jacket.

  Tapping Carol Cassidy would be like shooting fish in a barrel. A stationary barrel.

  Seven

  “Where’ve you been?” Marisa latched onto Carol as soon as she returned to the Club Rachelle. “Where’s that Santa? Jolie said you took off with him.”

  “I fixed him up. The idiot showed up without a beard.” Carol maneuvered her chair around the clumps of children and their wheelchairs. “We should have had this at the community center.”

  “They wanted too much money. You know that. Besides, we couldn’t have had the after-party, if you know what I mean.” Marisa jiggled her shoulders.

  Since when had she sprayed glitter all over herself?

  “You and your after-party.” Carol twisted her lips and moved herself toward the bar’s dance floor. Seemed like this was all her friends thought about, partying and meeting men. Even though they were all professionals, and two of them were married, they were still as men-crazy and silly as a bunch of college-aged sorority girls—with the exception of Sherelle, of course, who watched over them like a sassy elder sister.

  Marisa stuck close to Carol, one hand on her shoulder. “I want you to meet Jason Boyd. He’s one of my home care patients.”

  Carol flashed a smile in the direction Marisa gestured. A young man, obviously a quadriplegic, maneuvered his motorized wheelchair with the aid of a joystick. At least he wasn’t using a sip-and-puff straw control. From the way his hands were shaped, he was likely a C5 or C6, control of wrists, but no finger movement.

  “Hey, Jason, meet my sister, Carol,” Marisa introduced them. “She’s the one who used to climb mountains.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jason said. “All good.”

  “Yes, all good,” Marisa agreed. “Maybe you two can talk at the after-party.”

  “Sure, it’s nice to meet you. I’d love to talk shop, but I have to talk to Patricia, the chairperson of Wheelympics, and get the party started.”

  “Okay, great. Catch you
later.” Jason’s gaze was intense, and he still had that shell-shocked look of the newly injured. A sports program would do wonders for him, and Carol wondered what activities he would be interested in.

  She wanted to be nice to Jason, because obviously he’d suffered a worse injury than she had, but at the same time, why did Marisa automatically assume she would be the one to be interested in Jason? Because they both used wheelchairs?

  On the way to the podium to speak to Patricia, she spotted Nick entering the bar. The children cheered, calling for “Santa.”

  He swaggered in, passing out candy and dang if her belly didn’t tighten at the sight. He was wearing the false belly, and even though she hadn’t agreed to the deal, she swallowed drool at the thought of actually having an excuse to sit on his lap. She really should slap herself.

  Despite his looks, he was a rude lech who thought of her as a nothing—no feeling, no sensation, no threat, nothing he wanted to take advantage of.

  Patricia mentioned something about introducing her and the other volunteers, and Carol tore her gaze from the arrogant jerkowitz.

  “Where’d you get that Santa?” the Wheelympics chairperson asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “I had to use the discount my brother gave me to hire him,” Carol replied. “I’m sorry if he’s unsuitable. Last minute, he tells me he doesn’t have a beard.”

  “Oh, he’s awesome,” Patricia squealed and winked. “What a hunk. Is he coming to the after-party?”

  What? Even Patricia was aware of the after-party? Why had no one other than Marisa told her? Was it because they believed she had no interest in men?

  “I don’t think so,” Carol said. “I only hired him for the children’s portion of the party.”

  “Oh, well, then, maybe we can take a collection and ask him to stay on.” Patricia primped her dark brown hair. “Anyway, let’s get this party started.”

  For the next hour or so, Carol was able to push the thought of Nick’s insulting remarks to the side. She led two dance routines, and she was pumped up for them. She popped wheelies, jumped her chair, and spun until she was dizzy. Even though she was in a wheelchair, the sheer physical act of moving with the music made her feel alive again. At least in her upper body.