Saturday, 11:03 p.m.  The farm, sauna

As the weeks passed, Russell's thoughts often went to Sam and his growing relationship with her.  Their argument by the fence seemed to spark an odd, unexpected friendship between them.  To be honest, he didn't really understand it.  He wasn't naïve.  Especially not about women.  There had been undercurrents of attraction between them from the first time he'd seen her wearing his footy shirt, but it seemed like ever since that argument, that spark seemed to be absent.  Well, absent from her side of things anyway. 

She was a regular fixture in his masturbatory fantasies.  In the shower.  In his bed.  Even once out in the privacy of the bush while he lay sprawled on a bedroll under the stars.  He would spill himself into his fist with a shudder while thoughts of her played behind his closed eyes.  Sometimes it was just crude and graphic.  A hard fuck from behind.  Pumping roughly into her mouth.  Watching her touch herself while he penetrated her.  But other times it was soft and romantic.  Smelling her hair on his pillow.  Making love tenderly while they kissed and touched.  Falling asleep with her afterwards, curled up safe and warm.

The graphic fantasies were easier to dismiss.  Most men had reams of them.  They could be triggered and appeased by nearly anything.  Flashes of hot one-night stands.  Lingering memories of erotic encounters.  The visage of a pretty girl at a concert or on TV or even just walking down the street.  Pornography.  He preferred two kinds.  One was soft sensual shots that suggested the woman was thinking about something arousing; shots that allowed him to create a fantasy in his head around the image.  And the other was raunchy close-up shots of penetration.  Sometimes the desire for it was sparked by something he saw or heard.  Sometimes it was nothing more than a physical need to ejaculate and he just wanted whatever image would get him there the fastest.

On the other hand, he was well aware the fantasies he had of the soft and romantic variety meant something else entirely.  One engaged his body.  The other engaged his mind and heart.  The desire for an orgasm was one thing.  The desire to build and explore an intimate relationship with an engaging partner was quite another.  And he had more than enough experience with both to know the difference.          

But one thing was certain.  It seemed like the deeper friendship with Samantha got, the more she seemed oblivious to his growing attraction to her.  It made no sense.  It also made him a little nuts.  

She'd even given up covering her curves with her towel when they took the steam together in his sauna.  An enjoyable pastime that had rapidly become their preferred way to cap off the day.  Occasionally when Russell wanted privacy, he would come after she'd left, but those nights were rare, and for the most part, his late evenings were spent relaxing with her and talking about whatever came to mind.  Her seeming lack of awareness of the effect she had on him was maddening until he finally figured out what had happened.  The argument by the fence.  His comment to her about being a dried up old maid had cemented, in her mind at least, that he wasn't interested in her sexually.   

What a fucking joke that was.  

Though he'd long since apologized for his hurtful words, Russell had chosen not to correct her misconception because he was afraid if he did, she'd once again become skittish and overly diplomatic with him and he'd become quite fond of their intimate evening conversations.  She was clever and candid.... and funny!  She amused him like he hadn't been in ages.  Her wit and her propensity for humor were two of the things he fancied most about her.  She also made him think.  Sometimes it was pleasant.  Sometimes it wasn't.  But it was always engaging and he was reluctant to give up their unexpected intimacy.  If things were meant to be, they'd work themselves out eventually.  For the time being, Russell was enjoying the freedom to do and say exactly what he wished and to get Sam's uncensored response.  To be honest, it also relieved a bit of the pressure.  Despite his growing feelings, he knew rushing into any sort of relationship right now was foolish at best. 

However, the more it went around and around his head, the more he realized their relationship was becoming just as serious as the handful he'd held closest to his battered heart.  They had all been lovely women, but Samantha was right.  Sometimes the love a person found wasn't the right kind of love or it was, but it came along at the wrong time.  Looking over at Sam, he wondered if he would ever be lucky enough to find that kind of love and if he was, would he recognize it before it was too late?  Was what he felt for her love?  Was it because he was on the rebound?  Was it something else entirely?  Until he could answer those questions, he was reluctant to push things too far. 

Russell drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he massaged his shoulder.  He'd wrenched it again in the rigging shooting his latest film and it still ached sometimes.  On the bench on the far wall, Sam was on her back with her eyes closed, wiggling her toes to the beat of some song only she could hear.  Russell was glad she was the kind of woman who didn't feel as if she had to fill every long silence with inane chatter.  It spoke to the level of their intimacy that they were as comfortable in silence as they were in heated conversation.  And it had the added benefit of creating a multitude of moments where he could appreciate her unobserved. 

He liked to let his eyes wander and linger as his fertile imagination ran wild, thinking about how it would feel to have his lips here or his mouth there...  He wondered if his beard would make her shiver or giggle.  His mouth would water as he imagined her sweet taste, lapped from glistening fingers before he drank from the source.  It was a pleasurable torment and one he knew would later drive him to his lonely bed, to his clenched fist and thoughts of her.

Tonight he already knew what the image that played out in his head would be.  He'd climb into that big cold bed and slip his hand down between his legs as he thought of taking her as she was in that exact moment; on her back on that smooth slatted bench, legs up, toes curling.... panting in the hot air that smelled of eucalyptus and sex.  He wanted to feel her squeeze down tight on his cock as she came.  And he wanted to hear her shout his name when she did.  Not the 'Crowe' she was so fond of using.  He wanted to hear her whimper 'Russ' against his thick throat again and again as he filled her.  He wanted her to want him.  It was just that simple.

His blood rushed loudly in his ears and his body throbbed as a thick aching heat gathered in his groin.  Russell sat back against the smooth warm wall and closed his eyes as he forced his thoughts in a less erotic direction.  The very last thing he wanted was to ruin everything by giving away his hand too quickly.  He wasn't ready for Samantha to realize he was interested in her as something more than 'just friends.'  Not yet.  Maybe not ever.  He still hadn't satisfied his own internal questions.  He didn't want to hurt her.  And he didn't want to be hurt.  But mostly, he just wasn't ready to give up what they already had. 

His drifting thoughts went again to the fight they'd had by the fence.  He'd been dwelling on that a lot lately.  He'd had that same fight, not necessarily over the same things, but that same kind of fight with every woman he'd ever had a deep relationship with. 

It all really boiled down to one thing.  A line was drawn in the sand, one he couldn't or wouldn't back down from, and the resulting clash of wills and subsequent fallout wound up damaging the relationship beyond repair.  He was not in the habit of choosing weak women.  He needed a strong partner.  An equal.  Unfortunately, he was also not in the habit of choosing women who bent instead of breaking.     

With the previous one, it had come down to his home.  Now there was a bloody huge line in the sand if there ever was one.  He was not willing to give up his home and his family in Australia to make a life with her in the states.  She wouldn't bend and neither would he.  While he'd grieved for the loss of her companionship, he'd also known that the right woman for him wouldn't have put him in the position of having to make that choice.   

With the latest one, it had been about trust and about her career.  Although they'd both made mistakes, it bothered him that her job had always come first.  She'd refused to travel the world at his side.  He'd never understood that.  He hadn't asked her to give up her work.  Her job was flexible.  She could work anywhere, while his chosen career was more... rigid.  If they were shooting in Malta then he had to be in Malta and that was that.  Maybe it was old-fashioned, but he wanted a woman who'd put him first.  He didn't want to run her life or even BE her life, but there was a natural order to things and he didn't think it was too unreasonable to want to be the head of his own family. 

That didn't mean he wouldn't listen to what his wife had to say, but he felt like the final decision should rest with him.  It was a husband's job to look out for his family.  If she didn't trust him to make the right decisions.... well, that probably explained why he was sitting in a sauna contemplating life with another woman instead of enjoying what should have been a blissful honeymoon on a tropical beach.  Russell grimaced.  At least his cleared schedule now afforded him what promised to be a long stretch of time at the farm nearly interrupted by professional commitments.  That was something he hadn't had in years.   

With something of a start, Russell finally realized why his mind kept returning to their argument.  Sam hadn't broken.  She'd bent.  She'd set aside her own hurt, pain he'd intentionally caused her, to comfort him when he needed her to.  And suddenly, he understood that it took a hell of a lot more strength for someone to bend than it did for them to stand up to whatever line he'd drawn in the sand and refuse to give any ground at all.  Even while their actions tore at him, Russell had always grudgingly admired the women in his life for standing up for themselves like that.  Now he wondered if maybe he hadn't had it wrong all this time.  That wasn't strength.  That was stubbornness.  And pride.  And he was just as guilty of it.

To be honest, he'd never really thought about it like that before.  He'd always felt like if he bent, if he gave in, that he was losing something.  He'd never before considered that it took more strength for a person to let go a little of their own needs so they could put someone else's first.  He also couldn't help but wonder if he'd been stronger, if he'd been able to bend a little more, if maybe things would have turned out differently with some of those other women.  He was suddenly awed by the selflessness of Samantha's gesture.       

Granted, his argument with her hadn't been over something quite so serious, but the underlying motivations had been the same.  He'd needed the woman in his life to bend and she had.  If she hadn't, he'd have severed their tentative relationship right then.  Looking back on it now, Russell wondered if he hadn't done it subconsciously to see if she'd back down when he needed her to.  If that was true, the implications were astounding, and quite frankly, more than he was ready to deal with at the moment.   

He was suddenly reminded of one of his father's favorite sayings.  'Life is what happens while you're waiting for life to happen.'  Well, no shit.  Looking over at Samantha, he was more than a little surprised that it seemed to be happening NOW.  God, he needed to get a grip before he said - or did - something rash.  Yes, he needed some distraction from his own thoughts right this minute.  His eyes settled on the graceful arch of her foot.  It was still bouncing.  He chuckled.  "What song, love?"

Sam didn't open her eyes.  "What?"

"In your head, what song?"  

Samantha grinned.  "Oh, your mom gave me an interesting CD to listen to this afternoon while I was working..."

"Yeah?"  Russell's mouth twitched.  "Which one?"  From the way she was smirking, it was clear it had been one of his.  While they'd talked extensively about music, he knew she hadn't heard anything he'd done beyond what he plucked out on his guitar in the evenings.  He hadn't been in the mood to play lately, at least not any of his own stuff.  Now and again he'd played a bit of melancholy Johnny Cash, but that was about it. 

She hummed a few bars aloud so her next words would be in the proper key.  "Take a step out on your own, breathing all of freedom's air.  So lonely at first, you just cannot see the price of independence feeds, feeds eternity."  Sam stopped, grinning.  "You know what, Crowe?"

"What?"

"This is the first time I've ever personally known the man who wrote the song I've gotten stuck in my head."  She ignored his giggle.  "Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have the same song stuck in your head for hours?"  She turned over and looked at him.  He was grinning like a Cheshire cat.  Cheeky bastard.

"I reckon I do."  He did not look at all apologetic.  And he was intrigued by the fact she was once again drawn to something so hard on the heart.  That one in particular was such a lonely song. 

Sam stuck her tongue out at him and then laughed lightly.  "If I didn't like it so much, I might be tempted to retaliate."  Her eyes narrowed as she watched him rub absently at his neck and shoulder.  "I could sing some horridly catchy children's tune..."

He held his hands up in mock surrender.  "Anything but that, please!"  The last time he'd visited one of his godchildren, he'd had a damn Barney song stuck in his head for two days.  Mark had looked at him like he'd lost his mind when he'd began murmuring 'I love you... You love me... We're a hap-py fam-i-ly' in the middle of a transatlantic flight.  Russell grunted in amusement and then fell silent for a long moment before he finally spoke.  "So, you like the music?"  He wasn't tentative, just curious. 

Sam sat up.  "Yes, I do.  I like it very much, but probably just as much for the stories you tell as for the way you tell them, you know?"

He nodded, pleased by her assessment of his music.  He'd always felt he was much more a storyteller than a musician.  "What do you think of 'Chocolate'?"  For some perverse reason, he couldn't help but ask her about that one.  From one obsession to another, it seemed.  He hoped she wouldn't make that connection. 

Samantha's eyes twinkled mischievously.  "Melts in your mouth, not in your hand?"  The sexual innuendo was obvious and intentional.  While she'd been disappointed by his apparent lack of interest in her sexually, she'd felt far more comfortable opening herself up to him as a friend, rather than as a woman.  She felt free to be herself, to say pretty much whatever came to her mind, and she did so, without reservation.       

Russell laughed until his eyes were wet.  While Samantha was never overly crude, ever since their argument at the fence, she seemed to have lost her reservation about making the occasional off-color joke.  Probably because she figured he was 'safe.'  That he wouldn't interpret them as flirtatious seeing as how he thought her a 'dried up old maid.'  She had a wicked sense of humor and he very much enjoyed getting to know the 'real' her--still another reason he had yet to correct her inaccurate view of his interest in her... to say nothing of the boost those little jokes gave his baser thoughts about her.  God, melting in her mouth?  Now there was an image that would stick in his mind a good long while.  

He wiped his eyes, chuckling.  "I am not a fucking M&M."  He could tell she was trying hard not to laugh.  She met his eyes and cheekily hummed something else.  He choked on his laughter when he realized it was the theme song to a commercial he recognized.  'Almond Joy has nuts, Mounds don't...'  Good Lord.  He hadn't laughed so hard in more months than he could remember.  His stomach actually hurt.  Of course, he'd never been one to let a woman have the last word, especially where innuendo was involved.  "Hey, leave my bloody bollocks out of it!"

Samantha raised her eyebrows, pretending shock, and gave him a look of mock innocence.  "I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."  Her playfully haughty tone was ruined by a giggle.  Crap.  She flicked her towel at him.  "Pervert," she sassed.  

He snorted.  "Well, you're half right."  He rubbed his shoulder again and the naughtiest smile turned up the corner of his mouth.  "But then again, if I'm a pervert and you like me, what does that make you?"

"Nuts."  Sam knew the minute the word was out of her mouth that she'd been set up.  

His smile widened.  "Now who's the bloody pervert?  I thought we were leaving my bollocks out of this discussion, love."  He was both amused and pleased with himself for catching her up so smartly.  Just to hear her outraged shriek, he gave said bollocks a rude grab and a squeeze for good measure.      

Samantha was about to fire off another fiery retort, but the way he kept rubbing at his shoulder with his other hand kept distracted her.  "What's your problem?"

"You mean besides my being a pervert?"  He was still in teasing mode, unaware she'd switched mental gears.  

She couldn't help but smile at the way he'd so cheerfully and proudly proclaimed himself a pervert.  "No, I mean with your arm.  Or maybe feeling yourself up is just some kinda habit of yours I should know about?" 

"Well... it has been a while..."  His playful laugh faded to a sigh.  "Right, about that...... My arm!" he clarified when she raised an eyebrow at him.  A little self conscious under her scrutiny, he stopped massaging it and raked his hand through his sweaty hair, not quite certain to what to do with his hands now.  He hated that about himself.  Always fidgeting when he felt uneasy.  Usually he did something stupid like play with his ear or rub his nipple.  He resisted the urge to fold both his hands in his lap.  "I had a bit of an accident a few years back and recently, I wrenched the bloody thing again."  Russell shrugged.  "It usually only bothers me when it's really cold outside."  Or when I work too hard in the barn, he added silently. 

"Did you have it looked at?"  Samantha smiled inwardly.  That was one response she'd curbed admirably.  Her first thought had been to ask if maybe part of the problem hadn't been the fact he'd spent the last few days doing grunt work in the barn.  This afternoon alone, he'd probably moved a hundred sacks of feed that weighed half as much as she did. 

Russell made a masculine noise of irritated exasperation deep in his throat.  "Of course I had the bloody thing looked at!" he snapped.  His dislike of doctors was well known, but he wasn't a fool.  "I can't take the kind of roles that interest me if my fucking arm doesn't work, now can I?"  He grinned, a little sheepish for his snarky response.  "I'd make a piss-poor one armed boxer, you know?"

Samantha sat all the way up and looked at him, really looked.  While he might have been in a playful mood tonight, it was clear from the tight set of his mouth and the tension through his shoulders that he hurt. 

He saw her study him and answered before she could ask him.  "My trainer's off visiting her Mum in Melbourne.  She'll be back next week.  And yes, I rang her.  She said the best thing for it is heat....." he gestured to his surroundings implying that he did follow orders.  Sometimes.  "Well, dry heat, actually, and a bit of deep tissue massage," he added, eyes twinkling.  "You fancy a go?"  He'd meant it as nothing more than a bit of flippant play, and was pleasantly surprised when Sam nodded.

"Yeah... sure.  I've had my shots."  He rolled his eyes and gave her a look that said, 'Very funny, smartarse.'  A moment passed.  And then another.  She gave him a curious look that changed to one of expectancy when he didn't move so much as a single muscle.  "Had 'a bit of an accident' with your legs too, Crowe?"  She said with a grin as she slipped down to the lower bench and patted it, not even waiting for his response before arranging a towel for him.  It amused him.  She certainly didn't treat him like a star.  She just treated him like man.  And a friend.  A spurt of warmth dangerously close to his heart bloomed in his chest.   

He chuckled and pushed himself to his feet, affecting a little swagger as he made his way over to her.  For all his teasing tonight, he really did hurt.  He sat down with a heavy sigh and eased back, wordlessly gesturing to where the worst of the ache had tightly knotted his heavy muscles.  It was more than just his shoulder.  His neck and back ached too, but that was a good honest hurt earned by a hard day's labor on the farm, not the result of an injury sustained while filming. 

Russell hung his head.  He wasn't so proud that he couldn't admit he was hurting... but he also was no fool.  It was a bloody good thing he was as disciplined an actor as he was.  He had no intention of tipping his hand and revealing just how badly he wanted -- and needed -- her touch.   

Samantha stared at the wide expanse of his back, suddenly a little hesitant about putting her hands on him.  Just the thought of stroking that golden skin made her want to press her legs together against the ache forming between them.  Both of them had already broken a sweat and when she finally touched him, his skin was slick and warm under her palms.  He smelled good, like eucalyptus and sweat and something else... something she could only define as male.  She had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to bite him. 

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she shook that thought away, but as she watched her hands skate over the heavy musculature of his shoulder and into the furred hollow of his armpit, Sam had to fight the urge to lean forward and run her tongue up the side of his neck.  Reminding herself that he did not find her attractive, she pushed her amorous thoughts aside as she kneaded his heavy muscles, slowly easing away the pain.      

His long lashes fluttered shut and a low groan rumbled deep in his chest.  It felt good.  Now and again, he would give an involuntary grunt as she worked a painful knot, but he could feel the tension easing in his body.  Well, one kind of tension.  A different kind of tension was beginning to rise.  It became more acute as her dexterous, strong artist's hands kneaded the muscles on the front of his shoulder and brushed over his nipple as she worked her way to his underarm and then to the muscles along his spine.  It gave him the goose bumps and he shivered in response to her ministrations.  Sam smiled, feeling the deep rumble of pleasure in his chest as much as hearing it.  He might be a fine actor, but even he was unable to mask his appreciation of the intense massage. 

Russell was hard pressed not to take her hands in his and guide them down between his legs to stroke and massage him where the real ache was building.  While he attempted to force his mind from erotic thoughts of her, Samantha was busy trying not to let his low grunts of pleasure render her completely insane.  She couldn't help but wonder if he made those same noises during sex.  He certainly wasn't shy about voicing his pleasure.  She was hovering at the edge of orgasm from nothing more than the velvet sound of his voice, the scent of his large, warm body and the feel of him under her palms.

Firmly reminding herself he thought her a 'dried up old maid', Samantha took a few deep breaths to get herself back under control and fixed her gaze on the leather thong around his neck.  He was wearing a cross, as usual.  The one he had on tonight had a rich patina and looked as if it was a thousand years old.  To distract herself, she asked him about it and while she massaged his shoulder and back and it sparked a curiously engaging discussion about faith and morality which led into a deep and heated debate on the meaning of God and his place in religion. 

Though they found they shared some similar points of view, the conversation was lively and fun and they took turns playing devil's advocate, asking provocative questions and winding each other up between revealing more intimate details about their personal beliefs.  He spoke about the small family chapel he'd had built on his property.  Engrossed in the details and the careful consideration he'd given to every decision during construction, Sam was unaware exactly how low her hands had drifted until she felt the fluffy terrycloth of the towel slung low around his hips. 

But even as her face flushed, the two sides of her consciousness warred with each other.  The angel on one shoulder threw up her hands in defeat and the devil danced with glee on the other.  Sex in the City.  Samantha Jones.  A scene from some long forgotten episode played in her head where the girls discussed the pros and cons of tantric sex and how erotic massage could be used to open a man's power channels and really get his chi flowing.  Charlotte had said it sounded complicated.  Samantha and purred out something to the effect of, 'Oh please, honey..... anyone can do it.  One thumb in the right spot and it won't just be his chi that's flowing.' 

Sam sighed inwardly.  It was too bad her sex life wasn't half so exciting as TV's Samantha.  Still, the idea had merit.  Sam used her thumbs to work the muscles at the base of his spine and his words were interrupted by a low growl of pleasure.  Though she kept up her end of the conversation, Samantha's focus had shifted from the cerebral back to the physical.  Refocusing her efforts, she rubbed the fleshy pads of her thumbs against his smooth golden skin.

Part of her wanted to see if she could make him groan like that again, and part of her wanted to see if she could get him to respond to the 'dried up old maid.'  It was more a game really, than anything else--a way of bolstering her confidence in herself as a woman.  Despite her acceptance of his apology, his cruel words that day by the fence had cut her to the quick.  So much so, she'd even lost her reservation about being next to naked with him.  She had a great deal more male friends than female friends, and she was very comfortable with men in that context.  While she wasn't trying to get him to come on to her, and she certainly had no intention of touching anything covered by his towel, a part of her couldn't resist flexing a bit of her feminine muscle to see if she was really as dried up as he'd said she was.

As Samantha's skilled fingers worked him, Russell felt a familiar tightening.  Christ.  He was getting hard.  And he knew there was no way to stop it.  With every beat of his heart he could feel himself growing thicker and longer.  Her thumbs dug deeper and he couldn't quite swallow down the involuntary groan of erotic pleasure, something altogether different than an aural reaction to the cessation of painful tension.  It was a hellish torment, dancing with that salacious devil while they spoke of God the Father.  

Sam's hands froze and the arid air crackled with the tension that had been missing since their fight by the fence.  It was uncomfortable and yet oddly exciting at the same time.  The silence between them stretched out until Sam though she could hear her own rapid heartbeat drumming in her ears.  The dull pounding became a roar as she felt his thick fingers close around her wrist.  They were gentle at first, but became an iron band when she tried to withdraw her hand from his grasp.  Throwing caution into the wind, he turned, aware there was no way to hide the impressive bulge of the erection she'd given him.  The depth and breadth of his sexual history was vast enough that the physical reaction of his body didn't embarrass him.  His discomfort stemmed from the uncertainty of his place in the emotional landscape-both his and hers.    

She gasped softly, dizzy from their extended sit in the dry heat and from the proprietary way he was touching her, to say nothing of the unmistakable sign of his arousal.  In that somewhat brusk way he had, he simply pressed forward with his usual surety.  He didn't wait to be invited.  Holding her wrist captive, he massaged her forearm, starting at the elbow and working his way down to her fingertips. 

When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip, preventing her from doing so.  "Be still."  The rough gravelly sound of his voice caused her nipples to draw up into tight little buds.  "Just relax, Sam."  The soothing croon of his voice was at odds with the thick tension between them.  He gentled her with his voice they way he did with Honey, hoping it would have the same effect.  It did.  The flush on her face deepened and her lips parted softly as she surrendered to him.  He smiled, pleased with himself and her response. 

She didn't even resist when he switched to her other arm, though he was not foolish enough to try it without securing her slender wrist in his strong fingers.  He wanted some measure of control over a situation that was rapidly getting out hand.  For a simple touch, it was incredibly erotic.  As hers had been when she'd stroked the sensitive skin under his arm.  He swallowed hard and rubbed the thin skin between her fingers with the rough pad of his thumb, smiling to himself as a soft gasp of pleasure left her lush red mouth.  Despite the awkwardness of the moment, what he was doing felt indescribably good.

Crazy, crazy, shiver and shake.  It felt good to him too.  Too good.  He fought the urge to wrap his hand around his cock and squeeze.  Or to wrap her hands around it instead.  The driving urges of his body were making themselves heard.  Loudly.  The need for friction, for something--someone--to press against was eroding his reserve.  The heat licking at them was getting out of control.  Russell was many things, but he was not a fool.  This was already going to be difficult to explain away once things had cooled down.  That gray area between friends and lovers was dangerous.  And they were square in the middle of it. 

Well, to be honest, they were flirting with the tricky currents just at the edge of the 'lovers' side of things.  If he took them much deeper, he'd be taking her.  Right here.  Right now.  His libido surged roaring its agreement in his ears and between his legs.  He wrestled with the driving compulsion to push her down and cover her body with his.  The thought of kissing her made his head spin.  His massage became more intense, unconsciously echoing his deeper desires.  His thumb flickered over the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow.       

Samantha tried not to think about Russell's strong, capable hands.  She couldn't help but notice he'd held both her wrists with his left hand, leaving his dominant right hand free to touch her.  She suddenly wondered if that was the hand he used to masturbate with.  A shiver ran through her as she was unable to stop the flow of mental images.  Driving hips.  A rough grunt.  Creamy ejaculate spilling over clenched fingers. 

Her cheeks heated at the thought and her eyes fluttered open.  Her breath caught.  He was starting at her mouth.  His eyes glittered intensely and their erratic breathing seemed somehow deafening in the small space.  Samantha could feel her heart pounding and she wondered for half a second if he was going to lean in those last few inches and kiss her. 

Russell watched her eyes as they slid downward to focus on the bow of his lips.  He wet them to test the extent of his power, smiling inwardly as he watched her shiver.  Was she aware she'd wet her softly parted lips in invitation to even deeper intimacy?  The desire to kiss her was overwhelming.  He knew she wanted him.  And he knew she'd welcome his touch.  Tonight.  But he also knew that tomorrow she'd have her professional mask back so firmly in place that he'd never get it off again. 

And that's what stopped him.    

He wanted more than a cheap fuck.  Maybe a lot more.  He just wasn't sure.  And it wasn't worth the risk.  He let go of her hands and swallowed hard when they hesitated a moment in the charged space between before falling back to her lap.  A bead of sweat trickled at his temple and he pushed his hands through his damp hair, glad to have something to do with them.  Other than touch her.

"Sam?"

It was a testament to just how deeply he'd affected her that she appeared not to have heard his soft query.  

"Sam."  This time, it was not a question.  The rough burr of his voice pulled her into reality with an unpleasant jolt as it fractured the fragile spell they'd woven around each other.  

"Huh?"  Samantha colored.  "Um... Sor- sorry."  Her inelegant stammering was back, but she couldn't help it.  God, she felt like she was burning up.  Sam could smell his scent on her hands.  She needed to get out of here before she burst into flames.

Russell stood abruptly.  "I don't know about you, love, but I need some fucking water."  He slipped easily back into their earlier playful mood, hoping she'd follow his lead.  The last thing he wanted was for her to get all shy and skittish again.  He counted it as a good sign she hadn't immediately hidden herself back in that damn towel of hers.  "You ready?"  He sure as hell was.  If he stayed in here another minute he was going to explode. 

Thankful for the opening he'd left her to slip back into their earlier mood, Samantha gratefully took it.  "Only if you're buying, Crowe."

"Deal." Russell pulled the sauna door open and the cool air of the pool house washed over them, bringing them both some respite from the searing heat that had nothing to do with the sauna and everything to do with want.