The Masseuse Read online

  When Jezebel Carter agreed to a spa session to appease her sickly sister, she expects one thing and one thing only: to leave tension-free. It’s a spa, after all. Instead, she leaves with memories of a gorgeous man with talented fingers, who probably doesn't work at the spa and is a possible pervert.

  Ramsey Stone is no pervert. He's a licensed masseuse, and he wants more than one session with Jezebel. For a man who prides himself on his control, even he admits he's smitten with the beautiful, but headstrong financial executive. He's determined to have her, and before long, Ramsey succeeds on his personal quest to make Jezebel his.

  There's just one problem: Ramsey harbors a secret that could tear Jezebel from his arms and upturn their lives.

  The Masseuse

  By

  Violette Dubrinsky

  The Masseuse

  Copyright © 2013 by Violette Dubrinsky.

  All rights reserved. The illegal distribution of this book by any entity (individual, corporation or robot) will be deemed fraudulent.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

  Editor: Cindy Davis

  Cover Artist: Mina Carter

  Interior book design: Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Any resemblance of characters to people, living or deceased is unintentional. All trademarks herein are the property of their respective owners and used only for the sake of creating a believable work of fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Biography

  Author’s Other Works

  Foreword

  The unedited version of this story was originally released for free under the title “Tension” and later, “The Masseuse (Tension).” I wrote it chapter-by-chapter and received great feedback from the readers so I decided to edit it and publish for those who wanted to have it as a keepsake on their e-readers and those who haven’t had the opportunity to read it yet.

  Dedication

  To the wonderful readers and reviewers of VC.

  Thank you for your amazing feedback and for helping me turn a short story into a series.

  “Things aren't always what they seem.

  You must look closely or they just might surprise you.”

  -Unknown

  Chapter 1

  If not for the fact that she’d been coerced and manipulated into accepting this “gift,” Jezebel Grace Carter would have left a long time ago.

  The Osiris day spa might be the talk of the city with its beautiful red rock walls, cinnamon-scented candles, soft, yellow and red lights, and indoor waterfalls, but her appointment had been for 2 p.m. sharp and already it was 2:10. If there was one thing Jezebel despised, it was lateness. A minute could be the difference between earning or losing millions, and she always played to win. As such, she was always early, and at the very least, on time. Had she been sloppy with appointments and deadlines, she wouldn’t have achieved such success by the age of thirty-two.

  Sighing, Jezebel shifted on the comfortable massage table. At least she wasn’t waiting on a slab of board. The spa had gotten one thing right.

  As it was, she couldn’t leave. In one of the many rooms nearby, her sister was enjoying a facial, complete with all the things they did to keep Delilah looking like a youthful twenty-three year old when she was pushing thirty.

  Jezebel snorted. Her sister had always been into these things—superficial things—but Jezebel couldn’t blame her. A former model, Delilah had worked in a superficial industry. As the CEO of a small but growing hedge-fund, Jezebel knew many of her male counterparts judged her on her looks, but it was nothing compared to what Delilah had faced.

  And now, with her sister’s illness...

  A door opened. Jezebel peered over her shoulder. “I apologize, Ms. Carter,” a deep baritone began.

  “Do you really expect to have a job after this?” she sniped, glad to finally have someone to lay into. “My appointment was for two o’clock sharp. It was for one hour. You are...” She looked at the clock on the wall. “...18 minutes late.” Gripping her towel, she rolled onto her side and sat up, carefully keeping her bits covered. “What’s your excuse?”

  Standing beside one of the brass faucets that protruded from the stone wall was a tall man with dark, shoulder length hair. Although he faced away, she could see that he was dressed from head-to-toe in white. His shirtsleeves were a bit tight, revealing toned arms with serious muscle definition. He turned on the faucet and began washing his hands.

  Angered further that he was ignoring her, Jezebel shook her head and jumped from the massage table. This was just damn ridiculous! She would not lay here and allow him to touch her when he had no respect for her time and didn’t even have the decency to apologize.

  The water shut off and the man spun around. Jezebel froze. She’d seen attractive men before, had called some of them boyfriends, one even a fiancé, but she’d never seen a man who looked like him. He seemed of mixed heritage, with eyes that slanted ever so slightly, and skin that was a natural bronze, despite the fact that it was hard winter. His hair was bone-straight and combed away from a face that was both beautiful—almost feminine—yet distinctly masculine. His eyes were a deep onyx, his nose prominent and straight, his lips thin, but generously curved, and his jaw... She swallowed, needing to ease the dryness in her throat. His jaw was a work of art. In a face so beautiful, it was his jaw that added the intense masculinity to his face. It was square, not harshly so, but enough to complement his face.

  A smile curved his lips and Jezebel quickly remembered herself. She looked away and stepped past him, heading for the door.

  “Where are you going, Ms. Carter?”

  His voice stopped her and with a shake of her head, she whirled on him. “What’s your name?” She’d need it to file the complaint.

  He stared at her for long moments, before he dipped his head, almost respectfully, and said, “Ramsey.”

  Jezebel briefly wondered if he was lying. Like hers, Ramsey was a version of a biblical name many Americans didn’t have. Her mother had been a stone-cold hippie when she and her sister were born, hence, their names were “unique” since no other mother wanted to associate those names with their innocent babies. Her mother had been and still was eccentric.

  “Last name?” Although uncommon, it was possible that the spa employed two Ramseys. She always covered her bases, and this was no different.

  He lifted a brow. “If you want to complain about my lateness, for which I was about to apologize, you’ll only need that name.”

  “I’m guessing this isn’t the first time a client complained about you?”

  Ramsey only continued to look at her with those dark eyes and, feeling more generous than usual—he probably had a family to feed, definitely a wife from the look of him, and bills to pay—Jezebel decided to give him another chance.

  Crossing her arms under her breasts, she demanded, “Why were you late?”

  “You were originally schedu
led with another masseuse, but he’s out on an emergency.”

  “Oh.” If he was telling the truth, that was a legitimate excuse. Emergencies happened. “When did you know you had a two o’clock appointment?”

  He smiled, revealing dimples and straight, white teeth. “At one fifty-five.”

  “If you’re lying to me…”

  “I have no cause to lie to you.”

  She glared at him. “I’ll check your story with the girl at the front desk before I leave.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He grabbed one of the neatly stacked towels beside the sink and gently wiped his hands. Moving over the massage table, he indicated it with a sweep of his hand. “Shall we begin?”

  ***

  He was quite good, Jezebel thought with a moan. Her sister constantly raved about the massages at The Osiris, and Jezebel was realizing Delilah was right.

  Ramsey started at her shoulders, and worked his way down, dipping his fingers in warm oil that smelled spicy, yet sweet, and running his hands across her back, arms, shoulders, calves, and even the balls of her feet. He used his thumbs to knead, to dig into her shoulders, working the knots in her muscles and making her relax. She’d never experienced this type of serenity before. This wasn’t her first massage. She’d had others, in various states and countries, but had stopped when she realized most were a waste of money. The closest she’d come to a massage like this was over a year ago in Jamaica. She’d been on vacation with Kirk, her ex-fiancé, and he’d paid for massages on the beach. That one in no way surpassed what was being done to her body now, but the slow crash of waves, the melodic whooshing of the late afternoon breeze, had put her in a state of mind similar to this.

  Ramsey had pulled her towel down to her buttocks while he worked, and now he slid it lower.

  Coming out of her haze, she gripped the towel. “What are you doing?”

  “This is part of the massage, Jezebel.” At some point when he’d been working the knots out of her shoulders, she’d given him permission to use her first name. With his magical hands, she would have given him anything he wanted—within reason, of course.

  Looking over her shoulder, she lifted a brow. “Exactly what kind of massage is this?”

  Ramsey laughed. “A full body massage, as requested.”

  Jezebel snorted. “As long as you know it’s a full, outer body massage.” She’d heard stories about masseuses offering other private services, and while this guy was attractive, she wasn’t looking to be anyone’s Sugar Mama.

  She smirked.

  “I’m here to relieve your tension.” He gently tugged on the towel and she released it. “That’s all.”

  “Hmph.” The temperature in the room was warm so with her head buried in the face rest, Jezebel didn’t feel naked.

  Ramsey’s magical hands moved to the dip in her back, working at the tense muscles there until she cried out at the pain-pleasure, and felt that part of her body relax under his unrelenting fingers.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “What?” Jezebel wondered if she was dreaming. Had she fallen asleep? The sound of water falling and the cinnamon candles were easily putting her into a comatose-like state.

  “Tell me about yourself, Jezebel.”

  “Hmm. Why?”

  He chuckled softly. “Tell me why you are so tense.”

  “Because I work.”

  “As do I.”

  She sighed. It was different. “You work in a spa...where your friends can easily ease your tension.”

  “Don’t you have friends to ease your tension?”

  She shook her head. Work was her life. She had a sister, with whom she was close, and a few select friends she saw a few times a year, but work had always been priority. Even with Kirk… She dismissed the thought. There was no use going down that road again. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

  Jezebel snorted. Was he a walking ad for the place?

  He continued to work her lower back, his thumbs pressing hard and releasing, before he spoke again. “You keep your tension in your lower back, your shoulders...”

  When his oily hands cupped her bottom, Jezebel gasped and lifted her head.

  “Easy,” Ramsey said softly. “I’m a professional.”

  Before she could speak, his fingers were kneading her buttocks. Jezebel tensed, unsure of how she felt about this. She’d never had a masseuse touch her naked buttocks, not because the option hadn’t been available, but because...well, it was her buttocks—her big, private ass, and she was selective about who touched it.

  “Relax, Jezebel,” Ramsey murmured. “You’re tensing up.”

  She blinked. “That’s because you’re touching my butt.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” He slowed his kneading to an almost sensual caress.

  No.

  Jezebel placed her face back in the face rest and closed her eyes. She was thinking too much again. It was a massage. Just a massage.

  “Where do you work?” Ramsey asked after minutes of his firm touch.

  “A hedge fund,” she murmured, allowing his voice to take her mind from what he was doing to her bottom.

  “Ah, a financial executive?”

  She chuckled. “How’d you figure?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yes.” His touch grew firmer. “You’re obviously used to being in control and your manner speaks to it.”

  “Are you calling me bossy?”

  He chuckled. “I’m saying you know what you want and you aren’t afraid to set a person down for it.”

  She thought about how she’d torn into him for being late and almost apologized. It wasn’t his fault after all. She decided she’d leave a sizeable tip. The man was quite talented.

  Gradually, Jezebel allowed her body to go jelly, closing her eyes and basking in his strong, yet gentle touch. When his fingers gripped her buttocks and pulled, the pads digging into her, she moaned as pleasure jolted straight to her sex, before biting her lip.

  No. No. No.

  “I’m sure the tension in my ass is all gone by now,” she stated.

  Ramsey laughed and removed his hands. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve had a massage.” She sighed.

  He chuckled. “Roll over.”

  “I’m not a dog, you know.”

  “I know.” He feathered a hand down her back, pausing just before his fingers touched her bottom. “Please roll over, Jezebel.”

  A towel draped along her back and she was grateful. As she shimmed to turn over, she quipped, “I like when you say please.”

  “I figured.” She peeped up at him when she was on her back, the towel draped over her breasts and unnecessarily warm sex. He gave her an easy smile. “Now, I’m going to ease the tension on this side of your body.”

  Because she expected magic from him by now, it came as no surprise. He worked her upper shoulders, before moving down to upper arms, her fingers, her upper thighs. She was falling into a light doze when his voice caressed her ear. “I’m going to remove the towel now.”

  Her eyes flew open to find him watching her with a brow raised, as if patiently waiting for her protest.

  “You can choose not to have this part of the massage, Jezebel, but I would strongly recommend it for a woman in your field.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “What does this part include?”

  He never took his gaze from hers. “A massage of your belly, your shoulders, your breasts...”

  She blinked rapidly. Her breasts? “You do this for all of your clients?”

  He nodded. “Every one of them.”

  Reluctantly, she placed both hands at her sides. It was a full body massage after all. And if he did it for everyone else, she shouldn’t feel strange at all, despite the fact that no one had touched her this intimately in close to a year—more than a year considering her last relationship had ended way before they actually
broke up. “Okay, go ahead.”

  He smiled softly and nodded. Slowly, he removed the towel and rather than stare up at those dark onyx eyes of his, Jezebel closed her eyes and tried to relax.

  The first touch of his fingers to her belly made her gasp. After a few soft caresses, she thought about telling him to stop. This wasn’t easing any tension. In fact, it was creating significant tension just a few inches lower...

  His oiled fingers slithered up to her breasts, gently massaging around one, and slowly building up to the nipple. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to stop, that this was too intimate, when he asked, “Do you work-out?”

  Grateful for the distraction, she nodded.

  “How often?” His hands closed around her breasts, lightly squeezing them and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from whimpering. Seriously? She, the consummate professional, was getting turned on by a man doing his job? How ridiculous was she going to get before this massage was over?

  “Weekly.”

  His hands moved back to her belly, sliding over her it before moving to further down.

  “Ramsey, I don’t think—”

  “Once? Twice?” His hands eased one of her legs out so that it bent at the knee and the sole of one foot touched her inner thigh.

  Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”

  He released her, holding up his oily palms and smiling reassuringly. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “Massage the muscles at your upper thigh.”

  Jezebel nodded slowly and willed herself to relax. She was supposed to be easing tension not having an apoplectic fit. His fingers whispered over her hip before moving to her upper thigh. “You’re tense again.”

  That’s because his finger was a hair away from her sex and the massage had left her feeling very...stimulated.

  His onyx eyes caught hers and he lifted a brow. Jezebel closed her eyes again. He was a professional. She was being silly.

  “So, how often do you exercise?”