The Masseuse Page 2

  “Are you called me fat?” she bit out. She wasn’t stick thin, but she was healthy at 5’7, 145 pounds.

  “If I did, I’d be lying.” His warm fingers gently rotated against her thigh. “I was only curious because you’re in great shape.”

  “Twice during the work week, and if I have time, on Sunday evenings.”

  “For how long?”

  “Two hours usually.”

  “That’s good.” He straightened her leg and moved to the other. “Do you go to a gym?”

  “No.” She moaned when his fingers stroked her in a way that made her forget where she was. “I have an exercise room...in my house.”

  “Ah,” he murmured. “Well, to ease tension, you should try going to the spa in the gym weekly.”

  Jezebel chuckled. “Do you have black female friends?” Opening her eyes, she found him peering down at her curiously. “My hair is straightened. A day in that overheated place would turn me into a poodle.”

  He grinned. “Straighten it again when you’re finished.”

  “I’ll take that as a no, you do not have black female friends.”

  Ramsey only lifted a brow and moved away. She heard the sound of the pipes running and then heard him wiping his hands. Jezebel sighed. Was it over, she wondered with a little frown. She’d have to start making regular appointments here.

  He appeared above her again, and she heard the clinking of bottles.

  “Ramsey,” she began, about to tell him to give her his card and the dates he was available, when his hand brushed her sex.

  She froze, the words clogging in her throat as a finger stroked over her clitoris.

  Jezebel blinked up at him in shock, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring directly at her exposed flesh, his expression one of intense concentration and something else, something hot. When his thumb pressed against her, Jezebel almost cried out and begged for more before she remembered where she was and why this was not happening.

  She snapped her legs closed, trapping his tanned hand between her dark thighs. Licorice- colored eyes touched hers. She shook her head once. “No.”

  “You still have tension, Jezebel,” he reminded, but she caught the flash of something hot in those eyes.

  She shook her head again, this time more furiously. “No, Ramsey.”

  They remained like that, staring at each other for long moments, before he nodded. “May I have my hand back?”

  Jezebel unlocked her thighs and he stepped away. She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. She wasn’t that desperate yet to get laid in a spa. As she remained there, her sex pulsed. Confused, she sawed her thighs together, which only made her feel warmer. Her button grew warm, then hot… Instantly, her nipples peaked, and she could feel her sex growing moist.

  “Is everything okay?” Ramsey asked from beside her. The smirk on his face told her he’d done something to make her this way.

  “What did you do?” she demanded.

  “I only wanted to ease your tension,” he began. “It’s red cream.”

  “What?” She moaned and sawed her thighs together as her sex began to demand more. “What the hell is red cream?”

  “It aids in relaxation. It’s also used for the pleasures of the flesh.” He looked down at her breasts. “May I?”

  “No!” she hissed angrily. “Don’t touch me.”

  He stepped away. “You can always touch yourself, Jezebel.”

  As her body bucked, Jezebel shook her head and moaned. “Oh my God.” What the hell was in the stupid red cream?

  “Touch yourself,” Ramsey instructed. “The sooner you ease the ache, the sooner it will stop.”

  “Get out!”

  He sighed. “This is all a part of the experience. I know you enjoy being in control but you have to let go at some point.”

  His footsteps moved away and between the sweet ache and her need, she managed to gasp out, “Wait!”

  The pipe turned on and she breathed a sigh of relief. He was washing his hands. When he returned, the glass bottles clinked again, and then he asked one question, “Will you allow me to ease you?”

  What did that mean? Jezebel wondered before she shook her head. She didn’t care. She wanted…she wanted to come. “Yes.”

  At her acceptance, two of his fingers were pressed deep and she mewled, arching into his hand. His free hand went to her belly, holding her down, and then his fingers moved. Slowly, but surely, they thrust into her wet sex, curling forward to rub against her secret spot…

  “Oh my God!” she moaned, moments before a series of shocks traveled through her body. He halted all movement, and smiled down at her, but then his fingers moved again, faster this time, and his thumb found her clit.

  “Ugh!” The tension built again. The hand at her belly moved, and was suddenly cupping, stroking, pulling at her breasts. “Oh...oh...Ramsey!”

  “Almost there,” he encouraged, his voice husky and low. She’d never heard anyone sound that sexy. “Come...come now, Jezebel.”

  She did, crying out as her belly tightened, her hips pushed off the table, before falling limply back onto it.

  His fingers left her and she gasped, sucking in much-needed oxygen as she tried to figure out what had just happened. The water turned on again, and she lifted to her elbows to stare at him. When he turned to face her, the great bulge at the front of his pants made her feel a bit better. Good. So she hadn’t been the only one affected.

  Ramsey gave her a pained smile as he towel dried his hands. For the first time, she paid attention to them. His fingers were long with short, blunt nails: clean, masculine hands.

  “There’s a bathroom to your left,” he said in that husk-tinged voice. He indicated the bathroom with a nod of his head. “Take a shower first, the bath gel was left out for you, and then soak in the tub for fifteen minutes.”

  She only stared at him.

  Ramsey nodded and turned to leave.

  “Are you serious?” she demanded. He turned back to her with a lifted brow. “That’s it?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s it?” she repeated.

  He nodded slowly and looked above her head. “It’s been an hour and ten minutes, Jezebel. That’s all the time we have for today.”

  An hour ten minutes? Her eyes widened. He smiled. How old was he anyway? He looked young, like he was younger than thirty, but there was something in his eyes, something that told her he’d seen things most hadn’t, had the type of wisdom that came with it. He seemed to be one of those slow agers too, with tight skin.

  Pushing aside her embarrassment at what he’d just done to her, she boldly forged ahead, “Do you have a card?”

  Ramsey seemed surprised but smiled his pleasure. He shook his head. “We aren’t all as prepared or sophisticated as you.”

  “What days do you work?”

  “Would you like another full body massage with me?”

  She stared at him long and hard before nodding. “Yes.”

  He smiled. “I work daily.”

  “Are you free next week?”

  “I’ll find time for you.”

  Jezebel blushed, and then grew angry with herself. Why was she acting like this? She wasn’t a teenager with her first crush. She was an adult, and this was just like any other…transaction. She knew what she wanted; he knew what he could give her.

  Pushing from the table, she wrapped the towel around her nakedness, though at this point, it didn’t even matter. The man had had his fingers inside her, for crying out loud. Modesty had been pushed out the window and wasn’t crawling back in anytime soon.

  “Leave your number at the front desk,” she instructed. “I’ll call you to make another appointment.”

  He dipped his head. “I’m glad you enjoyed our first time together.”

  “I did.” She saw no need to hide the fact. Despite her reservations, he already knew just how much she’d enjoyed it. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Jezebe
l was at the bathroom door when she looked over her shoulder at him. He was staring at her, the expression on his face so intense she wondered if she’d imagined it when she blinked and found it gone. “You’re not married, are you?”

  He seemed taken aback but shook his head. She hadn’t seen a ring, but he was a masseuse. It was probably necessary for them to remove rings and such before doing their jobs.

  “Good.”

  They stared at each other for long moments, before Ramsey cleared his throat and dipped his head. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “Yes.” Jezebel was certain of it. After a week of work, she was certain to have tension and he was an expert after all.

  When he walked from the room, she headed into the spacious bathroom and did as instructed.

  ***

  In the waiting room, Delilah was sitting on one of the plush L-shaped sofas, looking picture perfect with a Cosmo magazine in one hand and a glass of sparkling wine in the other.

  Jezebel frowned. Should her sister be drinking with her condition?

  “Took you long enough.” Delilah smirked, tossing the magazine and wine and approached. Although they were both tall girls, Delilah topped her by two inches, making her perfect for runways at 5’9. “You look so...relaxed, sis.” The younger woman chuckled and Jezebel hoped to god she wasn’t blushing. She’d never been a blusher, so to start now would just be a slap-in-the-face. “So, how was Bryan?”

  “Bryan?”

  “Your masseuse?”

  “Right.” She remembered now. “He had an emergency.”

  “Oh.” Delilah’s smile fell. “If I’d known I would have rescheduled. Bryan’s the best at full body massages.”

  “The session was great.” She turned and headed for the front desk. “Ramsey was great.”

  “Ramsey?” Delilah mused. “There’s a guy named after a Biblical pharaoh working here?”

  Jezebel rolled her eyes. Delilah was one to talk.

  They approached the front desk together, and Delilah handed over her credit card to pay for the sessions. It was her birthday gift to Jezebel. When she was finished, Jezebel addressed the pretty Latina, Yari. “I’d like to have the contact information for one of your masseuses.”

  Yari nodded and pulled up something on her computer. “Of course. Name?”

  “Ramsey.”

  She typed something into the database and frowned. Looking back to Jezebel, she typed again before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that name isn’t in our database.”

  “Well, it has to be,” Jezebel murmured, shaking her head. She also disliked when people didn’t updated their databases. That was why database admins existed. “Check again.”

  The girl nodded, but moments later, looked up at Jezebel with a confused expression. “I’m sorry...there’s no one in the database with that first name.”

  “Check the last name,” Delilah suggested, passing Jezebel an easy smile.

  Yari did that and shook her head. “I-I’m sorry—I just started working here.” She stood abruptly. “I should probably get my manager.”

  As the girl abandoned her post, Delilah lifted a painted on brow at her. “Strange. Sure his name’s Ramsey?”

  “I wouldn’t forget a name like that.”

  “Point.” She sighed and took hold of Jezebel’s arm.

  “Are you feeling faint again?” Jezebel was instantly concerned.

  “This goddamn chemo sucks major ass,” Delilah murmured with a slight nod. “I just need to sit for a few minutes.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have had that glass of wine,” Jezebel chastised. Sometimes Jezebel wondered if her sister wanted to die or was just too damn stubborn to follow basic orders.

  “You know, I have a mom,” Delilah muttered, allowing herself to be led to the sofa. “She’s a total hippie who never believed in parenting, but she’s still Mom.”

  Jezebel chuckled at the description of their mother. Years ago, she would have probably cursed, but they’d accepted it.

  “Ms. Carter?” a feminine voice called from behind her. Another beautiful woman stood next to Yari. Clearly, beautiful was disposable in this place. “I’m Amy Lu.” She smiled. “Yari tells me you wanted the contact information for one our masseuses.”

  “Yes. His name is Ramsey.”

  Amy frowned. “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter, I’m not aware of a masseuse by that name.”

  “Well, someone by that name just gave me a massage.” And fingered her until she almost passed out. She kept that part to herself, of course.

  “Er...” Amy blushed and shook her head. “Would it be possible to get back to you with the name of the masseuse? It’s possible he used another name...”

  Jezebel frowned, but Delilah suddenly coughed. She instantly knelt beside her sister.

  “I’m fine.” Delilah reached into her tote for a tissue. “Really. I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” Jezebel replied, but she wasn’t convinced. “I’m taking you home. Now. Give me your keys.”

  Delilah had driven today. She’d been having a great week and wanted to feel normal.

  When they were both standing again, Jezebel’s arm wrapped around her sister’s waist, Jezebel looked at Amy. “I expect a call before the close of the business day with the name and number of my masseuse.”

  Amy smiled, but it seemed forced. “Of course, Ms. Carter.” She looked to Delilah. “Thank you for choosing The Osiris once more, Lilah. We look forward to seeing you again.”

  “I’ll see you later, Amy,” her sister murmured.

  In the car, Delilah peppered her with questions, a testament that her sister was feeling much better.

  “So, Ramsey huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he good?”

  “Very.”

  “What did he do?”

  “What you paid him to.”

  Her sister laughed. “Well, good. At least you got my money’s worth.” She sighed. “But that’s so strange. I’ve been going to that spa for years and I’ve never heard of a masseuse named Ramsey. I mean, for crying out loud, wouldn’t they at least think to introduce the two biblically named folks?”

  Jezebel nodded. It was strange. Very strange. He had to be a masseuse because a lay person didn’t have the skill to do what he’d just done to her. He could have given her a nickname, which made no sense. She’d also told him to leave his number at the front desk, and he hadn’t.

  A chill snaked down Jezebel’s spine. Ramsey was real, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. Even as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it. She’d never been one to daydream and she could still feel his fingers...

  She released a deep breath and furrowed her brows. Exactly who the hell was Ramsey?

  Chapter 2

  “Are there any questions?” Jezebel leaned ever so slightly on the podium. She’d just held a seminar about branching out into a business at the New York City Small Business Association, and although these things usually invigorated her, she’d had a trying week and really just wanted to curl up in her queen bed and sleep.

  One of her most promising clients had declared bankruptcy because the CEO was a complete and utter twit who didn’t understand the meaning of deadlines and responsibility. Carter Investors had begun running maintenance after learning of the boy whiz’s incompetence but they’d been too late. And now, she’d likely not see even a quarter of the $2 million she’d invested into his company. Add to that loss was the fact that there was petty drama happening between some of the secretaries on her floor and it had actually gotten back to her. Jezebel ran a tight ship—a tight, professional ship, so when HR notified her about two of her workers going at each other in the main lobby where clients could easily see them, she wasn’t pleased. And, last, but definitely not least, was the fact that she was seriously considering a lawsuit against The Osiris.

  It had been one week since she’d had her “full body massage” by “Ramsey” and no one could tell her who had put hands on,
and in, her body. It was almost as if her masseuse was a ghost. She’d called daily to see if they had any new information and they’d offered everything from a free spa day to tickets to a Broadway show, and when she began throwing around her lawyer’s name, the manager profusely apologized, promised they were searching “diligently” for the masseuse, and offered her six months of free spa treatments at any Osiris spas. That was when Jezebel knew it was serious. One hour of a spa treatment easily ran into the hundreds and she’d been given six months, no restricted days, free.

  In other words, the company’s legal team was trying very hard to avoid a disaster.

  “...how you received the capital necessary to start your own business?”

  She heard the last part of the question, and answered, having heard the question numerous times at other talks she’d given. “I found investors. I utilized my resources.” She smiled at the young African American female who’d asked the question. Years ago, Jezebel had occupied that same seat. “When I worked for ING Management, and later for Fairfax, I made connections. People liked me. They respected my work ethic, knew I was reliable…and most importantly, they trusted me with their money.” She paused for the scattering of laughter. “So, when I decided to start my own hedge fund, they invested, and they recommended other investors.”

  “In other words, network, network, network,” the woman said with an easy smile.

  Jezebel grinned. It was her motto. “Exactly.”

  The moderator took the mic from the woman and was moving to another standing person, when the door in the back of the room opened. Her eyes were drawn to the movement, but someone began speaking, so she turned in the direction of the voice. It was an older gentleman this time.

  “Ms. Carter, I’ve followed your success and I must say that your techniques are quite flawless.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My question involves the size of your business. You’ve passed up chances to expand on numerous occasions. Why?”

  She answered automatically, spewing out her reasons for keeping the business small. A small business was more efficient; she’d met each of her clients, etc. etc. The man thanked her and sat. The moderator with the mic was moving yet again, and her eyes wandered. They passed a familiar face, and instantly returned.