The Masseuse Page 7

  Their first date had been at a cozy, intimate restaurant in lower Manhattan. They had a full course meal, talked like a normal couple, and after he drove her home, proceeded to fuck her until she passed out. She’d come to in the midst of another orgasm. She’d never passed out or had multiple orgasms, but Ramsey was talented. Their next encounters were similar. Most happened at her house, though he’d ‘massaged’ her almost every Saturday since they’d started their relationship.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell her on purpose,” Delilah murmured as soon as she walked into the kitchen. Jezebel glared at her. Traitor. “She sort of figured it out.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “She did. She asked if you were dating anyone, and I said maybe.” Delilah looked contrite. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re doing with pharaoh-boy. I just know that you’re doing something because I haven’t seen you smile so much as in the past month.”

  “It’s none of your business. Or hers.”

  Delilah shrugged. “We know. We’re just nosey.”

  Jezebel was preparing to launch into her sister when Delilah’s face suddenly blanched. Her sister was a beautiful dark coffee tone, so whenever she grew pale, Jezebel, for good reason, became concerned. “What is it?” She pressed a hand to Delilah’s head, wondering it was a flash fever.

  Delilah pushed her away and rushed over to the sink, bringing up the food their mother had prepared. Jezebel went to her, lifting the hair of the glamorous wig and keeping it from being ruined.

  At some point, Ilyana entered and her worried eyes shot to her sick daughter. “Oh, Lilah.” She looked at Jezebel. “This is the second time it’s happened this weekend. Yesterday, she was sick too.”

  “Maybe we should call Dr. Evans.”

  “No.” Delilah turned on the faucet and washed the contents down, before catching water in her hand and washing her mouth. “Sorry. It’s the side-effects of the chemo. It’s normal.”

  Later that evening, Jezebel sat on her sister’s bed, looking down at her sleeping and wondering if she needed to start considering ‘other possibilities.’ From the moment Delilah had been diagnosed with skin cancer, Jezebel had been all about her sister getting better. Skin cancer wasn’t as fatal as most, and they’d caught it relatively early. She’d expected her sister to have the mass removed, and receive a clean bill of health. That hadn’t happened. Still, Jezebel had held out. Chemotherapy was necessary, but she’d never entertained the idea of her baby sister dying. No, she refused to. But as months, upon months, passed and her sister continued to need chemo, because the cancer was still there, her assuredness faltered. And seeing her sister constantly sick was just a blow she didn’t know how to recover from.

  “You can’t leave me, Lilah,” she murmured, knowing her sister wouldn’t hear. She never entertained any of Delilah’s ideas about her death. When her sister tried to joke about funeral decorations, Jezebel usually glared and switched the subject. “You’re my rock, remember?”

  As little girls, they’d been each other’s support system. Ilyana, who had become less crazy with time, had been too wild for two young girls, so Jezebel grew up quickly. Delilah did too, but Jezebel made sure to allow her sister to have some form of a childhood.

  She grabbed her sister’s limp hand and caressed her shiny head, unafraid of waking her up because the pain pills usually knocked Delilah out. “It’s you and me against the world, remember.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere, Lilah. I won’t let you go anywhere!” She pressed her lips to Delilah’s forehead. “I promise.”

  As she exited the room, she found Ilyana sitting on the carpeted floor near Delilah’s door.

  “Why didn’t you come in?”

  Her mother smiled sadly. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  Jezebel helped her up and Ilyana burst into tears. “Oh, Mom.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jez,” Ilyana said in a harsh whisper, wiping at her tears and blinking rapidly. “You’ve had to be strong for us since you were so small, and I should be the strong one, and I am so sorry...”

  Pulling her mother against her body, Jezebel sighed. It was true, but what was the point of crying over spilt milk? Her mother could have been a better mother, but she was here now, and in spite of it all, she and Delilah had done well in life. “It’s okay, Mom—.”

  “It’s not.” Ilyana pulled away and shook her head. “You’re saying that because that’s how you are, Jez. You just...know what to say, but it’s not and will never be okay. I’m so sorry for not parenting as I should have, for being so strange and weird, for so many things.”

  They stared at each other for long moments, and Jezebel allowed herself to take in her mother’s features, features that were most reflective in Delilah. The two looked like twins most days, because Ilyana did not look a day over forty, when she was actually fifty-three.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I might not have the best mother, but I’ve always loved my girls.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how I’ll deal with this, Jez. If Lilah dies, I think it’ll kill me.”

  “She won’t die.” Jezebel shook her head and firmed her voice. “She won’t die, Mom.”

  “What if she does?” Ilyana asked in a small voice.

  Jezebel sighed. That was a reality she didn’t want to face, but she answered quietly, “Then we’ll deal with it together.”

  ***

  “What’s wrong?”

  Jezebel didn’t know why she’d told Ramsey it was okay to come over tonight. It was Saturday and Saturday nights were usually a given for them, but she was raw, her emotions shot to hell, and it had affected her in the bedroom.

  She’d tried hard to let him distract her, but even as her mind gave her a brief reprieve for one orgasm, it had been so hollow, so cold, she’d told him to stop. That was why he was hovering above her now, his face a mask of concern.

  “I’m tired.” That was the partial truth. She was tired. Tired of her sister’s cancer, tired of watching Delilah struggle so hard against something Jezebel couldn’t help her with. She’d fought for her sister with everything else: bullies, teachers, men, but not this.

  “From work?”

  She shook her head. “Ramsey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you over tonight. I’m...in a weird place.”

  The bed dipped when he rolled off her, and Jezebel expected him to say something nice and sweet, and leave. Ramsey was a good guy. She’d spent a month getting to know him in the most base of ways and she’d figured that out. He held the door for her, wasn’t nasty to the help, didn’t brag, always put her needs first.

  When the bed didn’t move again, for long minutes, and his even breaths caressed her cheek, she turned to look at him. “You don’t have to stay. Really.”

  He smiled. “I like your bed. It’s comfortable.”

  She felt her lips tug upward. His arm slid under her body, and she was pulled against his chest. “Ramsey, you don’t have to.”

  “I told you,” he muttered gruffly, sliding a hand into her hair and gently massaging her scalp. “I like your bed.”

  Jezebel scoffed, but she snuggled closer to his warmth.

  “Cold?” he asked after she shivered slightly.

  She nodded. Jezebel’s cold started from the inside and spread out. He released her to pull the covers over their naked bodies, but as soon as that was done, his arm slid under her again and he was pressing her into his heat.

  “Better?”

  Jezebel nodded. “Yes.”

  They didn’t speak for long moments, and she’d assumed from his even breaths that he’d fallen asleep, when he suddenly said, “Lily’s birthday is in two weeks. I’ve been trying to figure out what to get her...”

  Glad that he wasn’t prodding her about her reasons for being in this mood and for the distraction of conversation, she asked, “What does she like?”

  Ramsey snorted. “Math.”

  Jezebel chuckled softly. She remembered. “What else does
she like?”

  “Fish.”

  “What?”

  “Pet fish. I bought her a fish tank for her last birthday. It’s full. Trust me, if I could buy some more fish and add it to the tank for her birthday, I would.”

  “What else does she like?”

  “I— Well, there’s math and fish, and she likes everything I buy for her.”

  Jezebel snorted.

  “What?”

  “She likes it because you bought it, not because she likes the gifts.” From what Jezebel remembered, the girl adored her uncle. “How old is she?”

  “She’ll be eleven.”

  “Does she wear make-up?”

  “What?” Ramsey sounded offended. “She’s eleven. She doesn’t need it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Seriously.”

  Pushing up to look down at him, Jezebel shook her head.

  “Did I say something wrong?” He narrowed his eyes as if daring her to say he had.

  She nodded.

  “What?”

  “She’s about to be a teenager.”

  “She’s got two more years.”

  “She’s a girl.”

  “And?”

  “Ramsey!”

  “What?”

  Jezebel laughed and shook her head before returning it to his chest. “Get her a starter make-up

  set. Nothing too extreme. Maybe some lip-glosses and eye-shadows. The Color Institute had a great set when I was younger. And you can always check out Sephora to see if they have some. Buy body-spray too. Bath and Body Works has really nice scents. And maybe a nice dress to go along with that. I think she’d like that.”

  He didn’t speak for a while and she listened to his strong heartbeat and even breaths.

  “I could always get her a bigger fish tank.”

  She snorted. “No.”

  When he sighed, she decided he’d accepted defeat. His hand stroked down her back and paused

  at her hip. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, and tried to sleep. An hour later, she was still wide awake, and sleep seemed almost impossible. “Ramsey?” she asked softly, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping.

  “Yes?” He wasn’t.

  Jezebel shuddered and decided to go for it. “My sister...my sister has cancer.”

  He inhaled a sharp breath, before his grip tightened on her body, almost reflexively. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” She sighed. “She’s younger than me—the baby in the family—and she might die.” Jezebel didn’t know where the tears came from but she was suddenly crying all over him, unable to stop. She tried to apologize but only managed to cry harder.

  Ramsey sat up, pulling her with him, and braced back against her headboard. She was settled across his lap, her face against his chest...where she cried. Jezebel didn’t know how long she cried, but she knew his hands were stroking along her back, her sides. His voice was low and strong, and whispered over and over, “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

  When she stopped, feeling drained, and more than a little nauseated, he stood and lifted her into his arms.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” She tightened her arms around his neck.

  “Cleansing you,” he murmured.

  He stepped into her bathroom, flicked the lights on, and sat her on the closed toilet-lid. He stepped into her shower and turned on and adjusted the water, allowing the warmth to spread around the room. Jezebel stared at his upper arm for long minutes, wondering how she’d never recognized he had a tattoo before. It wasn’t exactly small or hidden. Two dragons curled around each other and faced off. She wasn’t a lover of tattoos, but the dark, blue-black ink on his skin, was beautiful.

  When he picked her up again, it was to deposit her under the warm shower spray. She didn’t protest her wet hair, she just stood there, watching him take care of her. Ramsey grabbed her loofah, squirted body-wash, and smoothed it over her skin. He washed her gently, but thoroughly, before taking some of her body wash and running it along his skin. She almost smiled when he found her shampoo bottle—separate from the body-wash—squirted it into his hands and rubbed it into her hair. He massaged her scalp and because she couldn’t help it, she pressed herself against him, needing his warmth. He brought them both under the spray, and she kept her eyes closed as he rinsed her hair.

  They remained like that for long minutes, the warm water rushing over both of them, before he turned it off, removed her from the shower, and toweled her off. She slid into her terry cloth robe, and told him more towels were in the drawers under the sink. He pulled out two more, one to wrap around her head, and the other to wrap around his body, before leading her back into her room.

  As she adjusted the towel on her head, and settled under the covers again, she felt better. Ramsey toweled himself off, before getting under the covers with her. Any other time, she would have commented on his wet hair against her pillows, but tonight she just wanted to be next to him, next to this man who’d comforted her when he really didn’t have to.

  “How do you feel?” he asked as she curled around him.

  “Better.” She sighed. The shower had washed away the tears, and with it, some of her sadness. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 7

  That night marked a change, or maybe an acceptance on her part, of their relationship.

  Jezebel could lie to herself and say she only thought of him as her sex-buddy, but the truth was, she didn’t, and he certainly thought of her as more. He’d shown her as much on numerous occasions, especially when other men looked her way. She resisted it. Jezebel wasn’t looking for a relationship, but he was persistent. Ramsey Stone was her...guy. She rolled her eyes at the term. She hated “boyfriend.” Ramsey wasn’t a boy, he was a man. So, he was her man. She grinned, liking that better.

  A month after she’d broken down and told him about her sister, Delilah went into remission. Jezebel had been so ecstatic she’d celebrated with her family before calling Ramsey and telling him to come over. That night had been...amazing. She cooked for him: baked macaroni pie, baked chicken with red wine sauce, and a German chocolate cake. It was her first time cooking for him, and after, he’d shown his appreciation by loving her on almost every flat surface in her house. They would have christened the entire place had she not been aching due to their hiatus. With Delilah sick, Jezebel hadn’t been feeling particularly sexy, and Ramsey had respected it. He’d taken her to lunch and dinner at various restaurants and lounges, golf at the Golf Center, sightseeing at the Statute of Liberty because she’d mentioned never going there, and a host of other places. Ramsey distracted her with talk of work, the economy, politics, even the weather, and at nights, he’d take her home, kiss her chastely and leave. Even on the nights he stayed over, he’d curl around her and sleep. He’d been almost surreal in his patience and understanding.

  “Why are you smiling?” The man who occupied her thoughts strolled out of his office and walked toward her. He looked delicious as usual, in a dark suit, crisp light blue tie, and shiny black shoes. It was all she could do not to jump all over him in front of his secretary. The woman, who was young and gorgeous, stared at them curiously. Ramsey looked apologetic as he stopped before Jezebel. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I had a meeting that ran over.” Ramsey’s office was located in the same building as his spa, on the 5th floor.

  “It’s fine. Your waiting area is very...zen.” Leaning close to him, she murmured, “Almost like the Red Room.”

  He smirked, his nostrils flaring as desire sparked in his eyes. “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Leaning close to her ear, he murmured, “Did it conjure thoughts similar to the ones you have in the Red Room?” The Red Room had come to be much more than a massage room. It was their room. Whenever Ramsey told her to meet him there, Jezebel knew she was in for unspeakable pleasures...and they usually had to with an application of red cream. It was never about sex, but pleasure. They had sex everywhere else, but the Red Room wa
s for her pleasure.

  Jezebel chuckled throatily, eyeing Ms. Leggy-Blue-Eyed-Blonde-Secretary who was staring wide-eyed at them. She was new—possibly a temp. This was another reason she enjoyed Ramsey. He really didn’t care when it came to her. They could be anywhere, and he’d intimately lean down to talk to her or whisper something naughty in her ear. She’d given a speech for the SBA a week ago, and she’d had to leave early after Ramsey seduced her right in front of all the small business owners. He’d been very cool with it, hardly any touching, but the looks he’d given her, his words… Ramsey Stone had a mouth on him and he knew how to use it.

  “Did it?” he repeated.

  Licking her lips, she looked into his dark eyes and nodded. “I’d like to play with my phal.” She pronounced it “pal” but they both knew what she was talking about.

  Ramsey blinked once, twice, and then he gripped her hand, and began leading her back to his office. As they passed the secretary’s desk, he said, “Erika...take lunch.”

  “But Mr. Stone, I already had lunch.”

  “Take another one,” Jezebel encouraged, giving the blonde a toothy smile. As Erika’s cheeks heated, Jezebel knew she’d gotten the message. She might have been intimidated by the gorgeous woman if Ramsey ever seemed to notice women when they went out. The man didn’t. Even beautiful waitresses who warranted double-takes, he looked at once, before turning back to her like they weren’t supermodel gorgeous. She’d even told him she wouldn’t judge him for staring at one particular beauty but he’d seemed confused as to why he would want to stare... The man was surreal.

  “O-of course, Mr. Stone. I’ll be back at three.”

  As soon as he closed his door, Ramsey’s body pressed Jezebel into it and his lips devoured hers. She groaned and pushed at him slightly, needing space to undo his clothes.

  “You missed your phal?” he asked against her lips. She groaned when he rocked his lower body into hers, giving her a taste of said “phal.”

  “Yes.” She broke off to moan as he gyrated against her. “Missed him a great deal.”