by Pamela Yaye
“Hi, I’m Marcel Benoit. You must be Dominique’s younger, but equally stunning, sister Taryn.”
Giggling, she took the hand he offered. “That is correct. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marcel.”
“No, the pleasure is all mine. Your sister’s always raving about how smart and beautiful you are, and from what I can see, she’s telling the truth.”
Taryn’s mouth fell open, and Dominique choked back a laugh. Her sister obviously wasn’t used to meeting delicious-looking men, and she was staring at Marcel as if he’d dropped from the clear blue sky.
“I was just about to order a drink. Would you ladies like something from the bar?”
“I can’t. I was just leaving.” Taryn turned to her sister. “Dominique, you should bring Marcel to dinner tomorrow. There’s always tons of extra food, and the kids would love to have another guy to play around with.”
“I’m working a full day at Destination Wellness, and I promised my boss I’d lock up. I’ll be lucky if I get out of there by nine o’clock at night.” Dominique thought about her six, hour-long appointments and sighed. “Actually, I better get going. I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow.”
“You can’t leave now. We’re not finished with our discussion about the role sex plays in politics.” Marcel stared down at her. “How about I take you home a little later?”
“Thanks for the offer, Marcel, but I don’t need a ride. I drove myself here.”
“You independent women never give a guy a break, do you?”
The sisters laughed. Dominique gave Taryn a hug and promised to call her tomorrow. The sound of uproarious laughter drew her attention to the back of the room. Employers were packing up their displays, servers were clearing tables and a small collection of people were idling at the bar. Pleased with the contacts she’d made, she rummaged around in her handbag for her car keys. “How much longer do you plan to stay?”
“Not long,” he said, leading her through the doors. “I’ll walk you to your car and then come back.”
They strode down the corridor, chatting about some of the people they’d met at the mixer. Dominique couldn’t help but wonder how many women the attractive Frenchman had given his number to tonight. Her father had always told her to trust her instincts, and she had a good feeling about Marcel Benoit.
Inside the coatroom, Dominique quickly thumbed through the racks in search of her new leather jacket. “Here it is!” she said, slipping it on. “How do I look?”
Marcel gave her the once-over. “Like a bad-ass comic book character.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I always liked the idea of saving the day!”
“Did you know that you’re even more enticing when you laugh, ma belle reine?”
His eyes were aglow with fire and desire. It was hard to resist his smile, and nervous anticipation flowed through her when he touched her arm. To chase away the butterflies in her stomach, she sucked in a lungful of air and slowly exhaled. Sandalwood and musk were a pleasant combination, and Dominique loved his scent. They had a strong connection, a powerful connection, but she knew nothing good could come out of having a fling with Marcel. He was fresh off a relationship, and she wasn’t interested in being anyone’s rebound.
“I can’t explain it.”
Dominique furrowed her eyebrows. “You can’t explain what?”
“This thing between us. Something strange comes over me every time you’re around.”
I know exactly how you feel, she thought, wondering if his lips were as lush as they looked. If she was ever in the market for a one-night stand, Marcel Benoit would be the perfect candidate. With those hands and that mouth, he’d have no problem bringing her to orgasm—again and again.
“I’ve never been so taken by anyone before—and certainly not this fast. I don’t know about you, Dominique, but it’s like some imperceptible force is drawing us together.”
Convinced he was teasing, she scanned his face, fully expecting him to burst out laughing at any second. Instead of cracking up, he stepped forward. Their eyes aligned, held and openly probed each other. Then very slowly, seductively, he lowered his mouth. His lips, so soft and tender, brushed ever so lightly against hers.
Marcel stroked her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed. Needing more—so much more—she raised her chin and inclined her head to the right. Their sexual chemistry was through the roof, their coming together more powerful than a thousand explosives. Dominique felt alive, energized. She folded her arms around his neck, drawing him to her. She’d never lost control like this before, never wanted a man this desperately, but Marcel brought out her wild side.
Dominique could hardly remember where she was. This felt good, he felt good—better than she imagined. Her breasts were pressed flat against his chest, and she could feel his erratic heartbeat through her blouse. He was nervous, too, and the realization gave her confidence, pride, made her feel like she was in control. His mouth moved across her ear, down her neck, along her collarbone. This was unlike anything she’d ever done. Making out in the coatroom? What if someone walked in on them? What if…Marcel took her earlobe between his teeth and her thoughts turned to mush?
His hands cruised down her hips, and Dominique wondered where they’d go next. They were deep in the thick of it now—kissing, fondling, stroking—and she wasn’t going to stop until she had her fill. After eight long months without sex, she couldn’t get enough of his mouth, his hands, the feel of his erection. His lips were the sweetest, softest she had ever tasted, and when he tasted her neck, she moaned her pleasure. Her body throbbed, pulsed, became sensitive to his touch. There was nothing sexier than a hot, dark chocolate brother who was eager to please, and Marcel seemed determined to make this moment count.
Marcel pulled away, ending the kiss. Breathless, Dominique let her hands fall from around his neck. Desire showed on his face. He spoke very softly into her ear, but Dominique didn’t understand what he said. How could she when she’d been just seconds away from the most exquisite rapture ever? She’d never been kissed like that before, and like a child given a spoon of double fudge ice cream, she wanted more.
“Are you ready for me to walk you to your car?” Marcel asked, taking her hand in his.
Dominique blinked. Wishing she’d heard the first half of his sentence, she shook her head. “Can we go back to the bar? I think I’m going to need that drink after all.”
Chapter 7
“Welcome to Destination Wellness,” Dominique said, watching in amusement as the petite, hazel-eyed woman sashayed through the doors on five-inch heels. Last night, she’d made out with Marcel in the coatroom of the Sheraton Hotel, and now his ex-fiancée was strutting into the boutique. Wonders never cease, she thought, clearing the image of him from her mind. “You must be Sarita Bradshaw.”
“Thanks for squeezing me in. Jenna said that you’re the best, and after the week I’ve had, I’m in desperate need of a good massage.”
“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot that you’re both majoring in industrial design.”
“I was hoping your sister’s strong study habits would rub off on me but so far no luck.”
Laughing, Dominique turned and lifted one of the pink clipboards off the table. “Before we get started, I’ll need you to fill out this patient form,” she explained, handing her a ballpoint pen. “Ensure that you list all allergies and any medications you’re presently taking.”
Sarita plunked down on the couch and began writing. Struck by the staggering size of the engagement ring on her left hand, Dominique stared at it, mesmerized. If Sarita had dumped Marcel, why was she still wearing the engagement ring he’d given her? Had they gotten back together? Filled with remorse, she considered telling Sarita what had happened at First Fridays. “I had the pleasure—” she choked on the word, but quickly recovered “—of meeting your fiancé last night.”
“You did?” Confusion wedged between her eyebrows, wrinkling her cheeks. “You must have me mistaken with someone else. My f
iancé plays for the New York Giants, and he only comes to town once a month. In fact, he arrives tonight.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were engaged to Marcel Benoit.”
The muscles in Sarita’s face relaxed when she laughed. “I was, but I broke it off when I met my current boyfriend. Marcel’s a nice guy, but I need a man with some cheddar. I told him I wasn’t ready to settle down, you know, to soften the blow, but the truth is, he can’t afford me.”
Dominique coughed. Was this chick serious? Sarita Bradshaw was pretty, but her heavy makeup made her look cheap. Marcel was too good for her and not the other way around. Images of Will’s bachelor party surfaced, and shame rose up the back of her neck. A terrifying thought gripped her when she remembered how she’d treated Marcel after learning he wasn’t an international businessman. Did he think she was as superficial as Sarita?
“All done.” Standing, Sarita fluffed her short, curly hair. “I don’t mean to rush you, but my man’s coming home tonight, and I still have a lot of errands to do.”
Taking the clipboard, Dominique scanned the form to ensure nothing was missing. “Everything seems to be in order. Now if you’ll follow me, we can begin the session.”
Three hours later, Dominique strode into the staff bathroom and shut the door. More tired than she could ever remember, she lathered her hands with soap and turned the tap on full blast. What a day. There were times when she felt lucky to be working at such a popular spa, but today wasn’t one of those days.
Her troubles began with her first client, Tobias Carlson. He’d been blowing up her cell phone ever since the bachelor party, but she’d artfully dodged each call. This morning though, her luck had run out. The man wouldn’t take no for an answer, and after she turned down several more invitations for dinner, he promised he’d be back the next day. Her only female client of the day had been Sarita Bradshaw, and she’d turned out to be just as annoying as Tobias. Instead of lying back and enjoying her massage, she’d yakked nonstop about her summer nuptials. Marcel dodged a bullet with that one, she thought, shaking her head.
After drying her hands, she exited the washroom.
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” she said, finding the owner, Mrs. Tomlinson, behind the front desk. “I thought you left hours ago.”
“The phone’s been ringing off the hook, but I’m out of here for real this time.” She stood and reached under the desk for her purse. “Dominique, I really appreciate you agreeing to lock up tonight. I wish I could stay and help you count up the invoices, but my in-laws will disown me if I’m late for their anniversary party.”
“It’s no problem. I close up at the bank every day. I’m used to doing it by myself.”
Wearing a thoughtful expression, she surprised Dominique by asking what her plans were for the future. “Are you still interested in opening your own spa?”
“My life’s too hectic to even think about what I’m doing in five days, let alone five years from now! But, yes, having my own business has always been a dream of mine.”
Mrs. Tomlinson indicated for Dominique to sit down and joined her on the couch when she did. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about before I leave.”
Dominique shifted in her seat. Is she going to fire me? The thought filled her with panic. She needed this job and wasn’t above begging to keep it either. Working at Destination Wellness not only helped her make extra money but it gave her the opportunity to improve her techniques.
“I was wondering how you’d feel about managing a second Destination Wellness boutique.”
“I already have a job, Mrs. Tomlinson, and there’s no way I could do both.”
“I’m not asking you to. I can’t get into the details right now, but it would be a full-time position with complete benefits, three weeks’ paid vacation and a generous salary. The boutique isn’t opening for several more months, but I wanted to give you time to mull it over.”
“Why me?” Hearing the suspicion in her tone, she rephrased the question. “Electra and Suzette have been here twice as long as I have. Aren’t they interested in the position?”
“I haven’t asked them because I want you. I need someone with your determination as my right hand. You bring in more clients than anyone else, and you’re booked solid until the end of the year. That’s impressive. Should I go on, or have I made my case?”
Dominique laughed, thrilled that all of the hard work she’d put in hadn’t gone unnoticed. “No, please go on. This is a great ego boost,” she said with a laugh.
“Okay, I will. You motivate everyone around you to do better, and in the six months since you started at Destination Wellness, I’ve seen an eighteen percent increase in profits. Do you know how much money we’d make if you worked forty hours a week?”
Dominique had thought about it—just that morning in fact. But she wasn’t about to walk away from her managerial position at the bank. It was a sure thing. Destination Wellness was doing well financially, but what happened if her clients started going elsewhere? What then?
“My biggest regret in life is that I waited until I was forty to open my first boutique,” Mrs. Tomlinson confessed, running a hand through her thin, auburn braids. “Instead of stepping out on faith, I allowed fear to hold me back. I’m offering you the chance to be part of something special, and I hope that you’ll think seriously about what I’ve said tonight.”
Dominique promised she would.
“Great,” she said, rising to her feet. “We’ll talk about it again after the holidays.”
“Thank you, Ms. Tomlinson. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“I better hustle. I still have to go home and change for the party.” The boutique owner walked briskly through the reception area. Stopping abruptly, she snapped her fingers and wheeled back around. “I almost forgot. You had another client request.”
“For tonight?”
“I would have asked one of the other girls to stay, but the gentleman specifically requested you. I hope you don’t mind.”
Dominique did, but she wasn’t going to complain. She was a team player, someone the owner could count on. Wasn’t that why she was being offered a managerial position after only six months on the job? “Did the client mention which service he wanted?”
“Yes, a deep-tissue sports massage.” Her smile was apologetic. “I don’t want you sitting around here waiting, so if he isn’t here in the next ten minutes then lock up and go home.”
Worried that Tobias was the one who’d called in, Dominique asked, “Ms. Tomlinson, did the gentleman give you his name?”
“It’s Martin…no, no, that’s not it,” she said, shaking her head. “I think it’s…”
A light shone through the window, drawing her attention to the parking lot. A Jeep pulled up in front of the spa. And when Dominique saw who the driver was, her heart skipped a beat.
Marcel tried not to limp but lost the battle when a cramp gripped the back of his leg. He had more bumps and bruises than a Hollywood stuntman, and every step he took was racked with pain. Cursing his stupidity, he wondered what had possessed him to sign up for the all-day tennis tournament at his uncle’s country club. Though fifteen years his senior, a retired civil attorney had mopped the floor with him and walked away with the coveted first-place trophy.
Still lamenting his loss, he yanked open the door and stepped inside Destination Wellness. Glass sculptures, plush rugs and oval tables filled the spacious room. The scent of ginger was calming, but when his gaze fell across Dominique, the throbbing in his head shot straight to his groin. Desire billowed in his chest as his eyes traced the shape of her hips. The sister was a brick house. Thick. Stacked. Ample. Their first kiss had been brief, but Marcel knew if he hadn’t put a stop to it when he did, they would have ended up having sex on the coatroom floor. And there was nothing cool about getting busted by a potential employer.
“Are you the gentleman who called and made the eight-o’clock appointment?”
&
nbsp; Noticing the fair-skinned woman for the first time, he smiled and nodded in response. “I think I may have pulled a muscle today playing tennis.”
“I’m confident that you’ll enjoy your sports massage, and thanks for trying out Destination Wellness,” she said. After saying good-night, she pulled open the door and rushed out.
Marcel didn’t want to let on that he was excited to see her, so he waited for her to break the ice. Dominique wore a genial smile, but she was wringing her hands like a damp dishcloth. “It’s awfully quiet in here,” he said, peering down the hallway.
“That’s because you’re the last appointment of the day.”
“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” As the words left his mouth, he remembered his conversation with her sister at First Fridays. “Aren’t you having dinner with your family?”
“No, that wrapped up hours ago. The only thing left to eat is probably Taryn’s chicken pot pie. My sister thinks she’s the next Rachael Ray, but she’s the world’s worst cook!”
Dominique returned to the desk, picked up a clipboard and asked him a series of general health questions. “If anything else comes to mind, just let me know,” she said, leading him down the hall and into a dimly lit room that smelled of orchids. “Can I interest you in a glass of cucumber mineral water or a cup of herbal tea?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. I had drinks with my uncle at the country club.”
“Here we are. The Euphoria suite is our most popular suite in the spa.” Gesturing with her hands, she drew his attention to the extra-wide massage table. “And the only one that will accommodate your size.”
Marcel glanced around the room. Instrumental music played on built-in speakers, and the massage bed was draped in white sheets. An impressive collection of lotions, oils and creams covered the side table, and watercolor paintings hung from white, bordered walls.
“Do you have any injuries or sore spots that I need to be aware of before I begin?”
“No, I’m in perfect health.” He added, “Well, at least I was before that last tennis game.”
