The Masseuse

by Dubrinsky, Violette

  Jezebel blinked furiously.

  Leaning against the back wall, an easy smile curving his lips, was Ramsey. Today, he wasn’t dressed like a masseuse, however. He wore a sharp, fitted black suit with a navy blue tie, and tiepin.

  “Ms. Carter?”

  She blinked. “What?” Turning to the voice, she stammered before smiling and forcing herself to speak slowly, “I apologize. I didn’t hear the question.”

  A young woman repeated the question and Jezebel answered it quickly. She looked back to Ramsey to find him leaning against the wall still—she hadn’t imagined him—before fielding three more questions. Finally, the moderator put an end to the questions and announced that refreshments were available.

  After the moderator thanked her, Jezebel rushed from the podium, keeping her eye on Ramsey in case he bolted, and quickly approached him.

  “You!” she hissed.

  He smiled, revealing those straight, even white teeth. “Me.”

  “Who are you?” she snapped. After a few people turned to stare at them, she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Who are you?”

  “Ramsey,” he replied.

  “Well, that’s rich.” She glared. “No one knows a masseuse named Ramsey at The Osiris.”

  He frowned a bit before he nodded and smiled. “Have you been searching for me, Jezebel?”

  “Yes. I was trying to find your name to put it on a criminal complaint!”

  Dark eyes widened then narrowed.

  “Oh, don’t look so surprised!” She bit in her words and offered a polite smile and handshake to someone who wanted to thank her for speaking tonight.

  “She was marvelous, wasn’t she?” Ramsey added, earning a veiled glare.

  When the man left, she whirled on Ramsey—if that was even his name—again. “You didn’t think I was just going to let some pervert go around sticking his fingers in women—”

  Before she knew what was happening, his arm was around her waist, and she was being dragged—because she certainly didn’t walk—from the lounge.

  In the empty hallway, she stared at him in shock.

  He only looked down at her, and gave a brief smile. “Let’s get a few things out of the way. First, I am not a pervert.”

  She scoffed. “You’re not a masseuse and you go around feeling up women in spas. I’d say that makes you a pervert.”

  “I am a masseuse. If you want, I can show you my license and I do not go around feeling up on anyone—”

  “So I was special?” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.

  Ramsey licked his thin lips and smiled. “Yes.”

  “Oh, golly! Go me.” Whipping out her iPhone, she snapped a picture of his face before he even knew what she was doing. “What’s your name?”

  “Ramsey.” He stared down at her curiously.

  “Well, Ramsey, I’ve got your picture in my phone and as soon as I leave this place, I’m sending it over to my detective friend at the local precinct.”

  “For someone who makes a living listening to proposals, you have really terrible listening skills.”

  “Only when it comes to perverts.”

  Ramsey looked around, and then stared down at her. “I don’t see any perverts around here, Jezebel.”

  “Clearly—”

  One finger pressed against her lips, shocking her into silence.

  “I’m not a pervert.” She lifted a brow and he mimicked her. “One of the masseuses called in a few minutes before your appointment and they couldn’t find a replacement. I was on your floor and overheard them talking about you. I remembered you from this group and decided to fill in.”

  “No one at The Osiris knows you,” she hissed, ignoring his finger.

  He frowned. “Everyone at The Osiris knows me.”

  “Oh, of course they do. They know you so well they’ve been trying to bribe me out of filing a lawsuit against them for having someone unknown man massage me.”

  Although the frown faded, he seemed perplexed. She pulled her face away, forcing him to drop his hand.

  “Why do you think everyone at The Osiris knows you?”

  Ramsey stared at her for long moments, before he smiled and held out his hand for a handshake. She looked at it in confusion, before turning her gaze back to him.

  “Ramsey Stone,” he murmured. The door opened and to keep up appearances, Jezebel caught his hand. His grip was strong, and even as the people kept their distance, he refused to let her pull away.

  “Should this mean something to me?” she finally hissed.

  “Yes.” He grinned.

  “What?” Jezebel shook her head. Was she going to have to pry it out of him?

  “You’re a smart woman, Jezebel.”

  “I know that.” She had three degrees—all from Ivy League institutions—to prove it.

  “I told you. I’m not a pervert. I overheard them talking about Bryan’s emergency and took his place...and now, here I am, at a members-only event for the Small Business Association.”

  She frowned. His smile grew wider. Ramsey Stone, she thought with disgust. Stone. She repeated the name over and over in her brain. She’d done her own research on The Osiris and knew it was owned by K.J. Stone. Coincidence? She thought not.

  “Ah.” She smirked and shook her head. So it seemed Mr. Ramsey Stone here thought because his parents owned the spa, he could walk into any room and feel up paying customers. Maybe he’d done it before and it had gone well. It had probably always gone well. Ramsey was extremely good looking, standing at 6’2 or 3, wearing that confident smile, and looking at her with those dark, beautiful eyes, but she wasn’t fooled. She’d read somewhere that most rapists were handsome and charming. “So you think that because your parents own the business, you’re exempt from criminal liability?”

  His grip loosened and she snatched her hand back.

  “Excuse me?” He seemed confused.

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not how the law works, Mr. Stone.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You can’t pretend to be a masseuse, finger random women, and think you’re going to be fine just because your parents own the place and you’re decent to look at.”

  He blinked down at her before he chuckled softly.

  “Oh, this is funny?” She nodded and held up her phone. “I hope you think it’s funny when the boys in blue come to pick you up from that penthouse suite you currently occupy.”

  He brought his mirth under control to say, “You are truly something else, Jezebel.”

  “You are truly going to jail, Mr. Stone.”

  She turned on her heel to walk away, thinking to make a few quick rounds, before getting the picture to the detective, but he was suddenly against her back. One arm caught her around the waist, locking her to him as he spoke, his voice low, but firm, “I’m not pretending to be a masseuse, Jezebel. I am a licensed masseuse.”

  “Doesn’t change anything.”

  “And my parents don’t own The Osiris, I do.” His grip tightened when she was about to speak and she bit it in. “My name is Kang Jae Ramsey Stone. K.J. Stone.”

  Well, that made sense, she guessed. She’d only run internet searches for Ramsey. It wasn’t like she’d had a last name because he’d said she’d only need Ramsey. “In English speaking countries, I use the name Ramsey. I hate having my birth name butchered.”

  She heard the smile in his voice and feeling an answering one on her lips, snapped, “That doesn’t change the fact that you were completely inappropriate.”

  His breath tickled her ear and she barely resisted the urge to shudder as he murmured, “You were tense, Jezebel.”

  “That’s what the massage was for.”

  “No.” He was so close she could smell his clean, citrusy scent. Jezebel swallowed. Was that cologne? She didn’t know cologne could smell like that. She shook herself. “The massage was for the tension in your back, your buttocks, your thighs, your legs...” He stopped, and turned her in his arms. His eyes blazed and she found herse
lf unable to look away. “You had tension elsewhere.”

  He didn’t have to say it. She knew. He’d been the cause of it. She suspected he knew that as well. Jezebel swallowed, inhaled deep and briefly looked away. “Do you do that for every client?”

  Ramsey shook his head. “I haven’t taken a client in years, but even before that, no.” He lowered his voice. “Red cream should only be used on clients who really need it.”

  She pushed away from him. Was he calling her desperate?

  He came forward. “No.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” He smirked. “I used the red cream on you because I wanted to ease all of your tension.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes were warm when he responded, “I saw you a handful of times before you came to my spa, and each time, you seemed like you needed a massage.”

  And now he was calling her stiff. Stiff and desperate? Was he purposely trying to insult her?

  “No…again.”

  “What?”

  “You’re doing it again, thinking something negative.” When she only stared at him in shock, he grinned. “So no—don’t do it.”

  The door opened and the moderator, Edward, stuck his head out. “Ms. Carter, can I borrow you for a few moments? Some people have follow-up questions they hoped you’d be able to answer.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be there in a few.”

  “Of course.” He disappeared.

  Jezebel was thinking of what to tell Ramsey when he said, “Have dinner with me.”

  She blinked up at him. What?

  He chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re a beautiful, interesting woman. Have dinner with me.”

  She shook her head. No. She was not having dinner with him. What would they talk about? Red cream and tension? She thought not.

  “Why not?”

  Jezebel blinked up at him. “I don’t have to have a reason for not going out with you.”

  Unperturbed, he murmured, “If you want to go mingle with your reverent fans, you’ll give me one.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” He grinned and put one hand on the wall beside her head. The other hand followed, on the other side of her head. It was too intimate a pose. “Why won’t you have dinner with me?”

  “Maybe because I’m married?”

  “You’re not.” At her raised brows, he shrugged. “No ring on your finger and your biography mentioned no husband or children.”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “No.” He winked. “What other excuses are you willing to try?”

  “I’m in a committed relationship.”

  He smirked. “Maybe you should send him down to the spa for a batch of red cream.”

  “I don’t have to have a reason!” She glared up at him. “Now, move your hands!”

  Ramsey didn’t. He only smiled. Was she amusing him? Because she wasn’t finding this funny.

  “I’ll cook for you,” he finally said, removing his hands. “We’ll have dinner around 7...tomorrow night.”

  Jezebel couldn’t help her laugh. He was insane. Clearly. A pretty face and gorgeous body did not sanity make. She learned something new every day.

  “I see you agree.”

  “No.” She spun on a heel and grabbed the doorknob.

  “I’ll text you the address.”

  She paused. “You have my number?”

  “Of course.” Ramsey seemed confused as to why she thought he wouldn’t.

  “And you couldn’t send me a message once in the past week?” she hissed. He could have ended the madness with one text.

  “Ah.” He nodded as if understanding. “I was out of the country most of last week. Business. You understand.” He suddenly smiled. “But it makes me happy to know that you missed me.”

  Jezebel shook her head and pulled the door open. K.J. Ramsey Stone was insane, and she wasn’t having it.

  No matter how beautiful the man, crazy was crazy and she was too sane to deal.

  Chapter 3

  Maybe Ramsey Stone isn’t so bad after all...

  That was where her train of thought was taking her as she sat across from Lance Gold, struggling hard to keep her focus on his handsome face. Hell, she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

  Jezebel knew better than to go on a blind date orchestrated by her sister, especially with one of Delilah’s friends, but she was, for lack of a better word, bored. She worked, she went home, she worked some more, and then she went to bed. She’d enjoyed the monotony for the past year but now, she wanted something different.

  After her last encounter with Ramsey at the SBA seminar, she’d ignored him. She hadn’t sent his picture to her friend at the precinct after verifying that he was as he’d said, but she hadn’t taken him up on his offer for Saturday dinner either. She had no intention of going anywhere with him because well—her body heated as she thought of his fingers stimulating her on the masseuse table. She unconsciously clenched her legs.

  Jezebel frowned. Because of that! It was one thing for a masseuse to massage you and maybe even take a few liberties in the name of tension; it was quite another for said masseuse to then ask you out. Had he approached her like a regular guy and asked for a date, it would have been different. She’d like to think she would have given him a chance. He was an attractive man, too good looking, but she’d never held beauty or lack of it against anyone before. While the face and body initially captivated, she’d learned long ago it was the personality that kept a person interested.

  “...and so I had to tell them that these are my natural eyes.” Lance laughed and his silver-grey eyes twinkled. Jezebel couldn’t help her trill of laughter, though it was not at his joke. From the moment she’d sat across from Lance at The Blue Bass, an exclusive restaurant in New York’s Greenwich Village, he’d been talking about his physical appearance. She’d learned what type of product he used to get his hair so bouncy, what he used on his skin, what clothes he wore...and now that his eyes were not contacts, as if she’d asked.

  “How was your meal?” Lance asked with a smile.

  Jezebel stared at her half-eaten plate. “Good.” She could make an excuse and get up, leave now, but she’d agreed to give him a full hour and according to her watch, he still had ten—nine—minutes. “Yours?”

  He’d eaten the entire steak so she assumed it was good. “It was a bit salty, but otherwise, good.”

  “Ah.” She smiled.

  Lance smiled, and then blinked at her. As he continued to stare, Jezebel decided that 55 minutes was enough time. She wasn’t interested and she doubted he was too. She reached for her bag, nestled at her feet, and was about to tell him she had to run, when a deep baritone at her back made her freeze. “Ms. Carter, what a surprise seeing you here.”

  For a moment, Jezebel thought she’d imagined him. Was she really that bored and sexually repressed that her mind was conjuring Ramsey, the most excitement she’d had in long time? But then, he stepped from behind her chair into her line of sight and smiled easily.

  He looked...nice, was her first thought.

  It was obvious he’d come directly from work because he wore navy work pants, a matching vest, and a slightly crumpled long sleeved shirt. It was also obvious that everything on his body was made for that body because she could see the imprint of his toned chest and arms through his clothes. He’d also removed the work tie and undone two buttons of his shirt, making him look a bit more casual and lending even more sexual appeal to a man who didn’t need it! And then the second thought rushed her: was he stalking her?

  As she stared at him, Ramsey turned away and stretched his hand out to...what was his name? Jezebel swallowed and blinked. She’d just blanked. Never before had she blanked over a man and she’d just done it. Great, just how many other firsts was she supposed to have over Ramsey Stone?

  “I apologize for the intrusion.”

  Lance
stood and took his hand, telling him it was fine. Lance, who was a few inches shorter than Ramsey, sized the other man up, his gaze lingering a few seconds too long on Ramsey’s groin area. Jezebel wondered if her sister had been wrong about him liking women. Because Jezebel refused to date models, Delilah had set her up with one of her agents, who was no better than a model. “Ramsey...Ramsey Stone.”

  “L-lance Gold...and it’s nothing,” Lance murmured.

  Jezebel shook her head. Yes, Lance was either gay or bisexual with a preference for hot men, but whichever way, he was obviously interested in Ramsey.

  If he sensed it, Ramsey gave no indication, releasing the other man’s hand and giving her his full attention. His dark eyes twinkled, but once more, she caught sight of something there that sent a chill through her body. It should terrify her, she guessed, but it only stabbed directly at her center. Jezebel wanted to scold herself. Here she sat, being turned on by a potential stalker and at very least, a strange, strange man! She needed to get laid, or use the rabbit vibrator she’d purchased after reading an article that said every woman should have one. The thing was gathering dust in her bottom drawer.

  “Ah…how do you two know each other?” Lance asked.

  Jezebel tossed him a glare. He didn’t care. She could tell from the way his eyes never left Ramsey. He just wanted to know about him.

  “Jezebel and I are old friends.” Ramsey placed a hand into one pocket, a comfortable, relaxed pose. He was good at lying. He didn’t even look antsy. “In fact, the last time I saw her, she promised to meet me for dinner.”

  “I never promised to meet you.”

  Ramsey focused his attention on a thoroughly captivated Lance. “She did, but something came up last minute, and I haven’t seen my friend in close to a week.”

  Lance grinned and wriggled his brows. “An entire week?”

  Seriously? Jezebel thought. He was flirting with Ramsey in front of his date? Yes, Lance Gold was a douche.

  “Imagine that.” Ramsey smirked and turned his attention back to Jezebel. “I came over to tell her we should reschedule.” To Lance, he murmured, “Jezebel is a very busy woman. It’s almost impossible to make an appointment with her. In fact, I was surprised to see her having dinner with you.”