by Marcia James
So far, her new coworkers and clients had taken her at face value. No one had questioned her fluent English but Suzi was making an effort to thicken her slight accent anyway. Except for the other masseuses—an international lot who appeared to have cornered the market on unfriendliness—the sex club’s staff was an amicable bunch.
Suzi had written the name of each employee she’d met on a list she was compiling for the investigation. The list was in her purse, along with a detailed sketch she’d drawn of the building’s layout. As she gleaned more information, she added it to her cache of data. For safekeeping, she’d locked her purse in a drawer built into the massage table.
Saturday night, her first on the job, Suzi had met Dalton’s Mistress Bella. The woman, a real knockout, had introduced herself as Domino and had seemed quite friendly. Since that meeting, Suzi had made a note of Domino-Bella’s license plate number and looked forward to passing it to Dalton to check out. Was Bull’s interest in the dominatrix totally professional?
With surprising efficiency for a novice masseuse—if she did say so herself—Suzi prepared the room for her next client. She stripped the sheet off the massage table, replaced it with a clean one and tucked the sheet around the massage pad. The vibrating pad had been a hit with all of her customers so far. Then she made sure she had enough warm massage oil and vibrating toys. The final item on her mental checklist was the room’s atmosphere. A quick glance around verified the lights were properly dimmed, the thermostat set on a balmy seventy-two degrees and the New Age music CD programmed for continuous play. Damn, was she proud or dismayed at how well she was handling this job?
The door to the room stood ajar so Suzi noticed the flash of white uniform before Bruno, one of the club’s bouncers, knocked on the doorframe.
“Got a new member for you.” He handed her the file. “Just signed up and asked for a massage.”
“Thanks.” Suzi smiled, determined to apply the aggressive friendliness that had served her well all her life. “You’ve been here a long time. Did you get any strange vibes off this guy?”
Bruno slipped his hands into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Not really. He’s a big guy but he seems pretty safe, just kinda intense. Some bigwig from the State Department. I’ll stay close just in case.”
Suzi couldn’t stop the concern that clouded her face and the bouncer noticed. “Hey,” he said, “I doubt you’ve got anything to worry about but if something happens, just hit that panic button on the wall.” He pointed to a discreet red button to the right of the room’s light dimmer.
“I will,” Suzi assured him. “It’s good to know you’re a button push away.”
Bruno gave her a crooked smile and left the room to retrieve her next client. Suzi flipped open the file and scanned the brief contents. The top document resembled a doctor’s office form, detailing the client’s statistics. “Calvin T., six-two, one hundred and ninety pounds, thirty-eight-years-old, male, African-American, State Department Division Director…” She noticed he’d signed up for a single versus a couples membership.
A noise distracted Suzi. She glanced up to see the door to the massage room across from hers open and a florid-faced, balding man emerge. He looked vaguely familiar but the vapid smile on his face made him difficult to place. One of her coworkers, a voluptuous Slavic masseuse named Ilona, smiled up at the man and gave him a deep kiss. As the customer walked away, all the woman’s pleasant mannerisms disappeared. Ilona shot a cold look at Suzi before heading back into her room. Oh well, the detective thought, her guerrilla friendship tactics couldn’t work on everyone.
* * * * *
Calvin stopped before the door his uniformed escort had indicated—Massage Room Three. He gritted his teeth and ordered his nerves to calm down. It was just a massage. As a quarterback for Cornell, he’d had plenty of them after his football games. Getting a rubdown was no big deal.
Stepping into the softly lit room, Calvin tried not to feel trapped when his escort closed the door behind him with an ominous click. He swept the room with his gaze, noting the pleasant pastel color scheme, the large massage table dominating the space and the built-in shelves holding a painter’s palette of colored bottles and products. At the far end of the room was a door opening onto a bathroom and a decorative screen he assumed shielded the dressing area. Low instrumental music mimicking nature sounds played in the background and the scent of something woodsy and soothing permeated the air.
At that moment a young Asian woman carrying a stack of hand towels walked around the screen and approached him. The smile on her generous mouth appeared genuine and the steam rising from the heated towels gave her an ethereal air. Mist clung to her chin-length black hair, which swung around her heart-shaped face and framed her enormous dark eyes. She was dressed in what he thought of as fancy workout clothes—spandex pants and a crop top. Apparently club-issued, the Xecutive Branch logoed, pale green outfit hugged her athletic body. As she reached him, the woman juggled the towels into the crook of her left arm and extended her right hand.
“Hi. I’m Suzi. I understand it’s your first time here.”
Calvin took the proffered hand and was surprised at her firm, warm handshake. Searching his mental case files—Suzi, new club employee, divorced, twenty-eight-years-old, Korean, possibly a spy—he forgot to end the handshake. The object of his scrutiny cleared her throat.
“Oh sorry.” He dropped her hand and ignored the hot flush spreading over his face. “Yes, I just joined the club. My name’s Calvin.”
“Well, Calvin, if you’re after a massage, you need to change,” Suzi indicated the screened-in dressing area before she placed the towels in a small refrigerator-like warming appliance. “Once you’re ready, just get on the table. Any preferences I should know about?”
He had to establish the ground rules but the words seemed to stick in his throat. “I’m here for a massage…you know, just a massage since I have this high-stress job. I’m not looking for, uh, anything more than a massage.”
The woman’s smile grew broader, something Calvin would’ve said was impossible. “We aim to please.”
He nodded and went behind the screen to change. Hanging on wall pegs were several massage wear options, including a terry-cloth robe and a towel wrap that could be wound around the waist and Velcroed shut. Calvin stripped down to his briefs, chose the towel wrap and fastened it on. With a fortifying breath, he stepped around the screen and approached the table.
Suzi glanced up from mixing drops from a green bottle into the massage oil and her gaze seemed arrested by his bare chest. God, he wanted to turn heel and get dressed. Instead, Calvin walked to the end of the table.
“How do you want me?” He immediately regretted his phraseology but it did break the spell. Suzi blushed and looked down as though combining massage oil scents was as delicate a job as defusing a bomb.
“Well, is there any part of your body… I mean, do you have any specific stiffness…” Suzi trailed off looking mortified and Calvin remembered she was new. Maybe she hadn’t had time to become jaded, he thought, taking pity on the young woman.
“Well, my shoulders are tight and my back muscles are pretty tense,” he said. “I have a desk job, lots of computer work, and can’t seem to get the kinks out myself.”
“Oh then please lie facedown so I can work on your neck and back.” She appeared relieved.
He got onto the table and realized it was not only well padded but heated. Immediately, the warmth began to seep into his damaged right knee, loosening the stressed tendons. After a week cramped in the car, the knee was knotted and painful. Maybe this massage wouldn’t be such a bad experience after all.
“Scoot forward and put your face here.” Suzi indicated a doughnut-shaped extension at the end of the table. “It will support the weight of your head and keep your neck in alignment without suffocating you,” she explained. “And it allows you to lay your arms back alongside your body.”
As she spoke, Suzi placed
his arms in the relaxed position she’d described. The feel of her warm hands brought a rush of goose bumps to his skin.
“Are you chilled?” she asked.
“No.” He lifted his head from the extension. “I’m just getting acclimated after being out in the cold.”
“This will help.” Suzi held out two polished, egg-shaped rocks for him to examine. “We use these heated stones in some massages.”
She placed one on each of his upturned palms. The pleasurable sensation of the smooth, almost hot stones was indescribable. Calvin lowered his face back onto the doughnut extension with a sigh. This was nothing like the rubdowns performed by his college football trainer.
“Now, I’m going to start with a scalp massage and then move down to your neck and back.” Her voice was soothing, blending with the New Age music, and her words were spoken softly, almost loverlike in their intimacy. “If you prefer, I won’t speak or we can talk as long as you don’t talk about anything that has you tensing up again.”
Calvin would’ve loved to just enjoy the massage but his investigation was too important. He had to get her talking.
“A conversation would be nice.” He almost groaned as she slid her strong but slender fingers over his temples and through his hair. She stroked his scalp and down his neck, and his brain turned to mush.
“Tell me about you,” Suzi said. “What makes you happy?”
What makes me happy? Calvin was confused. Shouldn’t she be asking about his job? Getting him to spill some secrets?
“Well,” he began, his voice muffled by the extension, “I really like my job even though it’s stressful.”
Suzi began to use her knuckles to loosen the tendons in the back of his neck. Blessed relief.
“What kind of work do you do?”
Calvin collected his muddled thoughts. “Uh, I’m a director at the State Department. I work with a lot of top-secret information. Stuff I really can’t talk about.”
“Okay.” Suzi lifted her hands from his neck. “Now, I’m going to apply some massage oil, if you’re not allergic.”
“No problem,” he managed to say, when what he wanted to do was ask her to return those talented hands to his body. Damn. Maybe if he could pretend Suzi was a chiropractor, he could enjoy the benefits of this massage without remorse. Yeah, that was going to happen.
Thanks to the extension supporting his face, Calvin couldn’t see what she was doing. When warm liquid was dribbled across his shoulders, he jerked slightly.
Suzi chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. “I’m sorry. The heated oil is supposed to be a nice sensation.”
He relaxed again. “It is. I guess I’m not used to this type of massage. The only ones I’ve ever had were in college when I played football. And this massage is very different.”
She spread the oil in circles, encouraging his bunched muscles to relent. The scent of the lotion, an intoxicating mixture of sandalwood and other spices, filled his nostrils. Calvin inhaled deeply.
“Is this massage different as in good different or bad different?” Suzi asked, sounding anxious.
She was leaning over his upper back, pressing and rubbing. He thought he could feel the slightest tingle of her breath on his skin and the sensation had a rebellious part of his body growing taut. His sex drive had been comatose since Pam’s death. This was a helluva time for it to show signs of life. Calvin shifted slightly and was glad the table was well padded.
“Good different,” he admitted.
“That’s great.” Suzi trickled more of the warm oil down to the small of his back, following it with her clever hands. After being sandwiched for days in the car, his muscles practically purred.
“So, where did you go to college?” she asked.
“Cornell.” He was amazed she’d given up so easily on getting details about his government job. “I majored in political science.”
“Plan on running for president someday?” Suzi teased.
Calvin laughed, the sound rusty. He hadn’t found much to laugh about since his wife’s prolonged illness and passing. “No. I’ll leave that to the glory-seekers and the saints.”
She worked the oil into the small of his back, sliding her fingertips under the top of the towel wrap. At first the tension clung stubbornly to his muscles but then her careful kneading loosened the knots. The sensations were wonderful, sinful, and Calvin experienced the familiar guilt. How could he still be alive, enjoying life like this when Pam was dead? Suzi’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“Do you have a family?”
“I’m a widower. No children,” he said in an abrupt way he hoped would discourage further questions.
“Oh I’m so sorry.”
Calvin was surprised at how sincere her words sounded. He’d received his share of hollow condolences over the years but this woman’s quiet sympathy struck a chord within him.
Neither spoke as Suzi continued to work. He heard her open the refrigerator-like box and then she was laying hot towels across his neck and back. He sighed again as the delicious heat soaked into his body.
“So, what’s with those Redskins?”
Calvin snorted at her blatant attempt to lighten the mood and she laughed aloud.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re a Ravens’ fan?” Suzi said.
“Bite your tongue,” he answered, immediately regretting the image that brought to his mind. He had no business imagining this woman’s tongue.
She laughed again as she poured the lotion down his left arm. Suzi smoothed the oil, massaging the muscles on the back of his arm before lifting his limb to spread the liquid onto the front. He tried to help her by raising his arm. Suzi stopped and admonished him.
“You’re tensing up that way. Just let me handle the weight of your arm.” She propped his arm over one hip. “See, I can brace you like this and still reach your whole arm.”
Calvin, trying to ignore the press of her trim body against his skin, attempted the self-hypnosis he’d learned at Quantico. He made an effort to relax his entire body from the top of his head to his fingertips and toes. Again, one very independent part of his anatomy ignored the signal to chill out.
Suzi slipped the cooling stone from his left palm and gently stroked his hand. It was beyond stimulating and Calvin gasped at the intensity of the rush.
“The human hand is chock-full of nerve endings.” Suzi worked each finger. “Perfect for acupressure.”
She completed her ministrations on his left hand, walked around the table and worked on his right arm. Calvin was floating, the way he’d felt when he’d gotten a shot of muscle relaxers after his football injury. The feeling was great.
“So, we’ve exhausted the topics of politics and sports,” Suzi said. “Would you like to talk about the weather?”
Hidden within the doughnut extension, Calvin’s mouth curved in a smile. This woman’s cheery attitude was contagious.
“Tell you what, before you ask about my favorite color and my sign, why don’t you tell me about yourself,” he suggested.
“I have enough trouble keeping my clients awake during a massage without boring them with my life’s story,” she said.
Completing his right arm and hand, Suzi placed another heated stone in each palm and covered his upper limbs with hot towels. He felt cocooned in warmth. Then she dribbled massage oil on the backs of his thighs. The movement of her hands on his flesh so close to ground zero had the warmth morphing into something hotter, something wrong. He shifted away from her stroking hands.
“Sorry, I’m a little ticklish,” he lied.
“No problem. Let’s try this instead.”
She began to lightly strike the muscles of his thighs with the side of her hands, a chopping motion that shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. Then Suzi used her elbows to press down into cramped calf muscles, which gave way in relief under the gentle assault. Despite his efforts not to, Calvin kept imagining her leaning across his lower body, her firm breasts inches from his skin. His thoughts t
urned the non-sexual deep massage sensual.
“Damn.” He had no right picturing another woman’s breasts. Calvin realized he’d muttered the curse aloud when Suzi hesitated mid-chop.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he reassured her. “I was saying it feels damn good.”
She continued to massage his legs, ending with an application of hot towels on his lower limbs. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed the tension in his third leg. He couldn’t remember the last time his body had functioned with such disdain for his mind.
“Now, the piece de resistance.” She exchanged hot towels for the cooling ones on his neck and back. “I’ll go easy since you’re ticklish.”
Moving to the end of the table, Suzi drizzled warm oil down the sole of his left foot. He bit back a groan and tried to steel himself against the pleasurable ordeal. If she stroked her fingers from heel to toes, Calvin was afraid he might levitate off the table. Instead, she used her thumbs to press into the tendons and muscles of his foot. It was as close to an orgasm as he’d gotten in years. Disgusted, he reproached himself for his lack of control.
Without speaking, Suzi worked his left ankle and loosened his Achilles tendon. When he was about two seconds from moaning aloud, she switched to his right foot. Nothing in Calvin’s FBI survival training had prepared him for being tortured with such physical pleasure. Maybe this was how the woman got her information. Turn the customer into a quivering mass of nerve endings and then pump him for top-secret data.
But she wasn’t asking any questions. In a somnolent daze, he heard her walk away from the table and then return. Suzi removed the warm towels covering his body—all except the towel wrap around his waist, which he doubted he could have stopped her from taking if she’d wanted, given his semi-conscious state. Slowly, she worked his arms into what he realized was the terry-cloth robe and then settled the soft garment against his back.
