Authors: Violette Dubrinsky

Tags: #Romance, #Thriller, #Contemporary

The Masseuse

When Jezebel Carter agreed to a spa session to appease her sickly sister, she expects one thing and one thing only: to leave tension-free. It’s a spa, after all. Instead, she leaves with memories of a gorgeous man with talented fingers, who probably doesn't work at the spa and is a possible pervert.

Ramsey Stone is no pervert. He's a licensed masseuse, and he wants more than one session with Jezebel. For a man who prides himself on his control, even he admits he's smitten with the beautiful, but headstrong financial executive. He's determined to have her, and before long, Ramsey succeeds on his personal quest to make Jezebel his.

There's just one problem: Ramsey harbors a secret that could tear Jezebel from his arms and upturn their lives.

The Masseuse

Violette Dubrinsky

The Masseuse

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Editor:
Cindy Davis

Cover Artist:
Mina Carter

Interior book design:
Bob Houston eBook Formatting

Any resemblance of characters to people, living or deceased is unintentional. All trademarks herein are the property of their respective owners and used only for the sake of creating a believable work of fiction.

Table of Contents

Foreword

The unedited version of this story was originally released for free under the title “Tension” and later, “The Masseuse (Tension).” I wrote it chapter-by-chapter and received great feedback from the readers so I decided to edit it and publish for those who wanted to have it as a keepsake on their e-readers and those who haven’t had the opportunity to read it yet.

Dedication

To the wonderful readers and reviewers of VC.

Thank you for your amazing feedback and for helping me turn a short story into a series.

“Things aren't always what they seem.

You must look closely or they just might surprise you.”

-Unknown

Chapter 1

If not for the fact that she’d been coerced and manipulated into accepting this “gift,” Jezebel Grace Carter would have left a long time ago.

The Osiris
day spa might be the talk of the city with its beautiful red rock walls, cinnamon-scented candles, soft, yellow and red lights, and indoor waterfalls, but her appointment had been for 2 p.m. sharp and already it was 2:10. If there was one thing Jezebel despised, it was lateness. A minute could be the difference between earning or losing millions, and she always played to win. As such, she was always early, and at the very least, on time. Had she been sloppy with appointments and deadlines, she wouldn’t have achieved such success by the age of thirty-two.

Sighing, Jezebel shifted on the comfortable massage table. At least she wasn’t waiting on a slab of board. The spa had gotten one thing right.

As it was, she couldn’t leave. In one of the many rooms nearby, her sister was enjoying a facial, complete with all the things they did to keep Delilah looking like a youthful twenty-three year old when she was pushing thirty.

Jezebel snorted. Her sister had always been into these things—superficial things—but Jezebel couldn’t blame her. A former model, Delilah had worked in a superficial industry. As the CEO of a small but growing hedge-fund, Jezebel knew many of her male counterparts judged her on her looks, but it was nothing compared to what Delilah had faced.

And now, with her sister’s illness...

A door opened. Jezebel peered over her shoulder. “I apologize, Ms. Carter,” a deep baritone began.

“Do you really expect to have a job after this?” she sniped, glad to finally have someone to lay into. “My appointment was for two o’clock sharp. It was for one hour. You are...” She looked at the clock on the wall. “...18 minutes late.” Gripping her towel, she rolled onto her side and sat up, carefully keeping her bits covered. “What’s your excuse?”

Standing beside one of the brass faucets that protruded from the stone wall was a tall man with dark, shoulder length hair. Although he faced away, she could see that he was dressed from head-to-toe in white. His shirtsleeves were a bit tight, revealing toned arms with serious muscle definition. He turned on the faucet and began washing his hands.

Angered further that he was ignoring her, Jezebel shook her head and jumped from the massage table. This was just damn ridiculous! She would not lay here and allow him to touch her when he had no respect for her time and didn’t even have the decency to apologize.

The water shut off and the man spun around. Jezebel froze. She’d seen attractive men before, had called some of them boyfriends, one even a fiancé, but she’d never seen a man who looked like him. He seemed of mixed heritage, with eyes that slanted ever so slightly, and skin that was a natural bronze, despite the fact that it was hard winter. His hair was bone-straight and combed away from a face that was both beautiful—almost feminine—yet distinctly masculine. His eyes were a deep onyx, his nose prominent and straight, his lips thin, but generously curved, and his jaw... She swallowed, needing to ease the dryness in her throat. His jaw was a work of art. In a face so beautiful, it was his jaw that added the intense masculinity to his face. It was square, not harshly so, but enough to complement his face.

A smile curved his lips and Jezebel quickly remembered herself. She looked away and stepped past him, heading for the door.

“Where are you going, Ms. Carter?”

His voice stopped her and with a shake of her head, she whirled on him. “What’s your name?” She’d need it to file the complaint.

He stared at her for long moments, before he dipped his head, almost respectfully, and said, “Ramsey.”

Jezebel briefly wondered if he was lying. Like hers, Ramsey was a version of a biblical name many Americans didn’t have. Her mother had been a stone-cold hippie when she and her sister were born, hence, their names were “unique” since no other mother wanted to associate those names with their innocent babies. Her mother had been and still was
eccentric.

“Last name?” Although uncommon, it was possible that the spa employed two Ramseys. She always covered her bases, and this was no different.

He lifted a brow. “If you want to complain about my lateness, for which I was about to apologize, you’ll only need that name.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t the first time a client complained about you?”

Ramsey only continued to look at her with those dark eyes and, feeling more generous than usual—he probably had a family to feed, definitely a wife from the look of him, and bills to pay—Jezebel decided to give him another chance.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, she demanded, “Why were you late?”

“You were originally scheduled with another masseuse, but he’s out on an emergency.”

“Oh.” If he was telling the truth, that was a legitimate excuse. Emergencies happened. “When did you know you had a two o’clock appointment?”

He smiled, revealing dimples and straight, white teeth. “At one fifty-five.”

“If you’re lying to me…”

“I have no cause to lie to you.”

She glared at him. “I’ll check your story with the girl at the front desk before I leave.”

“I’m sure you will.” He grabbed one of the neatly stacked towels beside the sink and gently wiped his hands. Moving over the massage table, he indicated it with a sweep of his hand. “Shall we begin?”

***

He was quite good, Jezebel thought with a moan. Her sister constantly raved about the massages at
The Osiris,
and Jezebel was realizing Delilah was right.

Ramsey started at her shoulders, and worked his way down, dipping his fingers in warm oil that smelled spicy, yet sweet, and running his hands across her back, arms, shoulders, calves, and even the balls of her feet. He used his thumbs to knead, to dig into her shoulders, working the knots in her muscles and making her relax. She’d never experienced this type of serenity before. This wasn’t her first massage. She’d had others, in various states and countries, but had stopped when she realized most were a waste of money. The closest she’d come to a massage like this was over a year ago in Jamaica. She’d been on vacation with Kirk, her ex-fiancé, and he’d paid for massages on the beach. That one in no way surpassed what was being done to her body now, but the slow crash of waves, the melodic whooshing of the late afternoon breeze, had put her in a state of mind similar to this.

Ramsey had pulled her towel down to her buttocks while he worked, and now he slid it lower.

Coming out of her haze, she gripped the towel. “What are you doing?”

“This is part of the massage, Jezebel.” At some point when he’d been working the knots out of her shoulders, she’d given him permission to use her first name. With his magical hands, she would have given him anything he wanted—within reason, of course.

Looking over her shoulder, she lifted a brow. “Exactly what kind of massage is this?”

Ramsey laughed. “A full body massage, as requested.”

Jezebel snorted. “As long as you know it’s a full,
outer
body massage.” She’d heard stories about masseuses offering other private services, and while this guy was attractive, she wasn’t looking to be anyone’s Sugar Mama.

She smirked.

“I’m here to relieve your tension.” He gently tugged on the towel and she released it. “That’s all.”

“Hmph.” The temperature in the room was warm so with her head buried in the face rest, Jezebel didn’t feel naked.

Ramsey’s magical hands moved to the dip in her back, working at the tense muscles there until she cried out at the pain-pleasure, and felt that part of her body relax under his unrelenting fingers.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“What?” Jezebel wondered if she was dreaming. Had she fallen asleep? The sound of water falling and the cinnamon candles were easily putting her into a comatose-like state.

“Tell me about yourself, Jezebel.”

“Hmm. Why?”

He chuckled softly. “Tell me why you are so tense.”

“Because I work.”

“As do I.”

She sighed. It was different. “You work in a spa...where your friends can easily ease your tension.”