by Opal Carew
Shelby barely contained her dismay. Upon her table lay the half-naked form of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rude from that morning. His upper body was bare, a sheet draped over his lower back, buttocks, and legs. She glanced at the clothing rack on the wall to confirm his identity. The same black jacket and dark trousers hung from a hook, along with a blue shirt.
She stared back down at him and resisted the urge to lean into his ear and yell at him to get the hell out of her clinic. That would scare the impoliteness out of him. But her professionalism wouldn’t let her. Word of mouth traveled fast, and this guy already didn’t like her. She frowned at the thought of him telling people bad things about her business and could almost see the dollar signs flying away.
Grimacing at his unfairly handsome face, she wondered why he’d ventured into her place. Seattle had more than fifty massage clinics open at any given time, yet Mr. Rude managed to pick hers. Some cosmic joke at work, surely. She swore under her breath.
“I’m going to turn your head so you don’t strain your neck.” She turned his face back into the doughnut-shaped pillow. Frowning at the feel of his skin under her palms, she felt uncomfortable with the heat that raced up her arms. She shook off the strangeness and focused on the rest of the massage.
As she continued to work on his back, she couldn’t help noticing the smooth muscles and power in his build. He had a very nice body, she thought with objectivity. As a person comfortable and familiar with human physiology, she was a good judge of such things. And a person would need to be blind and plain oblivious not to see that this man kept in very good shape. He had wonderful tone and definition. Working on him was actually very easy due to his fluidity.
As she brought clinical detachment to the forefront of her thoughts, she scrambled to bury the needy woman inside her screaming to see how his ass might feel under her hands.
“Does that feel all right?” she asked softly. She didn’t want him to know she wasn’t Denise. He needed to get his money’s worth and at the same time think positively about Bodyworks. If she gave him a great massage, he’d be too relaxed to be angry with her when he paid her at the session’s end and recognized her. She hoped.
“Mmm,” he mumbled. “That feels great.”
The sexy rasp of his voice made her belly flutter. Her massage wasn’t in the least bit sexual, but she couldn’t help feeling arousal at contact with his body. God, I am not getting turned on by this guy. He’s a lump of clay, something I can mold into healthy muscles.
She continued to work on his back. Then she changed position to work on his legs, keeping the sheet in place over his firm, tight ass. Buttocks, not ass. Ass is sexy. Buttocks is professional. She felt like a mental patient at odds with herself. Not the best time for slutty Shelby to make an appearance.
“I need to move the sheet so I can get to your legs.” Even as she said it she hesitated, waiting for his assent, half hoping he’d insist he didn’t need any more of her time, half wishing he’d tell her to get rid of the sheet and hop on.
“Go ahead,” he rumbled. “I’m half asleep as it is.”
Shelby gritted her teeth and moved the sheet. Then she worked on the muscles of his legs, moving over his hamstrings and calves. They were rock hard and incredibly sexy—firm, athletic. Not sexy. Clients were never sexy. Rule number one of massage.
“Are you a runner?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Mmm, hmm. Every day I can.”
“Your legs are very toned.” She worked a rough section of his hamstrings. Smoothing over the fascia, the connective tissue covering the muscle, she released a build-up of toxins in his body. He sighed, and she moved down toward his calves, then to his feet.
He shifted a bit, and she stopped.
“Does it tickle?”
He mumbled a yes, and she grinned. Maybe she could torture him by tying him down and tickling his feet, demanding an apology for her ruined coffee. Or better yet, she could tie him up and blindfold him, then have her wicked way with him with none the wiser.
Oh hell. Her sexual hiatus had come to a crashing halt. For some stupid reason, this jerk had jumped her libido but good. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind all day, and she’d tried. Now, after touching him… She glanced down at her nipples, horrified to see them through her shirt, standing at attention.
She’d blame her obvious arousal on the air conditioner if she had to. She might be able to ignore that, but the tingling between her legs and her racing pulse? Not so much.
Why did Mr. Rude have to have the best ass she’d ever not seen, the sexiest legs she’d ever felt, and the smoothest muscle she’d ever touched?
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, calling on every ounce of professionalism and neutrality she could muster. It really wouldn’t do to have her client catch her ogling his body. She could lose her license for less.
Shelby opened her eyes and reined in her crazy impulses, determined to give him what he paid for. But she needed him to turn over to finish. Good God, she could all too easily imagine giving him a “happy ending” and turning into the cliché from hell.
Let it go, woman. Finish the massage, then go find a man.
“Okay, Shane. Now I need you to turn over so I can do your front.” Ignore the innuendo. Ignore the innuendo.
He visibly tensed, and she held her breath, praying.
JUICY
Juicy
A Twilight Teahouse Story
by
T.J. Michaels
Juicy (Twilight Teahouse) ©
Copyright 2014 by T.J. Michaels
First Electronic Printing – July 2014
ISBN (13): 978-0-9857874-5-5
ISBN (10): 0-9857874-5-7
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
All books copyrighted to the author. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Praise for the novels of TJ Michaels
Silk Road
“An action packed thriller too hot to miss!” ~Lisa Renee Jones, national bestselling author
“Silk Road twisted and turned flawlessly. The characters were nothing short of fantastic.” ~Booked and Loaded Reviews
“SILK ROAD is an entertaining urban fantasy romance that promises to captivate readers as good, evil, and something in between converge in a real page turner from beginning to end.” ~R. Barri Flowers, bestselling Harlequin author of MURDER IN HONOLULU and MURDER IN MAUI
The Vampire Council of Ethics Series
“Interesting new world. Hot stuff!” ~Shayla Black, New York Times bestselling author
“CARINIAN’S SEEKER was a highly erotic, thrilling suspenseful, paranormal read that will blow your mind.” ~Fallen Angel Reviews
“It had me rooting for their happy-ever-after as much as cheering their kick-ass assignments” ~Just Erotic Romance Reviews
“T.J. MICHAELS has done an astounding job of crafting a steamy hot suspenseful romance—” ~Romance Junkies
Spirit Bound Novels
“All in all, [On the Prowl] is a fun and delightful story with spicy sex and great suspense both in the love story and the plot.” ~Just Erotic Romance Reviews
“Using heat, danger and tension, Egyptian Voyage will keep you glued to that edge of your seat as you go along for the ride. TJ Michaels has written a story that will fascinate, horrif
y and ultimately delight the reader.” ~SensualReads.com
Forever December
“[Forever December] is a highly erotic, touching and sexy novella that will have you reaching for a tall, cold glass of water and a fan.” ~Romance Divas
“Explosive love scenes will curl your toes and leave you fanning. Readers who love a flare for the dramatic with paranormal elements will certainly become fans of TJ Michaels.” ~Romance Junkies
Jaguar’s Rule
“The plot is flawlessly executed and the characters remain true.” ~The Romance Studio
“T.J. MICHAELS knows how to write plot and passion in a most memorable way!” ~Fallen Angels Reviews
Dedication
To my family by blood, sisters from another mister, and brothers from another mother. Tam, Mike, Mindy and CVD, you guys have no idea how much your love and support meant to me while penning this book. Thinking back on all the conversations that led up to the idea for this series, both funny and not-so-funny, be assured there’s a little bit of all of you in this novel! Strap in, it’s time for takeoff!
To Softrock and Burton, you are fantastic for simply being wonderful friends for so many years. Your unwavering kindness and willingness to see your friends through thick and thin is immeasurable. Couldn’t help but show a bit of you in the fictional Burt!
Wynde, thank you so much for exercising great patience while I asked you a bazillion questions (((SMILE))). Oh, and thank you for volunteering your husband to paint my motorcycle *wink*!
To Mr. Austin, without you this book would not have been possible. At all.
And to my readers, especially the ones who catch me on social networking sites—you are all so supportive, funny and lively. This writing thing wouldn’t be nearly as much of a blast without you. I am so grateful.
Chapter One
Solie Shaw had been so deep in thought that the playful ‘ding-da-ding-dong’ of her phone startled her. She looked around her desk. It was covered with sticky notes of so many colors it was a fair representation of the rainbow. But where was her phone?
“Ah, there it is.” It was partially hidden under the newest project plan she’d printed out. Her current tasks outnumbered her brain cells for sure. She had so much to do that there was no way she’d make all the deadlines. But she was totally grateful for the distraction of work given the recent drama that had engulfed her life.
Her life had been tossed upside down by Hurricane Marcais—a wickedly handsome man who’d crashed into her world, burned it down around her, then rained so much crazy into the charred remains, she’d been totally swept out to sea and left to drown. The bastard.
Oh, yeah. Phone. She dug it from under the pile of papers and stared at the screen. Her head tilted a hard right as her gut did a freefall.
The caller id read Marcais Dupree.
“Damn. Speak of the devil.”
The phone continued to play the special tune associated with his contact. All she could do was stare at the danged screen while commanding her stomach to stop running around underneath her skin.
Solie had learned from a friend that her now ex-dude had been trying to hook up with her, behind Solie’s back. She’d been the third woman in a three-week span. So after calling him several times, Solie had left a very polite, though tear-filled voice message; ending what was left of their crumbling relationship. Part of her had hoped he would deny the other woman’s claims. Again. Yet another part of her was glad to be done with it.
Marcais hadn’t answered her very nice “fuck off” message, nor had he bothered to reply to the e-mail she’d sent a week later, wishing him well. She’d even included a special prayer written just for him. Even though she’d been nothing but an expendable replacement for his ex-wife, Solie had experienced a strange mix of pain and relief when he hadn’t bothered to respond.
But all of that was weeks ago. It felt like an eon considering they’d lived together and seen each other every day for a year. He’d even talked of taking her with him overseas once he’d learned that the Army was reassigning him.
Finally the ringing stopped.
She took a deep breath and leaned over to scratch her shepherd, Mims, behind the ears. In that moment, Solie accepted a few things as fact.
First, if just seeing the man’s name on the caller id could make her want to run and hide in a lockable closet, then she wasn’t quite over the hell he’d brought into her life. A line from the famous movie, Tombstone, came to mind. Solie could even picture the snarl on Kurt Russell’s face as he played a rather convincing Wyatt Earp. He’d promised a reckoning to a bad guy as he’d bellowed, “And hell’s coming with me! You hear?!” Well, Marcais Dupree had been an expert at ushering in emotional infernos.
Second, sheer determination to process the hurt in a healthy manner burst forward and brought her ‘mad’ along with it. She refused to be defeated, emotionally or otherwise. A few seconds later her phone dinged again—a text message. From him. And the damn phone wouldn’t let her delete it without opening it first.
She clicked on the message and braced herself.
“Say what?” she asked to her empty office. Solie looked up to the ceiling wondering if she’d just read what she thought she had. Looking at the phone again had her shaking her head. Nope, the message hadn’t morphed into something that actually made sense. It simply read, “Thank you for your e-mail. Hope to talk to you soon.”
Really? Why now? What did he really want from her?
Instead of replying to the text message, Solie decided to do a little investigating. Maybe he’d decided to behave after all? She had no interest whatsoever in getting back together with Marcais, but a part of her still hoped that he’d meant at least one word of all of those declarations of love and care.
“So he couldn’t respond to me telling him that I didn’t want to see him again because a third woman told me he was chasing her; but he responds to an e-mail with a prayer in it? And a week or two after I sent it? Go figure.” The words were half-snarled-half-mumbled to herself as her fingertips flew over the keyboard.
She logged into her private Kinkfest profile and skipped over to his page. Perhaps there was something there that would give her a clue as to why he was contacting her now.
There. There it was. His profile.
Solie’s hand flew to her mouth on a gasp.
“Oh. My. God. Why do I always have to look? Why?”
Good question, because now she couldn’t unsee it either. It was the greatest mind fuck of all and she’d walked right into it. She felt like one of the hobbits from the Lord of the Rings. Yep, she was a nosy chick from The Shire who’d looked at something she had no business. Now she was getting smacked by a damn orc for being nosey.
“Son of a bitch,” she breathed. Her chest was heavy, as if someone had hit her in the middle of the sternum with Thor’s hammer. Her heart beat a mile a minute and adrenaline pumped furiously.
“Fight or flight, Solie. Fight or flight?”
Three times she started to respond to what she saw posted on his wall for the world to see. And three times she stopped herself. Instead, she read it again…and again.
“I want to feel everything. I want to see you squirm in anticipation of what I will do to you. I want tease you with my fingers and feel you get wet. I want to feel you grip me as I push in and pull out. I want to see your pretty pussy hold me. When I pull out it looks like it wants to come with me. I want to wrap you in the rope that I bought just for you, to restrict your movements and leave my hands free to massage and tease other parts of your body.
I want to push deep, then deeper so I can watch your eyes widen because no one has ever been to that spot before. I want you to wear the fuck-me pumps I gave you because I can grab the heels and manipulate your legs to open you up. I love to watch your eyes roll back in your head, to hear you take that deep gasp of air as you reach and stretch for things that are not there.
I want you to beg me to fuck you, want to hear the words because y
ou say it just the way I like. I want to flip you over and take you from behind as I spank your perfect ass so I can see the slight redness of my hand print on your skin. I like that I can manhandle you and yet kiss you softly. I want to manipulate you anywhere at any time. I want to hear you scream as your toes curl when you come. I want to gently wipe your tears when you begin to cry from orgasm after orgasm.
And I can do all these things because you trust that I will never hurt you and that I have your best interests at heart. There is only you. I have no need of other toys. We are fluid-bonded and I wear you when we are done just as you wear me. Your scent is on me and mine is entwined with yours. Yes, I wear you. And you drip of me. I want to hold you afterward as you drift in a space that you have only found with me. I want to kiss you on your forehead, wrap my arms around you as I feed you chocolate while we lay on top of the sweat-soaked sheets. Because you are my submissive. And I love you.”
She sat there for long moments with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief. When emotions were finally a smidge under control, she slammed the laptop closed, stormed out of her office and down the hall. The leash was snatched off the hook near the front door as she headed to the truck with her dog on her heels.
The half-mile to the trails were a forgotten blur as she pulled into the parking area. The sky was as cloudy as her mood as she slipped the leash around her shepherd’s thick neck and took off down the nearest path.
Then Solie did what she should have done the moment Marcais’ text message had arrived—she hit the speed dial and called one of her very best friends.