Call Me Miz

by Sivad, Gem

  It took some coaxing to get it out of the clerk. Finally he baited the hook and cast. “I was in that line of traffic stalled on the mountain yesterday.”

  The clerk looked sympathetic and shared her own story. “My husband didn’t get home until late because of it. I held supper for him.”

  The clerk in the back forgot surveillance detail and chimed in. “It was a mess getting that coal off the road.”

  Thomas mentioned the narrow road and steep incline, inquired about the health of the driver and was glad to hear he lived. Finally he mentioned the woman on the motorcycle.

  “Missouri Hess,” the clerk muttered. She clammed up then, suddenly too busy to talk. But that was okay. He’d gotten what he’d come for.

  * * * * *

  Before she mounted her bike and headed for work, Miz walked to the willow directly across from her house and studied the ground. No big cat tracks. Her gaze was drawn upward. But then again, I guess he’d not leave any sign on the ground.

  It was an hour’s drive to the shop and she didn’t linger, but the niggling worry stayed with her. Big animals prowling around her place she didn’t need.

  She opened the throttle on the bike, speeding once she hit the interstate. She needed to get a move on if she wanted to visit a drive-through. Her mouth watered thinking about a nice fluffy biscuit sandwiching a stack of ham and cheese. The fight and double healing the previous day had left her filled with hunger that food alone wouldn’t appease. But breakfast was a start.

  When she rumbled onto the lot of her massage parlor at 7:30 and parked her Harley, Miz tried to ignore the Hands-On sign crudely painted over the door. We have business so who cares what it looks like? She let herself in and checked the day’s schedule while she ate her biscuit and chased it with inferior fast-food coffee. Jenny came in ten minutes after Miz had put on a fresh pot of brew.

  “I swear to God you time it every morning to arrive with the last perk.”

  “Exactly.” Jenny widened her eyes and blinked innocently. “Anybody interesting coming today?”

  “Not unless you count Mrs. Lowe. She’s planting.”

  Miz refreshed her early drink with a shot of steaming hot coffee, leaving enough room in the Styrofoam cup for an inch of white powder.

  “Having a little coffee with your cream today?” Jenny teased her about her addiction.

  Miz grimaced. “I’m out of the stuff. I’ll have to visit the store before I go home.” The bell on the front door jangled and the day began. Miz flexed her hands, ready for action. It looked as if her day as a masseuse would be pretty routine, starting with one of her favorite clients.

  Mrs. Lowe talked about her flowers and her latest landscaping project while Miz kneaded her shoulders, massaging aches and pains from the arthritic joints. The old lady walked straighter when she left, wearing a smile on her face. Miz smiled too when she tucked the ten dollar tip in her pocket.

  Mr. Barnes flirted with her outrageously, as usual, while she worked the knotted muscles loose in his back. He was eighty going on eighteen when it came to the ladies and he loved to talk about his latest conquests.

  Jenny kept up a steady stream of chatter in the room next door. The building was small, the partition thin so each one of them could listen and make sure the other was okay at all times. Shutting yourself in a room with a stranger while you rubbed all over his or her body could get dicey.

  She’d known Jenny before, having grown up with her in the same holler. But when they went to massage school together, they’d clicked. They’d decided early on that two women running a massage parlor would have to be careful about who their clients were unless they could afford a bouncer.

  They couldn’t, so most of the clients were older. After making a pitch at a local senior citizen’s meeting, they’d developed a growing number of customers. If Miz added a little extra heat for those who hurt the most, her reward was always a smile and sometimes an extra-big tip.

  It was pretty amazing actually, the way things had fallen into place. They’d scraped together the money to lease the old building as is. The plumbing worked and the electricity was up to code though the dated interior left a lot to be desired.

  When Milo had volunteered to help paint and put in the needed partitions, he’d gotten interested in Jenny. The two had become a fast item and Miz had stepped back, glad that she’d united two good people. It did make for lonely nights though.

  The day was half over when she took her first break and had time to relax. She felt good, her muscles loose, her mood mellow. She’d made fifty dollars in tips during the morning. Her share of the till would cover her half of the lease. This afternoon’s clients are gravy.

  She should have known better than to count chickens before they’d hatched. Her biggest tipper and last client called and canceled ten minutes before his appointment. She could have filled the spot if she’d had notice, but she couldn’t be mad. Mr. Ogliah had the flu that week. It was surprising his daughter thought to call. Not so much though after she made her request.

  “He’s in his room. He asked me to call you and apologize for missing his appointment. He thinks the world of you.”

  Miz felt her throat tighten at the unexpected sentiment. His daughter said hesitantly, “I know you don’t make house calls.”

  Miz tensed, not wanting to hear the fear and need in the older woman’s voice.

  “He’s so depressed. And he always feels so much better after he’s had one of your massages. Could you…”

  The woman offered to pay her double the usual rate. The doctor had already approved it. Could she come at six o’clock?

  Jenny drifted by the phone area and mouthed what’s up?

  Miz bared her teeth at her and crossed her eyes. “All right. You’ll have to give me directions.” She wrote down the street name and house number and said goodbye.

  “I have no last appointment and dead time to fill until six tonight.”

  Jenny shrugged. “That’s easy. You can come home with me. Milo’s fixing dinner.”

  Miz fumbled to come up with an excuse to avoid Milo. It just didn’t feel right being with him tonight after his offer the night before. She’d deal with the why of her emotions later. She was saved from offering a flimsy excuse when the bell over the door jangled and they had a walk-in.

  He was a black man from the city trying to play country. His jeans were creased and his boots new. In spite of the heat outside, he wore a long-sleeved tee shirt. She wondered about that. Whatever the reason, the damn thing molded to his abs and arms, not hiding his muscles at all. Drool collected in her mouth. Down, girl. You’re suffering from the aftereffects of… Hot damn, he was nice looking.

  “If you have time, I’d like a massage.”

  She watched his lips move, studying their shape. Good mouth, strong jaw. “From the waist up. No funny stuff,” she told him. He wouldn’t be the first bozo who’d decided to test the limits of their services.

  He shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ve got a kink in my back. Fly fishing the other day I twisted wrong on a cast.”

  Well, all righty then. Black stranger who fly fishes. “Might you be renting Shep’s place?” Way too eager, Miz. Slow down, girl.

  “That’d be me,” he said. “Thomas Hunter. Glad to meet you.”

  “It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I have an opening. I can do you now.” Then she replayed her words in her head. Do you now. Well, damn. Why didn’t I just tell him I’m hornier than hell?

  Looking at the hunk, Miz considered a little anonymous boinking but set that idea aside. It might be just what the doctor ordered but for all she knew he was an undercover cop checking to see if the parlor was legit. She fantasized for a moment longer then reined in her perv side.

  He pulled out his wallet and waited expectantly. No push. Very polite expression. His demeanor held no hint of aggression. His eyes were whiskey brown, his brows and hair darker, his skin rich chocolate. But there was something about his overall stance th
at warned he was no pussycat.

  “Fifty dollars an hour,” she told him. She looked at the clock, afraid saliva might drip on her chin at any moment. “We’ve got time for forty-five minutes. I’ll discount it.”

  “I’m sure you’re worth full price,” he countered adeptly. He handed her a fifty, his voice melting over her like warm caramel.

  Whoa, Nellie. He was as smooth as a shot of Cîroc Ultra-Premium. Her fingers pulsed, her palms itched and her libido hummed.

  “You might be more comfortable in sweats. Those jeans are going to be way too tight.” She felt like a fool as soon as she blurted that. He was polished, professional—probably a lawyer or a banker or something where he stayed clean all the time. She studied him. Whatever he was, she’d just informed him she’d been looking at his ass.

  “Sweats will be fine.”

  He wasn’t much of a talker. She pointed at the changing room, following behind him and admiring his butt, strong thighs, long legs and sleek stride. He moved like a panther. Rawrrrr. She thrust a pair of extra-long sweats at him.

  “They’re clean.” She mumbled the assurance before she could stop herself. As opposed to dirty. Good Lord, he’d addled her wits.

  “Of course they are.” He flashed a grin at her and her toes curled. She watched until he shut the door. Fanning her hot cheeks, she turned and saw her partner staring at her with an open mouth. Jenny had witnessed the whole thing.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Double that.” Miz leered and raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ll give Milo your regards,” Jenny said sedately, loud enough for him to hear. “I’m not leaving soon. I’ll wait until you finish up and we’ll leave together.” Before she left the room she pointed at her cubicle and mouthed, I’ll listen.

  Miz grimaced and gave her a thumbs-up. For all they knew he might be a monster looking for prey. He doesn’t look like a monster. She snorted. As if they wore brands on their foreheads that said, “born killer”.

  Jenny’s old dear arrived and at the same time, Miz’s client emerged wearing sweatpants and nothing else. Duty called. She motioned at her cubicle opening and followed him in, grinning as she walked behind to enjoy the scenery.

  Chapter Four

  Thomas melted under the woman’s massage. He’d more or less expected a sex shop when he saw the tacky sign. In point of fact, that wasn’t what she was about at all. No, she knew her stuff. He’d had some damn good massages. But her hands… The night before, she’d healed him. But now, every fiber of both cat and man reformed in a pattern that included her essence. He hadn’t been able to stop his beast when he’d bitten her. Now Thomas wanted to bite too.

  He drifted in nirvana while she laid her sweet magic on him. It was more than muscle and joint manipulation. There was something about her hands that soaked heat into him, spreading a layer of warmth, removing pain and tension at the same time.

  “Magic hands,” he grunted and felt her jerk of surprise as she worked the muscles in his back.

  “Not magic,” she said almost defensively. “Training. For instance, I know if I push right here…”

  She pressed on a spot above his tailbone and he groaned. “See, I know that most folks ache there and don’t even realize it. Just common principles of nature. There’s nothin’ like a good massage to make you remember how you’re s’pose ta feel.” Her slow, drawled answer was delivered with rough pummeling that made him grunt in delight.

  From that point on she accompanied her ministrations with a running list of muscles and tissue as she stroked, pulled and kneaded. He was in heaven and his jaguar threatened to purr out loud.

  When she said, “Flip over now and I’ll get your chest and shoulders,” he didn’t even think before he rolled onto his back. His cock stood a mile high, tenting the front of the borrowed sweats and destroying his carefully planned offer of a platonic dinner and night out.

  She glanced down at it, the flag under which Big John fiercely waved, and didn’t miss a beat. “That’s controlled by the corpora cavernosal smooth muscle,” she said. “When it doesn’t work, it’s known as erectile dysfunction.” Her tone was dry when she added, “Apparently you’re healthy.”

  She didn’t flirt. She just kept a running monologue going, resuming her soft drawl. “You can tell a lot of things about a person when you do this kind of work.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned when she ran her hands down his right shoulder and gradually moved lower, kneading his biceps. Her strong fingers seemed to mold the flesh in a new way, making the muscles underneath tingle and almost burn.

  “For instance,” she said, massaging his wrist before taking up his hand. “The hand is a mighty interesting part of the body.”

  For an instant his beast snarled inside, alert and tense when she rotated Thomas’ thumb. But then he relaxed. No harm. All’s well.

  She put her fingers between his, locking their grips together, her fingertips continuing to work her magic on the back of his hand. “You do much fly fishing?”

  He snorted and murmured drowsily, “Never before this trip. Seems like a waste of time. It would be more fun to jump in and catch them.” His cat purred, picturing the stream of crisp cool water where the trout shimmered below the surface.

  He could almost smell the scent of the mountain stream as she worked on his hand, holding it between her own. Damn, it felt good.

  Her voice was husky as she asked him questions and told him stories, putting him half asleep, all the time her hands gripping and pulling and surrounding his own. The door clicked open once and the partner peeked around the door.

  Miz said, “We’re fine,” signifying, Thomas assumed, that she felt safe to stay alone with him. He knew he was right when he heard the outer door close and the lock click shut.

  “How’d you know about this place?” She slid her hand into his for a moment, letting heat pulse through his arm. It was pretty fucking amazing. He’d never felt so relaxed.

  “I saw you take care of those knot heads at the stop-and-go last night. Too bad about the groceries.” He smiled drowsily at her. “You’re Missouri Hess. Got your name from the store clerk.”

  “Is that right? I’ll have to thank her.” She began pressing on different points in his palm. Inside, his cat rumbled appreciation.

  “Missouri’s an odd name,” Thomas mumbled. “Not that I don’t like it,” he added hastily.

  “It’s a family name, passes from one generation of women to the next. I won it this time. Folks call me Miz.”

  She dropped his right hand and went to his left side, working her way down to the left hand. When she picked it up, she nodded at his cock, clothed in gray fabric, a rigid testimony to his arousal.

  “Something else a man’s hand is supposed to show. It’s said to be a good measure of the size of his other organs. You’ve got mighty big hands.” She slipped her fingers between his and pushed his fingers back, stretching the muscles. For a moment, she met his glance and he could see the hunger in her eyes. Then she released her grip and stepped back.

  He’d hate to see her get hurt. Abruptly he said, “You shouldn’t threaten men with a lighter when gasoline’s just been thrown around.”

  He finally remembered he’d been watching her in jaguar form and sitting in a tree. His cat snarled inside, nudging him to pay attention. His remark had been stupid.

  “I’m an independent woman. I take care of my own business.” Her green eyes reminded him of chipped emeralds as she responded to his warning.

  He could see that his advice didn’t sit well with her. She leaned across his chest, her hands pressing down on his shoulders, her thumbs rotating against twin spots, the pleasure making him groan. She was so close to him her breath brushed across his lips.

  “Little bitty fire like that wouldn’t be much protection if they hadn’t thrown around the gas, now would it?” She bared her teeth at him but talked soft, the way she had the night before when she’d healed his beast form. Her breasts touched his
chest for a moment and she met his gaze, acknowledging the contact. She wasn’t shy and she wasn’t crazy— Well, maybe a little.

  “You’re thinking ass-backwards,” he growled.

  “You ever play chicken?” she asked. “We play chicken a lot around here.”

  He stared up at her. Maybe crazy. “You want to have dinner tonight?” He could do crazy. He wanted her for dinner. If not before. And six times between now and breakfast. Maybe more.

  She started to answer and then paused and glanced at the clock. “Shit.” She didn’t waste time on niceties. “I have an appointment in fifteen minutes. I don’t want to be late. You exceeded your forty-five minutes by an hour. You can buy me a steak when I’m finished and we’ll be even.”

  So they’d be even. He must have looked stupid. He felt stupid. She pointed at the door. “Grab your pants, Thomas, because I’ve got to run.” And she meant grab his pants. He was bare-chested, barefooted, wearing the borrowed sweats and carrying his own clothes when she hustled him out the door.

  He stepped to the parking lot, clicked the remote on the SUV and its lights flashed.

  “Nice ride,” she said, strapping on her helmet. He wasn’t ready to end the conversation yet, dammit.

  “We both live in the same direction. Come to my place. I’ll have a steak waiting.” She hesitated. He added more bait. “Thick steak, hunks of hot bread. Red wine.” She looked willing. “Nine?”

  She revved her motor and nodded. “Beer and closer to ten.” She was halfway out the parking lot when she called over her shoulder, “I like my steaks rare.”

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Miz wanted to climb his bones. She drove away, grinding against the Harley’s seat, heat from both her arousal and the motorcycle engine raising her core temperature to full boil.

  She was definitely thinking with her ass and not her head and she tried to slow down the surge of hormone-driven lust long enough to clear her brain. It wasn’t easy. The throb of the bike between her thighs only intensified the need coursing through every fiber of her body.