Under a Silver Moon

by Barbara Sheridan

  Imai gave her a condescending laugh. “Baka!”

  “Shimizu-san, if you can pour a shot of scotch, you can feed yourself,” Kim said with a smile before trying to hand him the chopsticks. He shook his head and gave her a harsh look. He grunted and snorted his contempt when she pinched the sticks an inch from their ends, managing only to get a small blob of rice to him.

  He pointed to the fish and vegetables. She managed to skewer the small fish, which annoyed him even more it seemed, but he took a bite. He pointed to the teapot, and she poured some into the small handleless cup, then picked it up and held it to his lips.

  His beautifully formed mouth entranced her to the point of tilting the cup too much so that it spilled down the front of his robe.

  “Oh, oh ‑‑ sorry!” She quickly returned the cup to the tray and reached for a napkin.

  Imai coughed, choking on the tea Kim had managed to get in his mouth. “Baka!” he yelled. Kim tried to dab the warm liquid off the front of his robe, and he swatted her hand away, shouting that same word again.

  “Stop fussing; it’s just a little bit of jasmine tea.” She fought to keep another frustrated sigh from coming out. “And what does that mean anyway ‑‑ baka?”

  He gave a short, dry burst of laughter and snatched the napkin from her hand. Whatever baka meant, Kim was starting to get the idea it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Would you like me to get you a dry robe, or would you like to wait until you’ve eaten?” She punctuated her words with gestures, touching her clothing then pointing to the partially open closet door across the room.

  He smirked and said something in Japanese that had a decidedly smarmy tone, then grabbed a cell phone off the table. He punched in a speed dial number, then began grousing to whomever was on the other end.

  Great. She was being fired and she hadn’t even lasted out the day. Lovely. “Look, Mr. Shimizu ‑‑”

  “Quiet!”

  Mrs. Nimura came up a moment later and told Kim that she was dismissed for the night as she must be tired from her long journey.

  Exhaling a sigh, Kim nodded. She bowed to the singer and apologized for any inconvenience.

  Mrs. Nimura tried to translate, but Shimizu held up his hand to silence her. He pointed to the door. “Go. Now.”

  Imai watched Donovan-san turn on her heel and head for the door after taking a steadying breath. The woman kept her shoulders squared as she disappeared from view.

  “Imai-san,” Nimura started again.

  “Bah.” He dismissed her warning tone with a wave of his hand as he reached for the teacup. “She seems like a strong enough woman. She can take it.”

  The housekeeper put her hands on her hips and gave him a disapproving glare. “Here I thought I worked for Imai Shimizu, a talented and respected musician ‑‑ not a brat.”

  Imai gave her a dry look. “Maybe Donovan-san can do your job, too.” He smirked.

  “Perhaps she should,” Nimura-san said.

  Imai gave her a long look. “Nimura-san, you may have been my childhood nanny, but you are still an employee.”

  The housekeeper gave a quick bow of her head. “Of course, Imai-sama,” she said softly, adding the more respectful suffix.

  “Bring back the liquor.”

  “But, Imai-sama ‑‑”

  “I’m an adult. I don’t need your guidance.”

  Nimura-san nodded and left the room. “And not just the glass,” Imai called after her. “The whole bottle!”

  Though it was after office hours, Imai called that insipid fool, Suzuki.

  “What is the meaning of sending me some pushy American?”

  “She was referred by Nakamura-san himself,” the man croaked. “Donovan-san is a skilled stylist as well as a certified nurse. We thought it best that she help you as you recover, then prepare for the solo tour.”

  “I will give her a week, no more.”

  “But Shimizu-san ‑‑”

  “A week.”

  “Hai.”

  It was clear from Suzuki's tone that he wasn't pleased, but that was too bad. He'd worked hard to be consistently on the top of the charts, and he had no qualms about using his star power to get his way with those in the executive offices.

  “Wait,” Imai said, reaching for a pen and paper in the nightstand drawer. “Give me her contact information ‑‑ cell number and email.”

  Although the Shimizu guesthouse was very traditional in appearance, it did have a small, modern kitchen and bathroom as well as a state-of-the-art entertainment system hidden inside the living room wall behind painted sliding shoji doors. Kim never would have discovered it if Mrs. Nimura hadn’t left a note telling her and also letting her know that she’d stocked the refrigerator with more western style groceries.

  Kim took a hot bath, slipped into a comfy velour sweat suit, and then fixed herself a veggie omelet for dinner. Not surprisingly, there were mostly CDs and DVDs of Shimizu’s group, ChildsPrey, so she grabbed the first DVD, titled 1996-97: The Diabolical Tour.

  “Diabolical, huh? Well, you certainly have the attitude to carry it off, Mr. Shimizu. Let’s see what the show is like.”

  Loud.

  The concert DVD was very loud, and Kim didn’t even have the uber sound system to the halfway mark. She could only imagine what ChildsPrey sounded like live. Earplugs would definitely be in store. But that’s not to say that they were merely a band making a bunch of noise. Obviously, the language barrier prevented her from “getting” the lyrics, but there was no way to deny the raw power and emotion that Imai Shimizu carried through his vocals. Menacing at times, plaintive at others, the man and band had a range of styles that was truly amazing in a single concert performance.

  Not only did the sheer strength of their music shatter the language barrier, the performance itself oozed sexuality. Kim stared, wide-eyed, as the bassist came up beside Imai during one of the guitar solos and trailed his tongue along the singer’s neck. She sucked in her breath as Imai made a show of pushing the bassist onto his knees right in front of his crotch. Imai threw his head back and made a few thrusting motions with his hips before striding across the stage and picking up the next verse.

  “Oh my God.” Kim’s mouth hung open, the temperature suddenly getting a few degrees hotter in the room. She shifted around on the cushion, her heart pumping a little bit faster, her eyes glued to the TV screen.

  The telephone rang, and she gave a start. Muting the volume but otherwise keeping her attention on the performance, she reached over and grabbed the cordless phone from its cradle on the TV stand.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello again, Donovan-san.” It was Mrs. Nimura. “I know it’s getting late, but Imai-san says he needs a massage.”

  “Massage?” Kim asked weakly, her gaze still glued to the large TV screen. As he sang, Imai Shimizu stroked his hand along the crotch of his leather pants ‑‑ or rather over the bulge at the front of his leather pants.

  Kim was barely aware of the faint whimper that escaped her lips.

  “Donovan-san?”

  Kim turned to face the front door of the guesthouse. “Yes. I’ll be right there.” She picked up the remote and clicked it over her shoulder, moving her arm until the signal reached the DVD player and cut the power. Taking a deep breath, she went to the bedroom to freshen up and change her clothes…especially her panties. On the way out, she slipped into a pair of sandals instead of sneakers since they were easier to take off and put on at the main house. She walked quickly, doing her best to ignore the steady pulsing of her clit and the wetness between her legs.

  Well, at least she knew all was in working order. Sure, her annual exams had checked out, but she hadn’t had any sexual feelings in so long sometimes she wondered if there was something wrong with her. Of course, raising Mandy and dealing with long work and school hours prevented her from dating or even taking the time to meet guys. And Imai Shimizu was attractive.

  Damned attractive.

  And obviously enough to
kick some latent hormones into gear.

  When she got to his room he was lying in the center of his wide bed shirtless, his long black hair spread over his broad shoulders and trailing down to his trim waist. He wore only a pair of black silk boxers, and his legs were spread, the foot of the broken one hanging just off the edge of the bed. She told herself not to notice how the black silk caressed the firm, round curve of his ass.

  He propped himself up on his elbows and gave her a snooty look over his shoulder. Brushing his hair back, he reached over and grabbed his watch from the nightstand, holding it up as if to say “took you long enough.”

  Kim pursed her lips but wasn’t half as annoyed at his attitude as she might’ve been…had he been any other, not-quite-so-sexy client. The closer she got to the bed, the harder it was to keep her professional mindset in check. Her heart raced as she came to the side of the mattress.

  “Use.” He pointed to a small glass bottle of Givenchy body oil on the nightstand. She picked it up and unscrewed the top, inhaling the sweet, fruity scent of orange blossoms.

  “Mmmm…this is nice,” she breathed.

  Imai gave an impatient sigh on the bed, and Kim scowled. “Okay, okay.”

  But the bed was so damn big that even though she bent over completely at the waist, she couldn’t reach him. “Could you move a little closer to the edge?” Kim asked, gesturing with her hands that he come towards her.

  “No.”

  “Of course,” Kim said between clenched teeth. She pulled off her zippered hoodie and tossed it across the footboard, hiked up the loose strap of her tank top, then climbed on the bed to straddle Shimizu, her knees on either side of his waist.

  Kim’s common sense began to chant you’re a nurse, he’s a patient as she felt her body start to throb when she began to massage the firm muscles of his shoulders and back.

  Most of her professional thoughts went flying out the window the moment he let out a low groan. She bit down on her lower lip and pulled her hands away, dripping more oil onto his back as she tried to get a better hold of herself.

  Like that was going to happen anytime soon.

  He glanced over his shoulder with one eye half open. “More.”

  Kim gave a weak little laugh. “Sure.” She swallowed, feeling more self-conscious than ever at the wetness building between her legs. She kneaded her fingers into his skin again, feeling the tension in the well-cut muscles melt away.

  This was crazy ‑‑ beyond crazy in fact. It’s not as if he was the first good-looking guy she’d been assigned to nurse. Just last year she’d had a temporary assignment helping a hot Hollywood stuntman convalesce after an on-the-job injury. And he had been a much more pleasant and personable guy in general.

  Kim gave a little yelp when Shimizu shifted beneath her, sending a jolt through her throbbing lower body. She wasn’t sure if he let out a long, slow sigh of contentment or if she imagined it through the pounding pulse beat echoing through her ears.

  This is a patient, she told herself in no uncertain terms as she kneaded those firm muscles. Just a patient and nothing more. That sexy display of his during that concert was just an act, and she was making way too much of it. Rita was right. She needed to get back in the dating game.

  “Go now.”

  Kim gave a start as his deep, commanding voice broke through her reverie. “Excuse me? You want me to stop?’

  “Yes. Go.”

  “Of course.” Kim scampered off the bed then slipped into the adjoining bathroom to wash the scented oil from her hands. She found a small basin on the long vanity, added some water, and soaped a washcloth, then grabbed a towel and returned to the bedroom to wash the oil from her patient’s back.

  Imai bit his tongue as the woman’s gentle washing of his skin served only to make his erection that much more urgent. “Go now.”

  “I’m not quite done ‑‑”

  “Go.”

  She began to slide the thick terry towel over his wet skin. And he found himself wishing it were those small yet strong hands of hers on his flesh once more. “Go now. Towel. Leave here.”

  “All right.” She set the damp towel on the nightstand then took the water and basin back to the bathroom.

  When she finished in the bathroom she stepped to the side of the bed to ask if there was anything else he needed, and he struggled to keep his gaze on her face and not the prominent nipples of her full breasts. “Go. Sleep.”

  She nodded. “Goodnight, then.”

  As soon as she left, he shifted onto his back, poured a bit of the oil into his palm, and began to masturbate with an urgency he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager.

  Kim rushed out of the house, embarrassed with herself, among other things. The throbbing between her legs hadn’t eased up since leaving the room, and the image of Imai half naked ‑‑ and underneath her ‑‑ wouldn’t leave her mind. Groaning, she covered her face with her hands and realized she could still smell traces of the perfumed oil on her fingers.

  A cool breeze made Kim shiver. Until then she hadn’t realized she’d started to perspire. She reached to zip up her hoodie, then remembered she left it in Imai’s room.

  To go back now or just brave the rest of the walk back to the guesthouse without it? No, if she left it that would just give him a reason to find fault with her and ask for her to be dismissed. Dammit, she was not going to leave here in disgrace. Imai was probably asleep already; she could slip back in and out with him none the wiser.

  Kim doubled back and found that Mrs. Nimura hadn’t yet locked the back door. She made her way back upstairs to Imai’s bedroom and let herself inside.

  The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight through the large windows illuminated everything perfectly ‑‑ including every inch of Imai’s well-toned body as he lay in the middle of the bed ‑‑ the silk boxers gone, his right hand positioned between his legs and pumping furiously. Kim stood frozen to the spot, her voice caught somewhere between her brain and her throat as she watched him come in a violent spurt.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped.

  Chapter Three

  Caught up in his silent fantasy, Imai shuddered through and through as he imagined the buxom American writhing beneath him, moaning in the throes of ecstasy. He milked the last of the orgasm from his throbbing cock slowly, savoring the heady rush.

  Oh my god.

  That voice had not come from his mind.

  His eyes flew open, and he looked toward the door to see Kim Donovan, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

  “I-I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, before rushing forward to grab something from the foot of the bed. She fairly flew out of the room, banging the door so hard behind her that it flew open once more.

  Imai stared after her in shock, his heart still pounding. If anyone else had barged into his room unannounced like that, he would’ve been pissed ‑‑ to say the least. As it was, the fact that it had been Kim Donovan made the aching desire build up in his balls all over again.

  Kim ran back to the guesthouse as fast as she could and leaned back against the door after slamming it shut and setting the latch. She was toast. She’d surely be fired first thing in the morning, if not tonight. Shit. She went to the kitchen and after uncorking one of the bottles of wine from the wall-mounted rack, poured herself a generous helping and sat at the counter, sipping it while waiting for the phone to ring. When nothing happened after an hour, she decided to try and get some sleep.

  It had been a hell of a long day, and the jet lag was catching up to her fast but every time she closed her eyes all she saw was Imai Shimizu jerking off before her. She found herself wondering where the “small” Asian men theory came from. Imai wasn’t huge by any means, but he certainly had more than enough to make a woman happy.

  Kim groaned and turned onto her side as her body throbbed. She tried closing her legs, but that only made things worse. Giving up on sleep, she slid down her sweats and let her fingers slowly stroke her sensitive flesh. She dipped her fingers inside and
pushed her hips up, imagining that it was Imai fucking her with his long fingers…and more.

  She moaned softly and bit her lower lip as the wet sounds echoed in the stillness of the bedroom. Had she ever been this wet or this horny? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the building tension in her body as she slid her other hand down and rubbed her clit until she came hard and fast.

  * * * * *

  Kim woke on the verge of a headache, and though she normally would have waited to see if it passed, today she rummaged through her largest unpacked suitcase and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. She took a long, hot shower and tried to convince herself that what she’d seen last night was a dream, knowing full well that it had been far too real.

  How could she look the man in the face after watching him masturbate?

  Preferring not to even try ‑‑ at least, not yet ‑‑ Kim hung around the cottage a little longer. That meant showing up at the house later than she would’ve liked to on the second day of a private-duty job like this, but Kim planned to lean on good old “jet lag” as her excuse. By ten, she figured Mrs. Nimura had taken breakfast to Imai, sparing Kim the awkward moment.

  She ventured into the house and found the housekeeper setting a few dishes in the washer. “Good morning, Donovan-san. There’s some breakfast still on the table for you.”

  Kim did her best to emulate the woman’s short, polite bow and smiled. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “With the long trip yesterday, I was just so tired.”

  “Of course, of course.” Mrs. Nimura nodded. “I took care of Imai-san this morning.”

  “Oh, good.” Kim heaved a sigh of relief as she sat down at the table and uncovered the lacquered tray. The meal Mrs. Nimura had prepared looked wonderful, and surprisingly westernized. Aside from the freshly steamed rice and a crisp seaweed salad, there were two poached eggs and delicately sliced pieces of smoked ham. As she started to dig in, a loud thud sounded outside the kitchen.