The Masseuse

by Dubrinsky, Violette

  Jezebel was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize Ramsey had gone off the road until there in...an underground garage?

  “Where are we?” she instantly demanded.

  Ramsey didn’t answer, though she could tell from the way his jaw clenched that he’d heard her.

  “Ramsey!” she snapped. “What is this place?”

  “My home. You wanted to see it, right?”

  She scoffed. “I’ll pass, thank you! So you can just reverse right back the way you came in or put me out so I can call a cab!” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so offended. Did he really think she cared about his place now? After he’d made it clear he was being pressured into bringing her here?

  He ignored her, swerving the car down to another level, and finally, to an empty spot, where he parked. Jezebel pushed the door open, and jumped down. She looked around for the EXIT sign and when she found it, began walking in that direction. She’d barely taken a step in her heels when he caught her arm.

  She yanked it away angrily and whirled to face him. “Don’t touch me!”

  Ramsey took a step back and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Jezebel laughed bitterly. “Of course you didn’t. Goodbye.”

  “Jez...I—”

  “You what?” she snapped. “I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to see your apartment without me pressuring you into it?” She spun away, angry at the tears burning her eyes. She needed to get out of here, find a cab, and go home. Her emotions were too shot, too raw.

  She was moving forward again, when he stepped in front of her and sighed. “Jez...” he began wearily. “You’re too good for me.”

  Oh, Ramsey Stone just got better and better with the excuses, didn’t he? She pushed past him. Despite the thin heels, she walked briskly, and the exit was just feet away, when she was pulled back against his body. One arm wrapped around her middle, keeping her back pressed snuggly against his front.

  “Ramsey!” She struggled against him, but he only tightened his grip. “Let me go!”

  “Not until you listen to me!” he bit out, before gentling his voice. “Just listen to me, Jezebel.”

  She struggled against him, but his grip was firm. “Get off of me!”

  “I didn’t lie to you. I’m not ashamed of any part of you—especially not your race. And the reason I didn’t bring you to my apartment before is because...I like your place better.” She shook her head. “If you didn’t figure this out in the past months, I really like you.” His lips pressed to her ear, as if his mouth needed to be that close for her to understand his words. “I told you you’re mine, and I meant it, Jez. I’m not in this short-term. I never was.” With that, he released her.

  Eyeing the EXIT sign, Jezebel wanted badly to walk to it, and forget she’d ever known Ramsey Stone, but she turned to face him. “I don’t believe you.”

  His hand cupped her cheek. “Give me a chance to prove it to you, Jez. I like everything about you. I even like your stubbornness, though I’m not liking it very much right now.” Moving closer, he lowered his head and placed his forehead against her own. “I’m sorry for making you think I was ashamed of you, but I promise you, Jezebel, I’m not.” When she only lifted a brow, he continued, “I’ve been at your side numerous times in public. Did I look embarrassed then?”

  “It’s different with family.”

  He groaned. “Let me prove it to you.”

  “Sex isn’t going to help this, Ramsey!” Yes, they had great sex, but sex wasn’t going to cure the ache in her chest.

  “Not just sex...let me prove how much I want you, Jezebel.”

  Licking her lips, she looked back to the EXIT sign. Her brain said something was off, that Ramsey Stone was lying through his pretty teeth, that he was hiding their relationship, but her heart—stupid, illogical, thing that it was—was badgering her to give him a chance.

  “How? How are you going to prove it?”

  “Give me a week.”

  Why did he need a week? What did it matter? She needed away from him, and soon. “I’m busy—”

  “I’m not asking for anything more than we’ve already done.”

  He looked sincere, but she knew he was lying. Her gut told her he was lying. Something was off, but her heart… When she answered, her emotions spoke. “You have the weekend.”

  Ramsey nodded once.

  She sighed. Instantly, he folded her into his arms, pressing his lips against the side of her head. “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, baby. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  Jezebel rested against his strong chest. Tonight had been trying. She could use a nice bath, and 8 hours of sleep. If Ramsey gave her that, it would be a start...

  Chapter 8

  She didn’t know what she expected to find in his apartment, but it wasn’t this.

  Ramsey Stone’s apartment was beautiful. It spanned the two upper floors of the building and was not only spacious, but had a gorgeous décor. From the moment she stepped from the elevator, and entered the glazed glass, cherry-wood framed, double doors, she’d been reminded of a lesser version of the Red Room.

  The living room was massive, with red brick and cream sheetrock walls. A large fireplace sat in the center of the room. Plush cream and red couches, chairs, and an oval-shaped glass coffee table with the most beautiful golden stand, added to the air of relaxation, of “home.” On the wall were oil paintings. They were mostly decorative art, pictures of waterfalls, of mountains, nature, but one picture struck her instantly, and that was the ornate, gold-framed one that hung over the fireplace.

  It was a family picture, obviously, and a younger Ramsey—he must have been a teenager because he looked fresh-faced and mischievous and seemed much shorter—was dressed in a dark suit, minus tie, and stood on side of a stone faced grey-haired man. On the other side, was another boy, who bore such a striking resemblance to Ramsey that she couldn’t help but ask, “Your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  Jezebel shook her head. She hadn’t even known he had a brother, though she knew he had a sibling because of Lily.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked suddenly.

  Her throat was dry. “Water, please.”

  She followed him into a stainless steel kitchen that could easily house a cooking club. As they switched rooms, the décor changed slightly. Although there was still that maroon brick on some small patches in the kitchen, the walls were more cream than anything else, the counters a deep, cherry wood. In addition to the large stove, overhead ovens, and industrial refrigerator, there was a rectangular bar and bar seats. Marble graced the tops of counters and the bar in the center.

  Jezebel didn’t speak as he grabbed a glass from an overhead counter and walked to the fridge to fill it.

  She remembered him saying he preferred her apartment, and shook her head. He had to have been lying. Had she come to his apartment and found a sparsely furnished home, or even a “cold” home, as he’d said, she might have understood. But from the glimpse she currently had, the apartment was warmth personified. It was obvious that he’d carefully decorated too. If the common areas were this beautiful, she could only imagine his personal space.

  He handed her the glass of water with ice-cubes floating in it, and she took a long draw, before placing it on the counter. “If you’re ashamed of me, this won’t work.”

  Ramsey shook his head. “I’m not ashamed of you.”

  “Your apartment is beautiful. It’s not cold, or strange, or weird, it’s just beautiful, so I don’t understand why you’d ‘prefer’ mine unless you’re hiding something, and the only something I can think of right now, is me.”

  He sighed and then he rolled his head on his shoulders in a telltale sign of stress. “You said I had a weekend.”

  “I’m reconsidering.” His fingers were suddenly against her cheek.

  “Jezebel...I asked for a week, you gave me a weekend.” He brushed his lips ag
ainst hers. “Don’t do this.”

  “What are you hiding, Ramsey?” She pulled away. “You’re scaring me! This...” She indicated him, standing there looking unsure, “...isn’t you. You don’t hide things from me. We don’t hide things from each other.” She swallowed angrily. “Is it your family? Just be honest with me. I can take it! I’m a big girl. Is that it? Your family wouldn’t approve of me?”

  He’d begun shaking his head, before he stopped, sighed, and nodded once.

  “You never invited me over because of that?” Jezebel didn’t know how she still managed to speak, considering there was a massive lump in her throat threatening to choke her to death.

  “That was a part of the reason.”

  She scoffed. She’d be able to forgive him for not inviting her to see his family for that reason; she could accept that he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But Ramsey Stone was a grown man. He was thirty-five, with his own business, his own apartment. He could have invited her over without family knowing, but he hadn’t. She briefly remembered him promising to cook for her when he first asked her out and she ignored him.

  Needing clarification, she asked, “When you said you’d cook for me...at the seminar I gave for the SBA...were you going to bring me here?”

  Ramsey stared at her for long moments before he shook his head once.

  “Where?”

  “A friend owns a small restaurant. I would have—”

  Having heard enough, Jezebel turned and headed for the door. She wasn’t giving him a weekend. She was giving him nothing. Ramsey Stone was ashamed of her. His family wouldn’t like her—either because she wasn’t Korean, or Asian, or maybe because she was an African American female—but he’d played into whatever they thought about her by treating her like his dirty secret.

  “Jezebel!”

  She increased her pace, reaching into her purse for her cellular phone.

  “What’s the address for this place?” she yelled over her shoulder.

  She was getting to the glazed glass door when he caught her, lifted her off her feet and began walking in the opposite direction.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.

  “You promised me a weekend.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  He ignored her.

  “Put me down, Ramsey!”

  He didn’t.

  And when he began ascending steps, she decided her life was more precious than fighting him, and locked her arms around his neck to keep from falling and breaking her neck. As soon as they were on level ground, she fought him again. He ignored her, and kept walking.

  When they were standing in a large room with maroon carpet, and a four-poster California King, he laid her down. As if knowing she would head for the door, he gently pushed her back onto the bed, and began undoing her strappy heels. Those had been for him too, she thought angrily.

  “Ramsey! Stop that! I said I’m leaving. Ooh...” His hands massaged her sore feet. As he caressed and stroked them, she looked around.

  Was this his room?

  She looked for telltale signs, but there were no pictures of him on the wall. There were paintings of nature—of course—but nothing of people. Warmth on her knee made her look down. He’d pressed his lips there, and as she watched, he kissed the other knee, then he kissed her lower thighs...

  “No!” She shook her head. Jezebel didn’t want him touching her, distracting her. She was angry, dammit, and for good reason. “I already told you, sex isn’t going to cure this.”

  “Okay.” He stood and pulled her up. Before she could figure out what he was thinking, he began undoing the buttons of her coat, and slipped the material from her body. He headed to one of the doors in the room, and stepped into it. Curious, she followed, enjoying the plush carpet under her sensitive feet. She’d taken a few steps in when she saw him, standing feet away and hanging her coat in a walk-in-closet, a decent sized, masculine one.

  “How many spas do you own?” Having one spa, no matter how popular, would not give him the money necessary to afford a penthouse apartment this big.

  Ramsey looked over his shoulder at her curiously, and began to remove his jacket. “A few.” He hung his jacket next to hers and went to work on his shirt.

  “What’s a few? Two? Fifty? A hundred?”

  Dark eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Humor me.”

  “There are fifteen spas in America.”

  She nodded. “You’re international?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  He slipped his pants off, and along with his shirt, placed them in another section with crumpled clothing.

  “You’re awfully curious about my businesses, Jezebel,” he murmured.

  “I’m wondering how you afford this place,” she replied.

  Ramsey approached her and smiled softly. “You didn’t tell me if you liked it.”

  “It’s gorgeous. How many international spas?”

  “Ten.”

  She blinked up at him rapidly.

  He grinned. “That’s how I afford this place.”

  They stared at each other for long moments, before Jezebel’s eyes fell to his golden, muscled, chest and black boxers. Had he stripped down to distract her? She eyed him with suspicion. He only smiled.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  He had. From the moment he’d arrived to pick her up, he’d be all about her tight dress and high shoes. Ramsey had almost wanted to skip dinner entirely...

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  He chuckled.

  “Ramsey...” she began in a low voice, staring up at him through lowered lids. “I need you to be honest with me...please. Did you keep me away from your apartment because of your family?”

  He didn’t respond for long moments, before he said, “Yes, but not because I’m embarrassed of you, Jez. I just didn’t want you to have to deal with them so soon.”

  She stared into his eyes and didn’t know whether she should believe him. He’d already lied to her…

  His hand slid into her hair, and then his lips were on hers. The kiss was slow, sensual, and it left her breathless. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Jezebel. I don’t just like you, baby…I love you.” He caught her soft gasp in his mouth, and whispered against her lips, “I’m in love with you, Jez.”

  “Don’t just say that because—”

  He pulled away to glare down at her. “I wouldn’t say that just to get off your shit-list!” He kissed her again, quick and hard. “I love you. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone more than with you.” Shaking his head, he walked away, leaving her standing in the midst of his rows of clothes.

  ***

  She ended up taking a warm shower, enjoying the six-head shower that massaged her in a way unparalleled...well, for showers. Ramsey had the top spot for giving her massages. She’d almost expected to have to wet her hair and ruin her do, but Ramsey had stuck his hand in and presented her with a shower cap. She found it strange that he had shower caps in his apartment, but dismissed it. Maybe his female relatives used them.

  When she was thoroughly rinsed and relaxed, she toweled herself off and slid into the fluffy blue robe that was suddenly hanging there, waiting. She exited the bathroom to find Ramsey in a similar robe, his hair damp from the shower he’d obviously had. He was standing by the window, staring out.

  Although she made enough noise to alert him of her presence, he kept his back to her, and didn’t move. Finally, angry that she was being ignored, Jezebel walked to him. Gripping the back of his robe, she tugged until he turned.

  “You don’t get to be upset with me, okay!” She jabbed her finger into his chest for emphasis. “I’m the one who’s upset right now, so you don’t get to be angry about me not believing your confession of love!”

  When he only nodded, and attempted to turn around again, she sidled her way between him and the glass. “J
ezebel,” he began in a low, menacing tone.

  She smirked. “What?” Glaring up at him, she demanded, “Am I obstructing your view of the city lights? Are they extra bright tonight, extra twinkly?”

  He stepped away. “I’ll show you to the guestroom.”

  Jezebel blinked up at him. Yes, she’d implied that they wouldn’t be having sex tonight, and if she was smart, she’d follow him to the guestroom thankful he’d listened, but something told her his coolness had more to do with his hurt feelings than hers, and she couldn’t tolerate that. She was the only one allowed to be angry tonight.

  “No.” When he glared down at her, she shrugged and sat on his bed. “I like your bed. It’s...” She bounced slightly. “...nice and firm.”

  “I’m not in the mood to play games with you.”

  She was off the bed and in his face in seconds. “Oh, and I am? That’s exactly what I’ve been doing all night, huh? Playing games with you?”

  “Yes!” He closed the inch-wide distance between them. “I said I was sorry for hurting your feelings. I didn’t do it on purpose. I apologized countless times! I told you I loved you, and you dismissed it. What more do you want from me?”

  “Honesty?”

  “I already told you—” He broke off and stepped away. “I don’t want to fight. I’ll sleep in one of the guestrooms.”

  He walked from the room with her tailing him, upset that he was upset. She watched him move down the hallway, and stop in front of a door, before opening it and going in.

  Jezebel shook her head and reentered his room, slamming the door. Whatever. If he was going to throw a fit, she wasn’t staying here. She headed for the walk-in closet and her clothes.

  ***

  “You hurt me,” she murmured minutes later when she stepped into the guestroom and found him sitting on the bed with the television on. He was still in his robe, facing the TV.

  “I’m sorry.” He didn’t look in her direction.

  “Are they racist?” she asked softly, keeping her back against the door in case she needed an out.