by A. C. Arthur
“Were you?” She shot the question back at him because her mouth was going dry.
“No.” He rubbed a finger over his chin and then shrugged. “Like I told you before, I wanted to try something different.”
“But how did you know about the site?”
Again, his eyes narrowed, but this time it was as if he were contemplating what he should say.
“I searched dating sites online. And before you ask again, no, I wasn’t looking for a date. I just wanted someone to talk to.”
“Wait,” she said sitting up so that water sloshed with her movement. “Were you lonely? The Maurice Gold was lonely.”
Now he shook his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t act like the rest of the world. You know me. You knew me before this.” Moving a hand back and forth between them signaled what this was. “You know I’m not the way they paint me out to be.”
He was right; she did know. Which was why she sat back again and decided to give him a better answer. “It can be hard to figure out who you can trust enough to just be yourself with. I think that happens to everyone who reaches a certain level of success, because with it comes notoriety and expectations. You don’t always know where you fit into the mix.”
“That’s exactly it.” He nodded. “Major’s married, and Riley’s in a committed relationship. And here I am, still dating the flavor of the month, according to FYI Update.”
The tabloid he spoke of was one of the worst, and their reporters had a fixation with the Gold family. A few months ago they’d run a malicious piece claiming Major’s wife, Nina, had left her father to die in a nursing home so she could come to New York and marry into money. In truth, Nina’s father lived in a facility Major had found nearby and would be spending Christmas with the Golds in a few weeks.
“If it’s any consolation, RJ’s still happily single.” Bringing up the oldest Gold sibling was sure to invoke a bit of levity into a conversation that had taken a weirdly serious tone.
Maurice’s soft smile only made him sexier. “RJ’s going to die single. Do you know, one day he said he’d rather lie naked over hot coals than even consider getting seriously involved with another woman again.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, I think I was there when he said it.”
“Right.” He was nodding and grinning now, too. “Come to think of it, you’ve been around a lot.”
“I work for your family’s company.” As if that needed to be said.
“No. I mean, you’ve been around in my personal life a lot. Linking up with you on that app has to be some kind of strange coincidence.”
“Fate. That’s what my grandmother would call it. She doesn’t believe in coincidences.” And Desta no longer believed in things happening for a reason. If that were the case, what the hell was the point in all she’d gone through with Gordon?
“You miss her. I can hear it in your voice. I heard it this morning when you mentioned her, too. But you don’t want to go back to Chicago and visit her. That’s odd.”
Not liking where this conversation was going, Desta reached over and snagged one of the loofah sponges from a gold-wire basket on the back edge of the tub. “Not as odd as the two of us sitting in this tub.”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know, I’m kinda liking the two of us sitting here together.”
“You would,” she said with a roll of her eyes. The water was growing warm, so she grabbed the bottle of liquid soap and was about to pour it on the sponge, when he moved.
“Let me do that for you.” He didn’t wait for a response but took the bottle and loofah from her hands.
Scooting closer and causing water to slosh over the rim of the tub, he chuckled. When the sponge was lathered up, he reached for her.
“This is crazy. You know that, don’t you?” It was crazy good, she could admit that to herself the moment he touched the sponge to her chest.
“Yeah, I know. And no, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but right now I’m gonna wash you up and put you to bed. Is that okay with you?” Asking a question while he dragged a soapy loofah ever so seductively over her nipples was a trap if ever she’d heard of one.
Still, all Desta could do was smile. “Yeah, that’s okay with me.”
* * *
“This is gonna feel so good.” There wasn’t much that didn’t feel good where Des was concerned.
“I take it you’re used to getting massages.” She was sitting on the bench beside him, her body covered by the plush white robe they’d each been handed five minutes after walking into the spa area. It was midafternoon on Sunday, and they’d signed up for the Relax and Relate session.
There were two other couples sitting in chairs across the room. The guy carrying a clipboard who seemed to be in charge of the schedule had just left the waiting area with another couple.
“I used to have a monthly in-home appointment.” Maurice paused a moment recalling Hannah, the masseuse who’d turned into a date that went disastrously wrong. The memory made him frown. “But it’s been a while.”
“Did she quit or did you fire her for the new flavor of the month?” Normally, coming from Des, that question would’ve been presented as a joking jab or just a flippant remark, but the way her face paled before she glanced away implied she was feeling something different today.
Which made sense, because he wasn’t feeling his normal nonchalance, either. Instead, he was sure his cheeks had heated at her words in what he could only describe as embarrassment. Did Des really see him as a callous philanderer? It appeared that way, considering her question. The thought made him feel like crap. That wasn’t the impression he wanted her to have, and he wasn’t ready to explore why the hell it mattered at all.
“Oh hey, y’all!” Looking toward the door he saw Kelli walk in, Travis right behind her. “You guys sure do sneak out of a room fast. We couldn’t find you at all last night after the movie. We wanted to have nightcaps and discuss the show. But I guess you two had better things to do.” She giggled.
Yes, giggled like a teenager before looking over her shoulder at Travis, who did not giggle. Thankfully. The guy did, however, look at Maurice with a nod and partial smile for a greeting.
“So you decided to do the Relax and Relate, too.” Des’s voice was less than enthusiastic, and he knew why.
After sleeping in this morning—his idea, not hers—they’d decided to once again go off script of the retreat’s agenda. They’d opted for breakfast in her room and had then headed out to visit some of the souvenir shops in the quaint little ski town. Considering all the other Dear Lover workshops and exercises, they’d assumed the couples’ massage session might be the least attended one. In any case, it didn’t seem like something the gregarious Kelli and Travis would consider doing.
“Of course,” Kelli said, happily taking a seat on Des’s other side. That made Des move over, closer to him.
He didn’t mind, but since Travis was also going to try and squeeze onto the bench with them, Maurice scooted down until one side of him was at the edge and the other was pressed against Des. Her hair smelled like vanilla ice cream. It was the oil he’d watched her squeeze out of a small bottle and rub into the center of her palms before smoothing over her thick bouncy curls this morning.
“We’re trying to take advantage of everything we can this weekend and figured we’d squeeze in the massage, too. This morning’s sessions were a little physical.” Kelli nudged Travis.
He looked slightly uncomfortable at the implied meaning behind her words, but he smiled and nodded again.
“What did you two do this morning? I didn’t see you in any of the sessions. What are you doing after this one? We’re going to the Sweet Talk Tasting because I hear they’re having a dessert bar, in addition to the open bar.” This time Des was the one Kelli nudged. “Nothing like free drin
ks, right?”
“You plan on drinking at three in the afternoon?” Des asked her.
Kelli waved a hand, shaking her head so the ponytail she wore bopped back and forth. “Girl, please. It’s five o’clock somewhere, and I did say free.”
Clipboard Guy came from the back and called the next names on his list. Maurice hoped they were next because Des wasn’t going to last very long sitting with Kelli. He’d had a hard time trying to figure out why Des had given the woman her number in the first place. Kelli was the exact opposite of the type of person Des would normally tolerate.
“We’re probably not going to attend that session,” Des told Kelli. “We were thinking about maybe doing a little more sightseeing and then going out to dinner.”
That was partially their plan. What they’d actually talked about was dinner in the room and renting some movies to watch if there was nothing on TV.
“Oh wow, you two are just like a real couple already. Aren’t they, Travis? Don’t they look like they’ve been in love for years and years?” Kelli was looking from Des to him and back again.
“Years and years,” Travis echoed, now with a big grin on his face.
“Dear Lovers 1687 and 1288.” Clipboard Guy was back.
Maurice jumped up, and Des followed right behind him. “That’s us!”
“Follow me.” They did as the organizer said without looking back at Kelli and Travis and chuckled when they finally walked into the private room.
“That’s your friend,” he said to Des when she stood next to one of the massage tables shaking her head.
“Oh no, as soon as I leave here tomorrow, I’m blocking her number. We’re definitely not going to be friends. Nessa is the most cheerful person I know, and she’s not even as bad as Kelli. That’s probably why I can deal with her, at least during work hours.”
He nodded at the mention of her assistant and wondered if that was the only friend Desta had. While it had never occurred to him before, he realized now that he’d never seen Des with anyone outside the office.
“You can both climb up onto the table,” Clipboard Guy said. “The object of this exercise is to encourage open communication between couples. You’ll be receiving a Swedish massage and can talk freely about anything you wish, just so long as you’re sharing, becoming closer.”
Maurice climbed onto the table after making sure Des got up all right on her own. Not that she wasn’t capable, but after yesterday on the slopes he had a new protective instinct where she was concerned.
“You’re encouraged to let the relaxing of your muscles coax you into opening up with your fellow Lover. Releasing all anxieties or inhibitions to freely be together. You may remove your robes.” Clipboard Guy finished softly and moved closer to the table where Des was, immediately pulling a sheet up over her body so that she could remove the robe and still retain privacy.
Maurice was already lying facedown with his robe off, and he’d pulled his own sheet up to his waist by the time the man turned to him.
“Well, all right, then. The masseuses will be in momentarily. And don’t fret, they’ve also signed NDAs with Dear Lover. Nothing you say in here during the session will ever be repeated.”
“Does this feel like forced communication to you?” she asked as soon as they were alone in the room.
He turned his head so they were staring at each other. “Definitely.”
They both laughed. The beds were about three feet apart, and the only light in the room came from two lanterns on a table in the corner. The golden haze was weirdly comforting, and the faint sound of a waterfall added to the ambience.
She reached back and grabbed her hair, pulling it away from her face. “What do you want to talk about? Because we might get in trouble if we don’t cooperate.”
He knew exactly what he wanted to talk about; it had come to him the second she asked the question. His response had to wait because their masseuses entered. It always took him a few minutes to become totally relaxed in a massage, so he didn’t speak until the woman’s oiled hands were moving expertly over his shoulders and toward the center of his back where most of his tension seemed to rest.
“Why don’t you go home for vacations?” he asked when he thought she’d had enough time to relax as well.
There was no immediate response. In fact, she took so long he wasn’t sure she was going to answer him at all.
“I don’t want my family to see me.” Her voice was quiet, and he slowly opened his eyes to glance over at her.
She had her eyes closed while the second woman worked her shoulders.
“You don’t want them to see how successful you’ve become?” He was almost positive that wasn’t what she meant, primarily because it didn’t make any sense, and Des was one of the most sensible women he knew.
“No. I don’t want them to see how badly I messed up.” She opened her eyes then. “I didn’t listen to my mom’s and my grandma’s advice.”
“They told you not to come to New York because you might get lost in the big city,” he joked.
“Chicago’s a big city, too,” she replied with a half smile. “They told me not to move to Denver with Gordon, my boyfriend from college.”
Those last three words had his gut clenching, more from his own personal memories than any sort of unwanted jealousy. Then there was the guarded look on her face, as if she were wondering if she could continue while knowing it was too late to stop.
“Tell me about it,” he said in as even a tone as he could manage. Never, ever had he had a conversation with one of his dates about their former lovers or boyfriends.
“His name was, or is, Gordon Thomas.” She closed her eyes again, but this time he suspected it was because her masseuse was applying kneading strokes up and down her back, a move he knew could be particularly relaxing. “He was the star of the basketball team in college, leading our school to the NCAA Championship two years in a row. I tutored him during our sophomore year.”
That last sentence explained a lot because he definitely hadn’t pictured Des as the star athlete’s girl. He knew from reviewing her CV when she’d been hired at the company that she’d graduated summa cum laude in undergrad and went on to be in the top five percent of the class to achieve her master’s degree. She was a brilliant marketing strategist.
“To make a long story very short, we fell in love and when he was drafted to the NBA, I went with him to Denver. My mother and my grandmother weren’t thrilled with the idea of me packing up to go follow some man’s dream, but in the end, they respected my decision. He played professionally for one season before sustaining a foot fracture that benched him.” She’d had her arms down by her sides, but now she moved them to fold under her head before resting her cheek on them. During the movement, he’d seen that her hands were shaking.
His arms were by his sides, and his hands fisted. If she was getting ready to say what he was thinking she was going to say...he wanted to find Gordon Thomas and punch the bastard in his face.
“I gave him six years, four of which were hell on earth. Exactly when he’d gone from the attentive, loving guy with the great smile to the controlling maniac who’d taken his injury and subsequent fall from the NBA out on me in all the worst ways possible, I have no idea.” She took a deep inhale and released it so slowly he could see her entire body vibrating with the action.
It took every ounce of control he possessed to keep still on that table. Des wouldn’t want pity, and that’s exactly how she’d take it if he went to her now and tried to console her in any way.
“Anyway, when I finally decided to leave him, I didn’t go home to Chicago, and when my mother asked what happened between him and me...” She paused.
“You didn’t tell her because you didn’t want her to know you’d been in an abusive relationship.” Finishing the sentence for her was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Sayi
ng those words in relation to Des had a ball of hot fury resting in the pit of his stomach.
“I didn’t want my family to know that I’d been weak and foolish. I especially didn’t want either or all of my brothers hopping on the first plane to Denver and catching a murder charge for putting Gordon out of his misery.”
Which was exactly what Maurice was contemplating at this moment.
He’d almost forgotten they were getting massages when the woman lifted his left leg, bending it at the knee slowly and pulling it back. Clearly there’d be no jumping off the table now, so he extended his arm between the tables to her. Waiting a beat for her to release her arm and accept his hand was like holding his breath just over the two and a half minutes Major had clocked him doing when they were kids.
“You’re not weak or foolish.” He hoped those words were enough. There was more he could say but not while he was feeling such insurmountable rage.
“I know I’m not. At least, now I do. But my mother was a very no-nonsense woman, which is why she remained a single mom. My father was an alcoholic, and she took no pity on him or the disease he suffered when she still had six kids to take care of. My grandmother had been a single parent as well, passing on that same strong Black-woman pride and resilience to my mother and supposedly to me. There’s no way I could tell them all that Gordon had done to me.”
He understood. No, dammit, he didn’t. He’d been furious when he’d read the vicious lies Riley’s ex had given the media when they broke up years ago, and now that rage seemed to triple as he thought of Gordon physically harming Des.
“You’re a brilliant woman, Des. That’s indisputable. And he was trash.”
She smiled. It was quick and put the light back into her eyes, so he smiled, too.
“You’re right, he is trash.” Then she moaned. “And this feels sooo good.”
He agreed. As if both masseuses knew from the heavy topic of conversation they’d been having that it was time to step up the massage, it soon became too much for either of them to speak. But he didn’t release her hand, and she didn’t do anything to change that.