Smoke and Mirrors (7 page)
Authors: Jenna Mills
She only differed when it came to method.
* * *
She was stunning, no other word for it.
Derek couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight of Cass's lithe body slicing through the water. A strange sensation for him, for despite rumors to the contrary, his whole life had been a study in discipline and denial. Hell, he'd even left
Chicago
when every instinct had screamed to stay. But he knew the danger of charging headfirst after something he wanted, the value of keeping a clear head and not acting on impulse.
Luc had taught him that.
But he was only a man, and she was one hell of a woman. With that gorgeous dark hair and her sultry eyes, she conjured images of sin and salvation. Her full breasts and sharply indented waist, her long legs and curvy hips could tempt even a saint. As bold as sunshine, he thought again, as mercurial as moonlight.
A rare and priceless gift.
A dangerous distraction he couldn't even begin to afford.
Or risk.
He knew what he had to do, the attraction he had to crush.
He glanced over at Maurice, who stood waiting by the sauna. The masseur smiled nervously. Any minute now. Any minute. A creature of habit, his Cassandra was.
Soon she would learn just what that folly invited.
He would show her.
She always took a massage just after her swim, and Maurice was not a man to say no to the boss. Already Derek could feel her skin beneath his
hands,
hear the sighs of satisfaction tearing from her throat. Just the thought of it had him adjusting his slacks, which had become uncomfortably tight.
Anticipation heated his blood. Self-preservation cooled it.
In less than thirty minutes the tempting Cassandra LeBlanc would hate him. Derek tried to savor the thought, the implication, the fact he'd be free to concentrate on the business that had brought him home in the first place.
Instead he couldn't quite suppress the hollow taste of disappointment.
Chapter 4
C
ass pushed herself to the brink. When she stepped from the pool, dripping and breathing heavily, exhilaration rushed through her. She grabbed a scarlet hotel towel, wrapped it around her chilled body,
then
padded toward the spa.
Maurice stood waiting. He smiled and gave a jaunty little wave when he saw her. The man may have been diminutive in size, but those hands of his … they were the closest Cass had come to heaven in far too long.
"Bonjour,
Cassan
dra,"
he greeted. She never knew if he used her formal name out of respect, charm, or simply because he liked the way it sounded. The "dra" always rolled off his tongue with some vague attempt at a French accent. "You are ready for your massage,
oui?"
"Oh, yes. More than you could know."
A flattered smile lifted his lips toward his thin mustache. "Very good, then." He led her to his private massage room. "You get ready, I shall return when you flip the switch."
"Thank you, Maurice." She moved toward the table and the black sheet awaiting her, but pivoted toward the door at the last minute. "Just a fair warning,
Something peculiar flickered through his eyes. "Of course," he said after a moment's hesitation. "When you walk back out this door, you shall be a new woman."
He closed the door behind him.
Damp braid draped over her shoulder, Cass stood a moment, taking in the ambiance. Maurice took great pride in creating the right atmosphere for relaxation. Dim lighting, the enticing scent of incense, soft New-Age music.
She peeled off her damp swimsuit, ran a towel over her body, then climbed onto the massage table and lay on her stomach. Seconds later, black sheet strategically placed over her body, an eye mask blocking out all light, she flipped the switch and signaled Maurice to return.
Soft music overtook her senses, the sound of roaring waves crashing against a beach. Seconds rolled into minutes. She wasn't sure how long she lay there breathing in incense before she heard Maurice's reassuring voice.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Cassandra. Let us begin."
The door closed, and the sound of footsteps moved toward her. "Ah, Maurice, you know how I feel about waiting. It only makes the prize better."
"Like fine wine." His heavy accent muffled the words.
"Yes," she agreed, smiling to herself. "Like fine wine."
And like fine wine, his hands went to work on her body. He moved aside the sheet and exposed her right leg, then took her foot in his hands. His fingers fondled each toe before taking her arch between his palms and squeezing gently. With the tips of his fingers he gave it extra attention, gently pushing upward, seducing every nerve ending in her body.
Cass had once heard any physical ailment, whether it be headache, toothache or muscle ache, could be relieved through a good foot massage. She'd never really believed it, but as Maurice caressed her foot, alternating between light strokes and deep, probing pressure, she began to believe. The stress and tension literally drained from her body.
"Oh-h-h, Maurice. That's wonderful."
He said nothing, not with words, but indulged her by continuing to play with her foot. Five minutes must have passed before the exquisite torture ended and he moved on to her calf. His fingers were nimble but sure as he kneaded the firm muscles. Her addiction to physical release had given her a lean body, but her muscles still ached, particularly after a workout like she'd indulged in tonight.
Yet now Maurice was making her forget. With both hands he skillfully eased the tension from her calves then slid up her thighs, working his magic all the way. Had she known how much extra attention her little warning would have warranted, she would have taken that approach long ago. His clever fingers shimmied along the backside of her thigh, carefully, squeezing and caressing.
Two thumbs pressed against a pressure point, creating a sensation so intense, she gasped. And jerked. His powerful hands slipped against her skin, his left coming to rest against the juncture of her buttocks and thigh, exactly where her panties would've been, if she'd been wearing any. She was acutely aware of his hands mere inches from her most private parts. The flesh there was sensitive, untouched by another for five years.
"Forgive me," he mumbled, the sheet immediately yanked over her exposed leg.
Then nothing. No more touching. No more words. Only the sound of his breathing, more labored than usual.
Cass lay there, her breathing strained as well. Confusion riddled her formerly relaxed muscles. Maurice had been giving her massages for six months. Never had there been a misstep. Her fault, she realized. She'd been the one who jerked when he invoked a pressure point, forcing his hand to slip into its precarious position. He hadn't moved it a stitch.
Remorse spread through her. Maurice was obviously ashamed, so much so he didn't dare touch her.
"Maurice," she said tentatively. "You're not done yet, are you?"
Several beats of silence passed before he answered.
"
Non
."
His hands returned to her left leg, where he delivered the same pleasure he'd bestowed upon the right. Except something was different this time, more tentative.
Guilt gnawed at Cass, ruining all Maurice's work. She willed herself to let go, yet not until he completed her legs and moved up to her side did the tension again slip from her body.
Maurice took her right hand in his and began to work his magic. Fingers first. Each finger, one at a time, from the tip of her index finger, down its length to where it joined her palm. Then
came
her middle finger. Then the fingers on which she'd once worn Randy's ring. Then her pinky. Her thumb. Her palm. The feel of his fingers pressing into the sensitive flesh there sent awe streaming through her blood.
"Oh-h-h, Maurice," she said on a moan. "You're killing me here."
In truth, rebirth seemed more like it. His massages had never seemed this sensual before. She lost herself beneath his masterful hands, and purposefully held thoughts of the case at bay. Minutes drifted away as Maurice worked his way up her wrist, along her forearm, over her elbow, and onto her upper arm. The sheet scooted back further, baring her back. She was so content she would never have noticed, if not for the slight chill of air against her skin.
A shiver ran through her.
His hands went to work against her back, easily spanning its width. Thumbs skimmed her spinal cord, fingers wrapped around her ribcage. He began massaging, gently at first, deeper as she moaned. She couldn't help
herself,
the pleasure just tore from her throat, mixing with the thunder rumbling in the music.
"Ah, God," she sighed. She hadn't realized how tense she was until his fingers found the Mansfield-created knots and coaxed them away.
Mansfield
.
The name gave her pause. Somehow, just thinking about him as she lay naked being massaged by another man seemed far too intimate. And yet, some wicked corner of her mind instantly envisioned his hands on her body, the way he would rub and relieve, the way he would turn a woman liquid and wanting.
Cass destroyed the image before it destroyed her. She couldn't let herself think about
Mansfield
's hands on her skin, wringing pleasure from her body. Too long had elapsed since her last massage, she realized. Much longer since she'd known a man in the intimate sense. Now the two were blurring, her body humming to life.
Humming to life. She tensed, realizing Maurice's hands curved around her rib cage, his long fingers precariously near her breasts.
Desire tingled through her.
"No…" Shocked, she rolled to her side in one swift move and jerked to a seated position. At the same time she grabbed the eye mask from her face, realizing the intimate atmosphere was playing tricks on her. Then she froze.
Shock burned away the haze.
The incense and sensuous music weren't playing tricks on her.
Mansfield
was. He stood before her, dark hair loose around his perfectly chiseled face, blue eyes blazing down at her.
"You
bastard!" she shrieked.
She reared back to slap him, but he grabbed her hand as it made contact with his cheek. With his free hand, he draped the sheet back over her body, but his eyes never left hers.
"What's the matter, fearless? From the way you were coming unglued there, I thought you were on the brink of something powerful and unforgettable."
Heat suffused her cheeks, and other parts she didn't want to acknowledge. "You arrogant—"
"Bastard. We've already covered that. Keep up." The game stretched before her, inviting her to join. What game, she wasn't sure, but knew she had to play.
Her fingers relaxed against his stubbled cheek. "
Mansfield
, what a surprise. Who would have thought a man like you had such … talents." No wonder her massage had been different tonight, deeper, more demanding.
"I'm a man of
many
talents."
She let the invitation slide. "What happened to Maurice?"
"Now look what you've gone and done." He trailed a finger down her now stiff back. "I had you all nice and relaxed, putty in my hands."
"Don't you
wish.
"
He arched a brow. "You want me to answer that?"
She gritted her teeth. "What—are—you—doing—here?"
"Like I told you, I take care of what's mine."
"Like Brooke?" she fired back.
"Like Brooke," he agreed calmly. "And you."
"I'm not yours." Despite her retort, she moved her fingertips against his cheek.
"You work for
my
hotel. Ergo, you're my responsibility."
"Typical male," she mocked. "Give 'em an inch, and they claim the whole damn mile."
His eyes took on a purely masculine gleam. "Oh, it's a lot more than an inch, doll. You can count on that."
Her mouth almost dropped open. She'd been around a lot of crude people, but never had such a blatantly suggestive statement caught her so off guard.
Of its own will, her gaze flicked to the area of his body in question. A pair of tight jeans clung to his lean hips, proudly championing a bulge definitely more than an inch in size.
Again Cass's eyes widened, this time at the realization he was as aroused as she.
The heat zinging through her body should have been rage. But it wasn't. "What are you doing in here? One woman isn't enough for you?"
He shrugged innocently. "You looked like you could use a massage, and I've been told I'm good. I couldn't have you all tense and uptight for dinner with Brenty-boy, now could I?"
What kind of game was he playing?