Call Me Miz (4 page)

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.

So the clerk told him who I was.
As stories went, his had a few snarls in it. She thought about the fly fisherman as she hunted for the right address.

The house turned out to be an easy find in an upscale suburb. She parked her Harley next to the Volvo in the drive and got down to business. The daughter led her into a place filled with gloom.

“He’ll love to see you.” The voice was artificially chipper, not really hopeful of anything more than a half hour of someone else worrying about Dad while she grabbed a moment alone.

Miz touched her arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Mr. Ogliah’s daughter brightened as she led the way to his room. It didn’t take long for Mr. Ogliah to take the edge off Miz’s simmering burn. He was sick. An aura of doom surrounded him. He slumped.

“It’s pretty outside today.” She crossed to where he sat staring out the window, laid her hands on his shoulders and began to rub.

“You ride that contraption of yours here?”

“Sure did. The wind felt good against my face.”

“Elliot wants one of those things. I say they’re dangerous.” He sat straighter, letting her stroke her hand down his spine as she pressed her fingers on key points.

“Yep, they can be tricky if you don’t use good sense.” She concentrated on his shoulders while he assured her his grandson had more than his share of good sense.

“He’s going to be an engineer, you know.” Yes, she knew. Mr. Ogliah mentioned it each time he spoke of Elliot.

“Have you been taking your medicine?”

“Of course,” he answered defensively and she knew he hadn’t.

“Why don’t you stretch out on the bed and let me massage your back.”

“I feel better already.” He stood and smiled. His slump was gone. He flexed his arm and grinned. “Almost good as new.”

She patted his shoulder. “I promise I’ll be gentle when I have my way with you.” She gave him a playful leer and he slipped out of his shirt and stretched across the mattress, situating his frame slowly.

“You’re stiff. Maybe a little sore from the stress on your body. Just relax while I tweak your parts.”

It was a joke she told all the old dears who wondered about their sudden improved flexibility. “Just a tweak here and there, a tune-up now and then,” she’d explain. They didn’t question. Most nodded and didn’t wonder long about how the tweaking worked. They didn’t care. They were just glad that it did.

And so was she. Her gift was an odd thing. She gave for the most part, but she took too. The giving kept her stable, the taking—well, taking made her burn and writhe with power, as if untapped energy lay inside her waiting to escape.

She massaged Mr. Ogliah’s back, centering her hand over his heart before she closed her eyes. His blood crawled slowly through arteries and veins. Her fingers danced across his skin, tracing a vein along its path. She skipped forward, jumping ahead to clear obstacles from the trail. He groaned.

“You know, Mr. Ogliah, if you don’t take that blood thinner the doctor prescribed, you’re not going to get to see Elliot graduate.” Elliot was the center of his world. The kid was off at college and Mr. Ogliah was pining.

“Maybe when you’re strong again, you can go visit him.” She pressed harder on his back, spreading her heat, purging the obstructions, opening a partially clogged vein and clearing his arteries. Along with a little extra heat, she planted a few ideas in his head.

* * * * *

It was seven fifteen when she hit the road home.
Long day, extra money, hot man waiting with a steak to feed me.
Things were looking up. She snickered, remembering
up
. She hadn’t needed to measure his hands to see he was huge or to know he was damn proud of his size.

The heat inside her core intensified. It had been a while since she’d had a lover—too long a while. But she’d already laid hands on this man, pretty damn near all over his body too. He didn’t hold any big secrets or nightmares he’d want to tell her. She smiled. She had a date.

She stopped at a convenience store and picked up creamer and other breakfast supplies before she crossed the mountain.
You never know, I might need to cook for two in the morning.
She grabbed a box of condoms too. Who was she kidding? That had been above the creamer on her list.

She was home by seven thirty, in the shower by seven thirty-five, drying her hair by seven forty-five and doing her nails by eight o’clock. Goose walking on her heels to keep from smearing the ruby polish, she went outside, sat in the Adirondack chair and propped her feet on the railing of the porch. As the last rays of the day baked the gloss on her toes, she admired her home pedicure and considered the fly fisherman’s story. When it was dry, she stood and sighed. Mr. Hunter didn’t always speak truth. But he was hot and so was she. One night of fun wouldn’t make any difference in the long run.

She stalked to her closet and glared inside. She’d left the most difficult decision until last. What to wear? Cargo pants and boots, her usual bike gear, just didn’t cut it. She settled for shorts, a tank top and looked grimly at her feet.

No way was she riding the Harley without boots on. Besides, if she ended up kicking the cook’s ass, she wanted hard leather for impact. Lime-green cowboy boots that cost more than her whole wardrobe screamed “wear us”. She stomped her feet in and strode to her bike, suddenly feeling sexy as hell.