Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (20 page)

At least Nuwa’s Mercedes wasn’t here. The boss split her time between three booming establishments. She’d been at this one last night, and unfortunately, so had Sara. Though Nuwa had hired her to work the front desk—a job that included greeting clients, logging the girls’ activity in a ledger, and on occasion, acting as bouncer—last night she’d informed Sara that her days as front-desk clerk had expired.

“All girls start at desk. Start not stay. I hired you because you pretty, have nice body. I see how men look at you. They like your pretty hair and big tits. They want you for massage. Time you move up,” she’d said. “Give you one more week at desk. After that, you do massage.”

Massage…meaning fully nude fondling at minimum. There was no maximum.

That’d been fun, finding out she only had her job for one more week—unless she went from front-desk pimp to massage-room prostitute.

She’d almost gone back to her apartment at the end of her shift. Facing Curtis, trying to answer his polite questions without lying or losing her shit, got harder each minute she spent with him. She hadn’t been sure she could do it last night. Knowing he’d come looking for her, insist on retrieving her, was the only reason she’d returned to his condo.

He’d waited up, as expected. Asked the typical, “How was work?” question.

She’d told him it had sucked, that her boss was an asshole who expected too much from her.

Curtis and his damn cop instincts had picked up on the depth of her statement. Without asking, he’d risen from the couch and gone to run a bath. Super-hot, the way he knew she liked it, especially after work. He’d undressed her and guided her to the bathroom. In no hurry whatsoever despite the late hour, he’d knelt by the tub, soaping her body, gently worshipping every inch of skin in the process.

He hadn’t pushed her to talk, gifting her with comfortable silence instead. Though he’d lavished plenty of attention on her breasts and the rings in her nipples that he couldn’t seem to get enough of, he hadn’t made any real sexual overtures. As if he’d sensed the weight on her shoulders and knew she needed to unwind more than she needed to fuck. Proof once again that he gave a shit about her.

Afterward, he’d wrapped her in one of his fluffy towels, taken her hand and led her to the couch. He’d offered to give her a massage—words that had turned her stomach. Her instinct had been to push him away. Instead she’d pulled him on top of her.

Even with their bodies touching more places than not, he’d only kissed her. Though there was really no such thing as “only” kissing with Curtis. He made kissing sweet and erotic at the same time. Explosive. Dynamite against her carefully constructed defenses. Every time their lips joined, another piece of her wall crumbled. And last night, she’d invited him behind it completely.

She’d woken with his arm slung protectively over her, his large, strong hand cupping her breast. And it’d felt so good. Sexy and safe and…more.

He fucked like a god and treated her like a queen. Every day she stayed with him wore her down more. She had to get away from him.

But how? The apartments she’d seen this morning would’ve been okay if she had a job lined up beyond next week. Even the shithole she’d abandoned to stay with Curtis was beyond her means if she didn’t land another source of income immediately.

She wasn’t taking another handout from her parents. She wouldn’t impose on Nia and Conn by knocking on their door. Tomorrow she’d have to lower her already-rock-bottom standards and modify her search to include shared apartments and boarding houses.

Or she could steal Curtis’ gun and rob a bank. With that option, she’d either walk away with a fistful of cash, or they’d send her to jail. Either way, she’d have a roof over her head that didn’t come with a dominant-yet-caring cop roommate.

Whether she went the boarding-house or bank-robbery route, it’d have to wait. Lucky’s opened at ten a.m. and she didn’t care to have one of the early customers—and there were always a few—flanking her as she unlocked the front door.

She kept her chin up and shoulders back while stepping out of the car. One of the massage girls had given her that piece of advice when she started here.

“No matter how you feel inside, always
look
like you have no fear and no shame,” Candy had said. “Most of the guys we get here are harmless. Looking like a takes-no-shit bitch helps keep the ones who aren’t so harmless in line.”

If it kept the goons off five-foot-one Candy’s case, it was a tip worth taking. Plus, Sara had grown to like and respect Candy. All the girls were nice, actually. Sara might even miss them after next week.

Inside the building, she cut around the privacy jag that separated the door from the reception desk. She started the computer and hit play on the daytime music. The clientele tended to be more mature between ten and five, so they played a mix of light jazz and older, easy-listening hits for soft background noise.

Of course, mature didn’t equate to quiet, and the interior walls were far from soundproof. She’d never be able to hear
Killing Me Softly
again without one man’s very vocal appreciation of Candy’s talents popping into her head during the chorus. Thank god her favorite vintage songs weren’t part of the Lucky’s playlist.

She had five minutes before they were officially open for business. Such an appropriate phrase for this place. She moved through the archway leading to the meet-and-greet room and waved at the three women lounging on the leather furniture. Brandy, Paris and Candy. Each wore something different. The world’s shortest, tightest dress. Cutoff jean shorts and a bikini top. Skimpy lingerie. They’d all opted for high heels to complete their outfits, of course. While Lucky’s couldn’t claim to have something for every man’s taste, this group represented the blonde, redhead, and Asian categories quite well.

This location was the smallest of Nuwa’s three massage parlors. Her busiest boasted a selection of six “massage attendants” at all times. That was Nuwa’s goal here as well—to increase sales by building the roster. Starting with the addition of Sara, aka Raven, filling the dark-haired-masseuse slot. Next week.

No amount of dire financial straits would drive her to take that job. She’d sleep on a bench in Victoria Park first.

A soft, electronic chime signaled their first client of the day.

“It’s playtime,” Candy said, adjusting her cleavage to maximum. “May the guys be clean and the tips be plentiful. I’ve got Montessori school to pay for, so drag them off the street if you have to, just keep sending them back to mama.”

Sara laughed. She’d had her fair share of casual hookups over the years. Sometimes anonymous sex, after which she never saw the guy again. Still not the same as being told who to fuck and how to fuck him—multiple times a day. She didn’t know how these women did it, especially one who went home to a young child at the end of her shift.

“I’ll do my best,” Sara said, walking backward out of the room.

“And how much does your best cost?”

She froze mid-turn, paralyzed by the gruff, unmistakable voice she’d grown to know—and crave—the sound of. This was not going to end well. There’s no way it could.

“How much?” Curtis asked again after she forced herself to look at him. He pulled out his wallet, withdrew a bunch of twenties and tossed them on the high reception desk where she’d taken refuge. “There’s a hundred. What’ll it get me?”

“Nothing with me. I work reception, I don’t take appointments with clients.”

“As of now, you don’t do anything here.” He scooped the cash back into his wallet. “Let’s go.”

“No.” She kept her voice low and steady. The total opposite of the siren going off in her head.

“It wasn’t a question. You’re leaving with me. Whether you walk or I carry you—that’s your only choice.”

“I’ll do what I want. You don’t own me.”

In a blink, he reached across and caught her wrists. “You said otherwise last night.”

“That was just sex talk.”

“Another bullshit lie.”

She pasted on a smirk to cover the sting from his too-true words. “We’re fuck buddies, not soul mates. The sex is great, but that’s all it is—great sex.”

He pulled her toward him, forcing the air from her lungs as she connected with the edge of the counter. “You braved a funeral for me. On your own, by your choice.”

“And it got me laid later, didn’t it?”

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “If that’s how you want things, so be it. But quit fucking up the rest of your life with shitty decisions. I called Nia from the parking lot. Even after I followed you here and watched you unlock the door, I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. So I asked your sister, your best friend, for the name of the health club where you work. Know what she said?”

All she could do was shake her head. Try not to lose the pitiful amount of control she had left.

“She said she didn’t know the name. The person you’re closest to in the whole world doesn’t know where you work. What you do to make money.”

“Did you tell her?” she whispered.

“No. But I should have. Direct or indirect, this shit you’re dealing is lies. And when it hits the fan, it’s going to devastate the people who love you.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

His eyebrows rose and he released her hands. “Then pick up the phone and tell your sister where you are, what kind of ‘health club’ you work at.” His gaze dropped to her sheer black tank top and the red demi-bra beneath. Clothes she kept in her trunk so he didn’t see how she dressed for work. “Text her a selfie of your uniform. Give her a detailed list of the services provided to your clients.”

She’d never been one to refuse a dare. Until now. “I told you, I don’t take clients. I’m just a receptionist.”

“At a goddamn rub-and-tug. I skimmed some of the reviews for this place on my phone. Jesus, Sara, do you have any idea what you’re involved in?”

“I told you, I don’t do that stuff. I screen clients, answer phones and book appointments.”

“You think the boys in blue will care whether you’re sitting at the front desk or sucking some guy’s dick in the back if they decide to bust this place?”

“Is that a threat? Are you going to rat me out to my sister
and
your cop buddies?”

“If that’s what I was going to do, I wouldn’t be standing here, trying to drag your stubborn ass out of this place.”

She couldn’t help but soften a bit. “I’m not leaving. I can’t. It took me forever to find somebody who’d hire me. It’s a legit job and I need it.”

“You don’t need
this
.”

“Oh, did Publisher’s Clearinghouse show up with a one of those giant checks for me?”

“You could get paid by another publishing house,” he said, straight-faced and looking her squarely in the eyes.

The statement was truly the last thing she expected to hear. And it could only mean one thing.

“Did you—” She shook her head. No, he couldn’t have. He must’ve meant something else.

“Yeah, I did. I read your book. The whole thing, because it was that good.”

She clutched the edge of the desk. To hold herself up since her legs felt as if they’d been knocked out from beneath her. To prevent herself from punching him in the face. “How dare you.”

“How dare I what? Care about you? Think you’re the most interesting, infuriating person I’ve ever met? Want you to reach your full potential and be happy with your life?” His deep voice had risen almost to a shout. The sound, combined with his size, heavily stubbled jaw, and all the ink made visible by his black running gear, and it was no wonder Candy had appeared in the archway, the other ladies not far behind.

“Everything okay out here, Raven?” Candy asked.

“Fine.” And, she’d lied again. Curtis was right—it had to stop. Before she got so buried in half-truths she couldn’t find her way back to honest ground. But “fine” was all she could come up with after his revelation. She could barely breathe. The room—no, her entire world—was spinning out of control. Again.

“Well, since you’re okay and everything’s
more
than fine out here from what I can see…” Candy undressed Curtis with her eyes while toying with the ruffle on her itsy-bitsy string-bikini top. “How about you join me in the back, handsome? Let me work out some of your
kinks
. You’ll leave feeling like a new man, I guarantee it.”

Curtis’ gaze swept over Candy’s toned body before returning to Sara’s face. “What do you think,
Raven
? Should I let your friend here give me the VIP treatment? From what I read online, it’s pretty fucking amazing.”

Another dare, this one much more personal. Telling him
not
to go with Candy would be an admission of feelings for him. Her eyes burned and her stomach twisted to the point of pain.

“Candy has the magic touch.” She choked the words out. Almost vomited at what she had to say next. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy whichever package you choose.”

His stare pierced her heart and soul. Not a trace of the humor, compassion, or lust she’d grown accustomed to seeing when he looked at her. Just steel-blue ice as he said, “Looks like today is my lucky day. Lead the way, Candy.”

When he’d rolled out of bed this morning, Curtis had two things weighing on his mind. Get Sara to open up about the book she’d written without telling her he’d invaded her privacy and read the whole damn thing in one sitting, and suggest she delay apartment hunting and stay with him. Temporarily but officially, half-assed committal as that was.

Two monumental goals. Both shot to hell in the course of the last five minutes.

Ahead of him, Candy was talking. None of it registered. Sara’s face and voice filled his head, leaving no room for anything else.

Candy pointed at the first open door. “How’s this room, handsome?”

He glanced over his shoulder. He had a clear sightline through to the lobby. The other two women had returned to lounging on leather furniture in the middle room—the business of waiting for business—and the archway beyond that was empty. No sign of Sara.

What’d he expect, that she’d be standing there, desperately hoping he’d turn back? Not Sara’s style, regardless of her feelings.