“Carla’s become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. We just bought a vacation home in Costa Rica, not that I’ve gotten to spend more than a weekend there so far. Plus, my oldest daughter is a freshman at Harvard. Do you have any idea how much tuition is there? And I have two more daughters coming up for high school graduation. Ka-ching, ka-ching.”
Another porno player getting into the game because of higher education expenses. None of that “The devil made me do it.” Nope. “My kids made me do it.”
I wonder if I’ll ever have to worry about paying for Izzie’s college education.
I can’t think about that now. I just can’t!
“Well, then, I suggest that you find a reputable physical therapist, or a licensed masseur, who can work on you weekly, or twice a week, if possible.”
“How about while I’m here on Grand Keys? I could barely crawl out of bed this morning.”
“You can come in every morning, if you’d like, but I should probably alternate the types of massage. Deep tissue one day, hot stones another. Regular Swedish massage, of course. Even relaxation massage or aromatherapy could help.”
“Sounds great to me.”
“And, by the way, you should drink lots of water today to wash out the toxins I loosened up for you.”
“No prob. I drink lots of water anyhow.” He gave her a two-hundred-dollar tip when he left, but she noticed that he never once asked about her life, or her family. His only interest was in himself. That was not unusual. Lots of folks were self-centered that way, and not just “celebrities.”
It was one p.m. by the time Marisa cleaned up from Lance’s appointment. She had time for only one appointment before she had to leave for the bungalow, where she would grab a quick sandwich for lunch and do her best with a travel sewing kit to make her waitress uniform presentable, or at least minimally modest. Her dinner shift at the Phoenix Restaurant started at five p.m. and ran until midnight. No early-bird servings on this island.
With only ten minutes to spare, she tossed the sheet and pillowcase in the laundry basket, wiped down the table with disinfectant, and laid out clean linens. Then she ran into the bathroom for a quick pee and repair of her makeup. When she came back out, her next client was already coming through the door of the customer dressing room.
Dr. Sig! Six-foot-four of blond-haired Norse yumminess.
“What are you doing here?”
“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed furs this morn. Are you wearing anything under that garment?”
She glanced down, realizing that she’d forgotten to put the sweater back on when she’d been in the bathroom. Raising her chin haughtily, she barely restrained herself from grabbing a towel to cover herself. Even worse, she felt her nipples pearling just from looking at Sigurd.
Wearing nothing but a towel!
And, though he didn’t display Lance’s particular type of assets, he had plenty of his own. Wide shoulders, slim waist and hips, long, long, lightly furred legs leading down to narrow, well-formed feet. Today, his dark blond hair hung loose to his shoulders with those thin braids on either side of his sharply sculpted face.
“No. Are you?” she snapped, and immediately regretted her hasty reply.
“Not a thing,” he said, adjusting the knot on the low-riding, hip-hugging towel. Even his belly button was attractive. Darn it! His lips twitched with a knowing almost-grin—Darn him!—which he quickly replaced with a frown. “You ask why I am here? I am here because we have a problem.”
“We? There is no ‘we.’”
“For my sins, there very definitely is a ‘we.’”
“Forget the ‘for my sins’ crap. What are you doing here? My next appointment was with a Mrs. Kervanjian.”
“Um. Mrs. Kervanjian had a change of plans.” A light blush colored his sharp cheekbones.
“Oh really? Did you flash those cute fangs of yours at her?”
“My fangs are not cute.” The blush deepened.
Fascinating! She put her hands on her hips and tapped a foot impatiently, then immediately folded her arms over her chest when she noticed his eyes about to bug out with gaping at her breasts.
“What do you want, Sigurd?”
He gave her a look that pretty much said, Are you serious? But then he shook his head as if to clear it and asked, “Have you been with Harry Goldman?”
“Been with? Are you crazy? When would I have time to ‘be with’ anyone? I left the party last night and was in bed by midnight. I got up at five a.m. to arrive here for my first appointment at six a.m.”
“Does that mean that you have not been with Harry?”
She rolled her eyes. “What is it with your fixation on Harry Goldman? He’s no different from any other man.”
“I beg to differ.” Sigurd was walking around the room, picking up and examining various items. Like the hot stones, which he dropped from one hand to the other before rubbing his palms appreciatively over their smooth surfaces. “As soft as the skin on a maiden’s buttock,” he murmured.
Oh Lord! He’s not picturing my behind, is he? Not that I’m a maiden, whatever the hell that is, probably a virgin.
He examined a battery-operated Shiatsu massager, which he turned on and off before grinning at her.
“It’s not that kind of vibrator,” she insisted.
He put up both hands in surrender. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Yeah, right.
Then he undid the stoppers on several vials of oil and sniffed. “This is my favorite. It reminds me of your essence.”
She could read the label from where she stood on the other side of the table. It was the oil of rose honey, cut with a pinch of ginger to tamp down its sweetness. “The only essence I have is soap and deodorant.”
“Whatever you say,” he agreed, but his eyes said differently.
In fact, she could smell his orangey-evergreen cologne even through the other scents in the room, but she’d mentioned it to him before and wasn’t about to get involved in that discussion again. “What did you do to Mrs. Kervanjian?”
“Do? Nothing. Well, I might have mentioned that they are giving away free sex toys in the hotel lobby, until the supply runs out. She decided to reschedule her appointment.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“They might be giving away such devices. In fact, your previous customer overheard my comment and went running out of here like a bat out of hell. And believe me, I know bats out of hell.”
“Whaaat?” Yolanda? Oh Lord! She must have thought someone was giving away her products while she was getting a massage. There goes a repeat customer! “First, that ‘for my sins’ repeat nonsense, now bats in hell, I don’t understand half of what you say.” Just then, she noticed that his towel had slipped and was in danger of falling off. “Fix it,” she gurgled, motioning toward his lower region.
“Sorry,” he said, not at all sorry, if the grin on his face was any indication, as he redid the knot at his hip.
“Listen, are you here for a massage? If not, I have better things to do than—”
He hopped onto the table and swung his legs like a little kid. “I’m game if you are.”
“Game? Game? My work is not a game. I’ll have you know—”
“I pick number five. Full body massage,” he said, pointing to the sign on the wall.
“Why?”
“Why not? Methinks I have a kink in my . . .” He waggled his eyebrows, then said, “. . . shoulders.”
“Oh, just lie down. And shut up, I don’t want to hear anything more about ‘our’ problems.”
He lay down face first, his feet extending over the bottom of the table, his face resting on his folded forearms, but then he raised his head. “Shall I take off my towel first?”
“No!” She gave him a very unprofessional shove to his fool head.
“This should be fun,” he said.
At least he hadn’t added, “For my sins!”
Chapter 11
Vampires
and angels get aches and pains, too . . .
Michael was going to have a fit.
Sigurd’s intentions had been noble—well-intentioned, leastways—when he’d come looking for Marisa this morning. He needed to end this whole situation regarding Marisa and Harry Goldman and cleanse her sin taint so that he could move on to other more demanding matters, like destroying demon vampires in paradise.
But what did he do instead? Set himself up for a massage. A massage, for the love of a troll! Angels did not get massages, nor did vampires, as far as he knew. Vikings, on the other hand, would be game for anything with even a hint of sex. And the rubbing of bare skin betwixt a man and woman implied sex, in Sigurd’s sex-deprived opinion, no matter what Marisa claimed.
First thing this morning, he’d resolved to seek out the bothersome woman and explain in alarming detail if need be that she was in dire danger and must get off the island. Barring that, he must remove her himself.
To his dismay, she was already gone from her sleeping quarters when he arrived just past dawn. At work, massaging, he was told by her Norse friend, Inga, with a wide yawn. He’d awakened the woman from a sound slumber by transporting himself into the bedchamber and just barely prevented her from shrieking her head off by clamping a hand over her mouth. Furthermore, Inga had informed him, once he’d calmed her down by stating emphatically that he meant no harm to her or her friend, that Marisa would go from massaging to waitressing, all day long.
“Is there no time when Marisa will be free?” he had asked.
“Not if she can help it,” was Inga’s irksome answer.
Well, if Marisa wouldn’t fit into his schedule, he would fit into hers. With a massage! Not that he really intended to get a massage. Just the thought of it turned his blood hot, and he had been thinking on it a lot since the idea had first entered his fool head hours ago. He’d performed routine medical duties in his office all morning, and this was the first chance he had to get away. A lunch break, he’d told Karl, who snorted his opinion.
And now here he lay on her massage table, almost naked. His face rested on a small pillow, his arms dangling over the sides of the table. His raging enthusiasm was a painful lump under him, a reminder that this seemingly innocent activity was forbidden fruit to a long celibate vampire angel.
Still, he was tempted.
Behind him, he heard Marisa snicker and say something under her breath about donut holes. He had been thinking about fruit, forbidden fruit, not sweet treats, like donuts. Same thing, he supposed.
“Marisa, I did not really come here for a massage.”
“You could have fooled me. You’re lying on my massage table, naked except for a little towel over your butt, and about five miles of muscles waiting to be rubbed.”
“Um,” he barely choked out.
“What are those scars, or bumps, on your shoulder blades?” she asked. “Were you in an accident?”
He muttered something about “Run-in with an archangel. Would you believe me if I said that I might grow wings there someday?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was a mermaid and I forgot to bring my tail with me?”
“Sarcasm again!” he complained. “I need to talk with you about something important.”
“Talk, talk, talk! What is it about your need for lecturing me?” He could hear her sigh from the other side of the room where she was fiddling with the dials on a sound system that burst into the most inappropriate, or was it appropriate, song of all. “Sexual Healing.” Hah! It would take more than the savage beats of modern music to heal his sexual needs. “You scheduled a massage, and that’s what you are hot damn going to get. I’m tired of hearing about the need for talk.”
“Marisa! If you lay your hands on me, just a little bit, my half cockstand will be standing tall. And you do not want to witness that.”
“Oh puh-leeze! I don’t know what a cockstand is, but I can guess. Do you think you’re the first man to make a crude suggestion during a perfectly unsexual massage?”
Unsexual? She is demented. “All I know is, if you even breathe on my bare skin, I will be roaring my enthusiasm.”
“Roar away! It won’t get you anywhere.”
“Are you really that daft to challenge me so? I tell you true, m’lady, if you stand close enough that those pointed nipples are anywhere near my face, I will surely take a nip, and I do not mean a fanging.”
She came closer, the lackwit woman! “I do not have pointy nipples.”
He turned his face on his still folded arms and opened one eye to stare at said breasts. “Definitely pointy,” he concluded.
She shook her head as if he were a hopeless case.
He was. “If I inhale one more whiff of your honey-ginger woman scent, I will probably swoon like a girling.”
He could swear she giggled. “You’re teasing me.”
“Teasing, am I? Woman, if this need I have of you grows any bigger, I will be compelled to lift you up onto the table, under me, and I will surely have to swive you three ways to Muspell.”
“What is Muspell?”
“Norse Hell.”
There was an extended silence in the room then. He turned his head this way and that and could not see her. So he sat up and saw that she was propped up against the door a short distance from the bottom of the massage table. On her face was an expression of . . . He could not tell for sure. Interest? Or outrage?
It did not matter. He could not stay in this small, confined space with her much longer without doing something he would later regret. Well, mayhap not regret so much as have to repent. Michael would know, and Michael would punish, sure as sin.
He stood and dropped the towel.
She swallowed.
“Do not worry. I am just donning my outer garments so you will no longer be tempted by my assets.”
“Egotistical buffoon,” she muttered, but he noticed that she did not turn her face away to avoid looking at his nakedness.
Once he was dressed in denim braies, an old Navy SEALs T-shirt that Trond had left behind at the castle last year, and athletic shoes, he said, “Bottom line here, Marisa. You obviously need money, or you would not be here on this bloody island.”
“Bloody?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Bloody, blasted, damn, whatever.”
“You know that I need money?”
“Of course. Why else would you consider spreading your thighs, your toes pointing to the high heavens, for such a man as Harry Goldman? And yes, nipples and toes can both point.”
She bristled. “It’s none of your business who I open my thighs for, you crude sonofabitch.”
He was the one who bristled now, at her crudeness. He might be a Viking, crude as any man, but he did not appreciate such traits in his women. I mean, any woman. Not mine. Definitely not mine. It was a slip of the tongue, Michael. “If it is bloody lucre that will lure you away from this island, then I will get it for you,” he conceded with ill grace. It went against the grain for him to bribe the woman.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“How much? What would it require for you to go home?”
“Seventy thousand dollars.”
That much? She prizes her body highly, I must say. But what he said was “A pittance.”
“What?” she repeated. “You consider seventy thousand dollars a pittance? I thought you said that you aren’t a wealthy man.”
“I am not.”
“Listen, this is a pointless conversation. I hardly know you, and I’m beginning to find your constant interfering in my life insulting, if not a bit on the stalkish side.”
“I am a protector, not a stalker.”
“Oh really? And what would you expect for that amount of money?”
Under normal circumstances, everything. But it has been a long, long time since I was normal, if ever I was. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit! At least with Harry, I would know the cost. With you, it would be an open-ended nightmare.”
“That
is a ridiculous assumption. Even if you are right, why would a deal with Harry be more palatable than one with me?”
“I don’t know. It just feels that way. Do you really have that kind of cash on hand?”
“Well, not on hand, precisely . . .”
“That’s what I thought.”
“. . . but I could probably get it.”
“Probably?” She laughed. “This conversation is over.”
“This conversation has not nearly begun.” He inhaled and exhaled for patience. Time for the hard truth. “If you must know, I am not really a doctor.”
“Surprise, surprise. I told you from the beginning that you didn’t look like any doctor I’ve ever met.”
“Well, I am a doctor, but more important, I am a vampire.” He flashed his fangs, just for emphasis.
She should have jumped away, or shrieked with shock. She did neither. “Ho-hum! That trick is getting old.”
He crossed his eyes at her stubbornness. “A vampire angel, to be more precise.”
“Is that a fact? No offense, big boy, but you are the farthest thing from an angel I have ever seen. Not that I’ve come in contact with many angels.”
“I’ll give you facts, you stubborn wench. This island is teeming with demon vampires. Lucipires. We call them Lucies, for short.”
“You named a demon vampire Lucy. Like, I Love Lucy? Is there a Ricky demon, too, and how about Ethel and Fred?”
“No, you witless female. Lucies, as in L. U. C. I. E. S.”
She crossed her eyes, just to mock him, he supposed.
“You jest, when this is a dead serious matter. There are demon vampires, I tell you. Big, monstrous creatures with scales and red eyes, and tails and, yes, sharp fangs. Creatures that seek out sinners, such as you are determined to be.” There! Let her muse on that for a moment. Let her realize the danger she faced on this island.
She just stared at him for a long moment, and then she burst out laughing.
Not the reaction he was hoping for.
Sometimes you get a lemon, sometimes a peach, and sometimes a Garden of Eden apple . . .
Marisa blinked, then blinked again.