I Brake For Bad Boys (21 page)

Her spine stiffened up, ramrod straight. “Money is not the point!”

He glanced up from the checkbook. “Money is always the point.” His tone suggested that he was stating something painfully obvious.

Her chin lifted. “Not with me, it isn't.”

And it wasn't. That was one of the vows she'd made when she left her old life behind. She'd left her old values, too. Or rather, the values that others had imposed upon her. Money would never rule her again.

Jonah studied her for a moment. He signed the check, ripped it out, and laid it on the bar, equidistant between their two beers. “So what is the point, then?” He sounded genuinely curious.

She stared at his jagged black signature. Two thousand dollars. Another two on Friday. With what she'd already saved, and a couple of loans, she'd be able to quit the MMC and open her studio right now.

She swallowed, and looked away. “I do strictly therapeutic massage,” she said stiffly. “Going to the private home of a man I don't know seems to invite misunderstanding. You must know what I mean.”

His sensual mouth curved. “Of course I know what you mean. I just get a kick out of watching you blush.”

She leaped off the bar stool and backed away. “You know what? It's just exactly that sort of flirtatious, inappropriate comment that makes me nervous.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said hastily. “Relax. My guests know what a professional massage therapist does and doesn't do. And so do I. I'm not inviting you to an orgy. Bring a friend, if it makes you feel better. Bring a squad of Ninja bodyguards. There's plenty of room.” His expression was so winsome and contrite that her face ached to smile back. He put his finger on the check and pushed it toward her. Slowly. Inch by inch.

She looked away, flustered. “I have to think. And I have see if someone can cover for me at Cedar Hills.”

He fished a card out of his wallet and wrote two numbers on the back. “Home phone and cell phone. Call me anytime.” He leaned forward and tucked his card and his check into the breast pocket of her denim jacket, ignoring the flinch and tremor that his touch provoked. “Take the check, too. Meditate on it.” His eyes flicked down over her body. “I'm hungry. Can I buy you some dinner?”

She backed up another step, holding her purse in front of her.

His eyes gleamed with silent amusement. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. You've got something against having dinner with me. Wish I knew why.”

“I don't have anything against you,” she babbled, taking another step back. “I'm just not dressed for dinner, and I have to go. Right now.”

“Hey. Tess.”

The quiet force in his voice stopped her. She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I'm harmless,” he said. “Really. I swear. A great big pussycat.”

Pussycat. She imagined petting him, making him purr and stretch. Sinuous and sensual . . . and predatory.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “Totally harmless.”

She turned, and fled.

“Yo, Tess. I just found your purse in the fridge. You going to tell your good buddy Trish what's up, or am I gonna have to nag?”

Tess looked up from her tepid mug of tea, and took the purse that Trish held out. The leather was clammy. “It's cold,” she mumbled.

“Duh.” Trish popped open her Diet Coke and sat down, fixing her roommate with an eagle-eyed stare. “So?”

Tess let the purse drop. “I got a business proposition today.”

“So far, so good.” Trish gave her an encouraging nod.

“From Jonah Markham. Remember the guy I told you about?”

“Oh, my God. The to-die-for handsome one who melts your brain?”

“The very one,” Tess admitted.

Trish whistled. “How titillating. What's the proposition?”

Tess squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for Trish's reaction. “That I go out to his house on Cougar Lake this weekend and give massages to his houseguests. For four thousand dollars.”

Trish's cornflower-blue eyes widened. “Whoa! For four thousand bucks, I hope you're gonna give him a blow job, too.”

Tess leaped up as if she'd been stung. “Trish! That's not funny!”

“So who's kidding?” Trish asked in a plaintive voice. “Come on, Tess, not even a hand job? With some of that perfumed oil you use? I can see it now, Mr. Pecs-R-Us with bedroom eyes, all tousled and ripped and bulging, just begging you to rub on his big, stiff—”

“You are incorrigible.” Tess stomped into the kitchen and dumped the cooled tea into the sink.

Trish followed her in, undaunted. “That can't possibly sting you. You live like a nun, chica. It's high time you got some decent nooky. I'd pay four thousand bucks myself to get you some, if I could afford it.”

Ignoring her was clearly not going to work. “Wasn't Tyler supposed to take you out on a dinner cruise tonight?”

“Not for another hour or so,” Trish said cheerfully. “You're stuck with me, sweet pea. Let's discuss your outfit, shall we? You aren't going to wear the Vee Have Vays To Make You Talk monstrosity Jeanette makes you wear. Tell me that you're not.”

Tess marched past her into the living room. “I haven't even decided if I'm going,” she said stiffly. “And if I do, I'd better stick with the Vee Have Vays dress. It'll help me keep some professional distance and authority.”

“Screw distance and authority. How about that flame-red stretch lace teddy that I got you for Christmas?”

“Trish.” She gritted her teeth. “Read my lips. I am not going out there to have sex. No sex. None. Got it? If I go, it'll be for the money.”

“Money's great, but money
and
sex are better,” Trish pointed out.

Tess pretended not to hear. “With that four thousand, I could open my studio without making any . . . unacceptable compromises.”

“Like asking your folks for help?”

Tess winced. “I'd only rather be dipped in boiling lead.”

The phone rang. They stared at it, then at each other. “Speak of the devil,” Trish said. “Whenever your family is mentioned, she calls.”

“I wasn't the one who brought them up,” Tess snapped. “Thanks a lot, Trish.” She sighed and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Well, well, well. This is my youngest daughter, isn't it? I'm not quite sure, you see. I've forgotten what your voice sounds like.”

Tess rolled her eyes at Trish. “Hello, Mom. How's everybody?”

“Oh, so so. We miss you terribly. Daddy wants you to know that your job is still open, honey bunch. Anytime you come to your senses.”

Tess's stomach knotted with an old, familiar pain. “I'm not coming back, Mom.”

“Oh, Tessie, honey, when are you going to grow up? My headaches are terrible since you left, and Larry's just pining away—”

“Oh, please. He can't possibly be pining, since he never cared about me in the first place. I was just the boss's daughter, that's all.”

“Tess! That is unkind, and untrue! I know Larry as well as I know my own children! He's putting a brave face on it, but everybody knows you broke his heart, running off like you did. But know what I think, hon? I think there's still hope. If you came back, Larry would—”

“You don't get it, Mom.” The weariness that Jonah's massage had dispelled crashed down upon her. She flopped onto the couch.

“What I don't get, darling, is why you're being so obstinate. What am I supposed to tell my friends? That my smart little girl, who did so well in business school and had such a lucrative career ahead of her, to say nothing of a dream of a fiancé, just threw it all away to work in a massage parlor? It's barely respectable! What's that, Bill? . . . oh, that's funny. Daddy says next you'll be reading Tarot cards!”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Tess's words cut off her mother's tinkling laughter. “Some of my friends make a nice living reading Tarot.”

Tess squeezed her eyes shut as she waited out the cold silence.

“You are deliberately missing my point, Tessie,” her mother said.

“Therapeutic massage takes talent and training. And I'm very good at it.” Tess felt like she was running a scratchy, worn-out promo tape for some unwanted product. “It's a very respectable career choice.”

“Maybe for some people, but not for a Langley! You should be working in the family firm, like you planned ever since you were little!”

“Like
you
planned,” Tess said, though she knew it was futile.

“You're just doing this to upset me, aren't you? You should get therapy, dear, really you should. Because the person you're actually punishing is yourself. You're barely scraping by. You work so hard you didn't even have time to come home for Melissa's birthday party!”

“Did she get the present I sent?” Tess tried to deflect her mother's relentless trajectory, to no avail.

“The point is that your current profession is a financial dead end compared to working for Daddy. Oh, Daddy just made Larry CEO, by the way. And if you come home, Daddy will give you a raise of—”

“I'm opening my own massage studio,” Tess blurted.

There was another gelid silence. “I beg your pardon?”

“I've already got a client base,” Tess said desperately. “I get lots of referrals. I'm very confident that it'll go well.”

“Opening your own studio?” Her mother repeated the words as if she couldn't quite grasp them. “And where did you get the capital?”

“I've been scrimping and saving,” Tess said, crossing her fingers.

Trish made a questioning gesture, asking if Tess wanted her to leave the room. Tess shook her head and waved her back down onto the couch. “This is something I've wanted for a long time, Mom.”

The silence on the other end of the line made her want to scream.

“Well,” her mother said. “I suppose there's nothing more to say.”

“You could wish me luck,” Tess suggested softly.

“I'm sure you'll need it. Good-bye, dear.”

The line went dead. Tess lay the phone down, chin quivering.

All teasing was gone from Trish's face. “You've boxed yourself into a corner, chica. You're gonna need that gig out on the lake, now. She's for sure gonna check up on you to see if it's true. She never lets up.”

Tess let the phone drop to her lap. “It'll be true,” she said in a small voice. “With that money, I can do this on my own. I know it.”

“Of course you can.” Trish got up and rummaged through the clutter on the phone table until she found Tess's address book. She sat down next to Tess, plucked the phone off her lap and dialed.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Helping you. You're too rattled to do this by yourself. You, like, just refrigerated your purse. Oh, hi, Elsa? Yeah, this is Trish, Tess's roommate. I'm her personal secretary tonight. Are you free to cover for her at Cedar Hills this weekend? . . . Yeah? Really? Oh, awesome. I'll tell her. Yeah, she really owes you one. Thanks, Elsa.”

Trish hung up, her face glowing with triumphant satisfaction. “The coast is clear! Now you've just gotta call up Mr. Deltoids and tell him you'd be thrilled to get paid four thousand big ones for the privilege of running your hands all over his gorgeous bod.”

Tess fished Jonah's card and check out of her pocket, and stared at them. She picked up the phone with cold, shaky fingers. “I need privacy for this call,” she said faintly. “I'm going into the bedroom.”

Trish bounced with glee. “Take all the privacy you need, cupcake!”

“Oh, stop it,” she said halfheartedly. “This is a business thing.”

Trish's voice followed her into the bedroom. “Sure it is, chica. Hey. Promise me you'll at least pack the red lace teddy. Pretty please?”

“Enough!” She slammed the door, and stood for a moment in the dark room, clutching the cordless phone. She fingered Jonah's card as she sank down onto her bed. Weak in the knees. Scared to death.

But it wasn't Jonah she was afraid of. Not really. All alone in the darkness, it was easier to admit to that what really terrified her was her own aching hunger for magic, for sensuality, for something real and shining. A real life. Maybe even . . . a real love.

That was why she'd run away from Larry, the picture perfect fiancé who had made her feel so small, she'd almost disappeared. It was why she had run from her suffocating family, and the lucrative job that she hated. She had been running toward a romantic dream of joy and fulfilment. It was that dream that made her so vulnerable. Jonah Markham shocked all of her intense romantic longings to life, along with knee-trembling physical desire. A devastating combination.

She wandered over to her dresser and flipped on the light, unbuttoning the white dress with a sigh of relief. The cheap synthetic fabric did not breathe. She gave her body a long, critical look in the mirror, and rummaged through her top drawer until she found the gift box that held the red lace teddy Trish had given her. It had been a while since she'd tried it on. It was time for another look.

She struggled out of the rest of her clothes, and pulled the fragile thing on, looking at herself from all angles. Wow. It barely covered her nipples with scalloped red lace, leaving the entire bulging top of her bosom bare. She struck a pose, and tried to look sultry. She looked almost aggressively sexy. It made her think of—oh, no. Please, no.

She tried to shake away the memory, but it had a will of its own. It rose up in minute, painful detail. That day in the department store fitting room, when her mother had tried to persuade her to consider breast reduction surgery.
“Really, hon, D cup breasts are ridiculous for a girl your size. They look disproportionate. Like you're trying to draw attention to yourself. Larry agrees with me, you know. And such a big bosom gives the impression that you're overweight, when you're really not. Not that much, at least.”

She put her hands on her breasts, covering them, and willed the memory away with all her strength. She was a different person from that luckless, stomped-upon, past Tess. She had recreated herself. And her bosom was just fine exactly the way it was, thank you very much.

She peeled the teddy off, carefully avoiding the sight of her own naked body. She yanked on an old, wilted flannel nightshirt, but sensual images kept creeping back into her mind. Herself in the red lace teddy, thrusting out her boobs as if she were fiercely proud of them. An arch in her back worthy of a Playboy bunny. And Jonah, on his knees, all bulging muscles and bedroom eyes, begging her to rub on his big, stiff . . . hold it. Don't do it, don't go there, don't lift that towel, her rational self pleaded. But the red-clad devil just used her little pitchfork to snag the edge of Jonah's imaginary towel, and flung it off him with a shrill cackle.

She imagined him stark naked. Staring up at her with that hot, dark, no-turning-back look in his eyes. His body, hers to please herself with. A heaving ocean of pleasure and danger. She wanted to fling herself into it. Her lower body tightened with a restless ache that stole her breath, that made her want to whimper and squirm and press her legs together. This feeling was unfamiliar, almost frightening.

She had to keep in mind that she was no red-hot love goddess in bed. Larry had made that very clear. She was a good listener, she baked great brownies, and she gave unbeatable backrubs, but sex with her was like trying to light a fire with a wet match. She had counted herself lucky if she could get through it without too much discomfort.

And she would just die if she had to see that look of polite disappointment on Jonah Markham's face. Better a lifetime of celibacy.

She needed to think positive, to concentrate on her strengths, not her weaknesses. To remember how great it would be to open her own studio, to achieve autonomy, independence, success. To follow through on her own dreams and plans, and no one else's. To prove to her family, once and for all, that she was capable of making it on her own.

Nothing was going to stop her. Certainly not a silly spasm of lust.

Braced by that hopeful thought, she picked up the phone.

 

 

Four thousand bucks. Ouch. He'd officially lost his mind.

Jonah let himself into his apartment and dropped the takeout Chinese on the table. It wasn't that he couldn't afford it. He had plenty of money. He was just appalled at his own reckless extravagance. Just one more example of the unnerving desperation that Tess inspired.

Then again, the weekend with Cynthia at Lake Tahoe had cost a lot more than that, and he hadn't even come home relaxed. He winced, imagining what Granddad would've said if he'd seen the Lake Tahoe credit card bill. Granddad believed that frugality was a virtue. Too bad Jonah's cousins Steve and John, who were driving Granddad's company into the ground, didn't adhere to that philosophy. Dickheads.