Dirty Aristocrat(43)

'A bit? You?' I explode in disbelief. This is Stella, the woman who  turns a spider sighting in her bedroom into a shrieking Victorian  melodrama.

'Yeah,' she says softly.         

     



 

'In lust?'

'Yeah.'

I shake my head in wonder. 'Since when?'

'Since,' she shrugs, 'forever. I've always had a thing for him, but of  course, he's way out of my league. The women he dates are all like six  feet tall and totally perfect. I only register on his radar as a pair of  strong hands.'

I stare at her suspiciously. 'Are you just making all this up so I'll go and massage him?'

She shakes her head. 'No.'

'Why haven't you told me about this man crush before?'

She looks down at her right shoe. 'There seemed to be no point. I've  come to terms with it. The truth is it is way stronger than a crush, and  it could even be love, but there's nothing I can do about it.'

Suddenly I realize why every time we go out she freezes out every man,  even the ones that look like serious contenders, who comes up to her.  'Oh, Stella!' I breathe. I had no idea she was suffering in silence.

She looks at me sadly. 'It doesn't matter. It'll pass. But right now I  just need your help. I don't want to let him down or give him cause to  fire me. Until I'm ready to let go of him I want to keep this job  going.'

'But-'

She holds up her hand. 'Don't say it. I know. It's stupid and it's  crazy, and I don't know where I'm going with this, but I can't let go.  Not yet. One day I'll eventually leave, I know that, but just not quite  yet, OK?'

'OK.'

One corner of her mouth lifts. 'So you'll do it?'

Now I am torn between feeling horribly sorry for her and not wanting to  be manipulated into massaging her Russian. 'I do want to help, Stella,  but I can't. I'm not qualified. I wouldn't know what to do or say to  someone like that.'

'You don't even have to talk to him. He never says a word. Just comes in  and lies there, and after I've finished, I turn down the lights and  leave. He doesn't even lift up his head to say goodbye.'

Ugh, sounds like a horrible man. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.  'I think this is a really bad idea,' I say, but my voice is weak. Both  of us know that she has won.

'Yes, you can. It's a plain massage. Nothing fancy. Just basic moves.  You could do it with your eyes closed. All you have to remember is that  he likes it hard.'

I stare at her indecisively.

'Remember three months of no cleaning.'

'Stella,' I groan.

'Oh, thank you. Thank you. I promise you'll never regret it. I owe you one.'

I sigh. 'I'm already regretting it.'

'Come on. Let's get you into one of my uniforms.'

We go into her room and I take my T-shirt off and slip into her white  uniform. It has a black collar and black buttons all the way down, but  because my boobs are so much bigger than hers I cannot button all the  way.

'Now what?' I ask.

Her head disappears into her closet. She comes out with a scarf, hooks  it around the back of my neck tucks it into the front of her uniform.

I look at myself in the mirror.

'I really don't know about this, Stella,' I say doubtfully.

'Are you kidding? You absolutely look the part.'

'Are you mad. This uniform is too tight.'

'No, no, you look great,' she says quickly and bundles me out of her  room. 'Look, you best get going or you'll be late. The car will be here  anytime now.' She grabs my handbag from the dining table, presses it  into my hands and practically pushes me out of the front door. Holding  on to my elbow she rushes me down the corridor. We go into the lift  together and as she said, there is a black Mercedes with tinted windows  waiting outside. She opens the back door and manhandles me into it.

'See you later,' she calls cheerily as she closes the door with a thick click.

The driver glances at me in the mirror.

'You all right Miss.'

'Yeah, I'm all right?' I say with a sigh. Looks like I'm massaging the man Stella is in love with.'





Hey, I heard you are a wild one, wild one, wild one.





Chapter Two


Dahlia Fury

The Mafia boss's house is in Park Lane. A dour, deeply tanned man in a  black suit and a white shirt opens the door and raises his eyebrows. He  is wearing an earpiece.

'Stella can't make it. I'm taking her place,' I explain shortly

'We do body searches on people we don't know,' he says, his eyes travelling down my body.

'The fuck you are,' I tell him rudely.

He grins suddenly. 'I like you. You've got balls.'         

     



 

'Whatever,' I say in a bored voice.

His grin widens. He's got good strong teeth. 'If you've got a weapon hidden in that tight dress you deserve to kill him.'

'It's a uniform,' I say stiffly.

'No kidding,' he leers.

I look at him with raised eyebrows.

'Come with me.'

I step into the mansion, he closes the door, and I follow him into the  Mafia Don's residence. What can I say? Wow? Crime really does pay? Yeah,  must be nice to have so much. Polished granite, marble columns,  fantastic lighting, touches of platinum, sleek black leather trimmings.  Nope, not my thing, nevertheless very, very impressive in a cold,  masculine sort of way. He takes me up a sprawling staircase to the  massage room.

He flicks his wrist, looks at his watch, and says. 'He'll be with you in five minutes.'

Then he winks and disappears. I look around the dimly lit room. Opera  music is being piped in through hidden speakers, and it is wonderfully  warm. I walk towards the massage table. All the different oils are in a  kind of bain-marie on a trolley next to it.

Shit. Suddenly I feel really nervous.

I've never massaged anyone other than Stella and my sister. I take a  deep breath. No, I can do this. I will tell my grandchildren about the  day I massaged a Russian Mafia boss. I smile to myself. I pick up a  bottle of oil. I twist the cap and smell it. Oooo …  lavender, musk and  something else …  Rosemary?

I pour some on my palm and rub my hands together. The smell surrounds  me. Very nice. I adjust my clothes. I know exactly why the black suit  had been staring at me. The uniform is way too tight. I hear a sound  outside the door and quickly put my hands to my sides and look towards  it.

The door opens and this huge hunk of a man with a small towel slung  around his hips comes in. Whoa! I inhale in slow motion. Jesus! No  wonder Stella is all tied up in knots. He excludes pure sexual energy.  Let me describe him to you. The first thing that hits me after his  height and breath are his incredible tattoos. They cover his body and  they are not an untidy collection of random images, but each one subtly  connected to the others. To give you an example, an angel smiles at a  tiger tearing into an impala, above their heads are intricate images of  stars, demons and other strange creatures. On his shoulder a cobra  hisses dangerously its mouth and hood open.

The next thing that floors you are his eyes. You know those crazy  drawings of Nordic aliens, their ice-blue eyes. That's what his are  like. Piercing and magnetic. Shit. I couldn't stop staring. Those crazy  eyes slide over me, lingering on my breasts, and then pulling back, and  narrowing on my face.

I want to smile, but I am frozen.

'Where is … ' he makes a rolling motion with his big, powerful hand.  Stella was right, after six months, twice a week, she has not even  registered enough for him to even remember her name.

'Stella,' I supply helpfully.

'Where is  …  Stella,' he asks quietly. His voice is deep and the accent is strong and actually extremely sexy.

I clear my throat. 'She couldn't make it. I'm here to take her place.'

He nods. 'Ok,' and going to the massage table lies on it face down.

I gaze at the splendid body, the muscles, gleaming in the dim room and  think of Stella. God, I'm not surprised she's all in love. I am vaguely  aware of a kind of animal attraction. I want to touch him. The sexual  desire is so strong, it is as unsettling as a fingernail on a  blackboard. It sets my teeth on edge. It's almost like making love. I  take a deep breath. Right. Swedish. Make it hard, Stella is saying in my  head.

There is a strange feeling inside my belly. I feel hot and excited. A  light sheen of sweat starts on my body. I wipe my brow with the back of  my forearm. I flex my fingers and move forward.

I pick up the oil that has been warming in the hot water. Jesus,  suddenly the smell of oil feels too musky and erotic. I gaze at his  sinewy neck and feel the hair at the back of my own rise. He is like an  animal, a big cat. Sleek and dangerous. I put musky oil back down and  pick up a random bottle.

I pour the warm, lemon scented oil on the plateau at the base of his  spine. I watch it pool. Then I take a deep breath and open the massage  with a long, slow stroke. He doesn't react. I shift my hands down to the  two mounds of the gluteal muscles. They are firm strong and tight  …  and  bulging insolently.

Make it hard. He likes it hard.

I dig down and get to work, careful not to make the mistakes that  amateurs make  –  work too fast. My breathing rate increases, but the man  does nothing. Just lies there silently. I move to the front of him, grab  his shoulders and push down his back with my thumbs and finger pads..