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.