Wicked Games

The massage room’s door creaked open and she bolted to her feet. A young sex god, in all his bronzed glory, sauntered out of the room.


The masseur.

At the sight of him, she drew in a startled breath. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected and she wasn’t prepared for the effect of meeting him. He was bare from the waist up, his upper body gleamed, redolent with intoxicating oil. A white towel draped around his neck, highlighting his tan. A sprinkling of curly black hair decorated the sculpted muscles of a magnificent chest. A narrow trail of the same dark hair arrowed down washboard abs, disappearing into his cotton slacks.

When she was able to draw her gaze to his face, she found classic features, along with darker than sin eyes. He evaluated her with frank masculine appraisal. A wave of sensual longing swept through her, clenching feminine muscles and tightening her nipples. Thankfully, the white shirt she’d tossed on over her bikini obscured the direction of her thoughts.

He eyed her with an expression of faint amusement. “You wish to schedule a massage, for you and your husband?”

As if his face and body alone weren’t enough to send her hormones into lusty overdrive, his voice was deep, seductive, and the English words he spoke slightly accented by French.

“Just me,” she breathed.

He arched one eyebrow. “No husband?”


“No husband,” she said in a more normal tone, tilting her chin and daring him to make fun of her single status here in honeymoon heaven.

“Me neither,” he said, taking her elbow, and then walking her toward the main entrance.

More thrilled than was sensible by his easy touch, she teased him. “No husband?”

“No wife,” he grinned at her and a single dimple winked.

She swallowed a sigh of pure sexual yearning. Of course, there was no wife. He was too young and handsome.

“When?” he asked.

Right here, right now. Well, perhaps over there behind those lush plants, where no one would notice.

“When do I want the massage?” She asked coolly, ignoring the inappropriate clamor in her lust-soaked mind.

“Exactly,” he said with a smaller smile. One that didn’t include the dimple.

“Now?” She twisted toward the massage room.

“Non,” he said abruptly, and then just as quickly softened his tone. “Now is not good, in one hour at your cabin. Oui?”

“My cabin? Why not the massage room?” Faint tingles of alarm skittered along her spine. Yes, he was young, virile, and way too good-looking. But, he was also a powerfully built man – a stranger who could be hiding dangerous intentions.

Broad shoulders rippled with a too casual shrug. “We could, some clients prefer their own quarters–a massage is very relaxing. Many prefer to take a nap afterwards. It is your choice,
Mademoiselle.”

What was the worst thing that could happen? That this young sex god would ravish her. Wasn’t that exactly what she needed? Perhaps, but jumping into a sexual encounter…. Was it smart? Was it safe? Was it sane?

No, times three.

Some strange brazen woman took control of her mouth, speaking coolly. “My cabin is number six. See you in an hour.”