Chapter 39
Justice
Burrowed in the complimentary robe, a glass of champagne in hand, I follow a lean guy named Paul with a subdued voice. He ushers me into a room infused with calming scents. Twinkling candles softly radiate across a room. In the furthest corner is a dream tub, crystal clear. The gem of the room is a freestanding tub, giving a view of the inside—cerulean water and floating orchids. In front of the bath are two massage tables, along with the antithesis of a Romeo, sitting wide legged.
Dark shadows cast along Brody’s angular face. His mind is in the gutter, and I’m his target.
“Hey,” I smile.
“Where’s her servant?”
“Ahem, not a servant.” I toss daggers at him.
“Ye telling me ye two guys are—”
“Unless you’d like to reschedule,” retorts his masseuse, whose thinning hair doesn’t compare to his thinner tone. “Might I remind you of the rescheduling fee.”
“Brody,” I groan.
“First, shove the fee. And, nae, get to it, and ye,” his head cocks toward Paul, “get fresh with her, I dare ya.”
I mutter out a “thank you,” too embarrassed to contemplate any further apology.
With a vicious bite in his tone, Brody’s masseuse says, “We’ll give you a moment to undress.”
After they exit, Brody laughs. “Wit the feck did ye get me into, Justice?”
“Absolutely nothing. If I had half a brain, I would wonder what your expectations are.”
He removes his robe. The firelight casts a golden glow across his powerful shoulders and legs.
“You could have taken off the A-shirt.”
“How ‘bout we skip this part? Anything they can do with their hands, I can do better.” Brody looks pointedly at the tub.
In response, I strip off my robe and lie face down on the crisp sheet on the massage table and begin to adjust the towel over my back. I expect groping and rugged shows of affection. Brody adjusts the towel over my ass, tucking, manhandling, and tucking some more.
There’s a knock at the door. He gives my left cheek a little smack and swaggers over to his table.
“Be good,” I mouth, pressing my face into the rounded cushion. As Paul gets to work opening the bottle, the scent of lavender and honey oil washes over me. His delicate fingers dig into my muscles and stroke over the tensed areas.
A groan seeps past my lips.
A grunt exits the lion on the opposite cot.
I clear my throat. After which, time ceases to exist.
Sometime later, Brody’s voice cuts through the tranquil music. In less than a second, Mr. Bossy Pants has the duo leaving us to our own devices. As soon as the door closes, my eyes lock onto Brody, and I sit up.
“You were supposed to make my first time memorable.”
“Ye were bored to sleep.”
“I fell asleep?” I rustle my braids in thought.
“Aye. Nae matter,” he says, removing his boxer briefs like this is his kingly lair, “because ya ain’t gonna forget this anyway. But if I ever hear ye telling another man—”
“He has amazing hands or any variation of a compliment?” I arch a brow.