long. He needed a break.
“You know it’s bad when you stop getting on my nerves and start getting on your own,” Tyler Dent had quipped last Tuesday after Ace fired a talented designer and scrapped a clothing direction months in the making. “You’re frickin’ overstressed, man. Either take a vacation or find another partner.”
Ace had responded with a few choice words, an upward flip of a certain finger and a door slam to punctuate his exit. He’d apologized later that evening and Dent, as Ace called him, in characteristic fashion, shook it off, bought him a beer and reiterated his ultimatum. The next day Ace had tasked his assistant with finding him a quiet, private place to unwind, something outside Northern California but no farther than a two-hour drive or hour-long airplane ride away. Among the several links she sent was the place he was now, Drake Wines Resort and Spa. The award-winning hotel and winery had appealed to him for several reasons. The private, freestanding bungalows they featured was only one of them.
Back from an invigorating two-mile run, Ace entered the expansive two-bedroom abode and headed straight for the master suite. He’d been forbidden from calling the office, and to abide by these wishes had left his phone in the room. He grabbed it, tapped the icon for his company email and strolled into the kitchen while the newest messages synced in. After opening a bottle of water and taking a long swig, he sat at the table to read through the day’s mail.
The name he’d hoped to see popped out at him. He opened the message, read the quick note and tapped the clip to open attachments. After a couple flicks of his thumbs, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hadn’t regretted firing the talented but temperamental designer this week. He had been doubtful about finding another one who could bring the new line Ace envisioned to life. But Lucien, the teenager who’d won a TV show design contest, was just that guy. His portfolio was everything Ace had hoped for and then some—as fresh, innovative and daring as the styles that had won him first prize. The new OTB fashion line, this one for women, would definitely turn heads. All they needed now was the right muse to wear it.
He replied to the email, forwarded the images to the partners and then, satisfied that his company actually could go twenty-four hours without his direct involvement, slipped out of his running shoes, shorts and tee and stepped into the shower. He leaned against the cool marble, a stark yet welcome contrast to the warm water streaming over his body. He stepped under the rain showerhead and let the water flow through his close-cropped curls, trickle over his brow, angular nose, full lips and dimpled chin, across his broad shoulders, down his rock-hard chest and back, pooling at his size fourteens before swirling into and down the drain. He increased the heat even more and turned on the multijet system. Soon, water shot to his body from eight different jets. A full-body massage was scheduled in just ten minutes, but this torrential pounding was going to be hard to beat.
Five minutes later he reluctantly stepped out of the shower, dried off six feet of chocolate perfection and donned a downy, soft cashmere robe with matching slippers. He was hungry and wished he scheduled enough time for a meal before his massage, but the ringing sound of a brass knocker proved the thought had come too late. He walked to the door and opened it.
A stout, pleasant-looking woman stood in the doorway. Ace was relieved. He was at the resort to relax, not fight off overzealous fans. From the looks of the woman who stood before him, he was safe.
“Mr. Montgomery?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, I’m Ellen, here for your massage appointment.”
“Please, come in.”
Ellen entered, pulling an oversize canvas bag on wheels. The strap of another bag made of the same material rested on her shoulder. She placed the larger bag on the floor and the smaller one on top of it.
“That’s the massage table?” Ellen nodded. “The whole table is in that small bag?”
This elicited a smile and another nod. “I assure you that it’s comfortable and durable, yet light and easily transportable. Top of the line.”
“If you say so. Would you like a drink, a glass of water, perhaps?”
“No, nothing. Thank you.”
“I hear you’re one of the best.”
“I try. You signed up for the Swedish/deep tissue combo. Is that still your choice?”
Ace nodded. “I think that’ll work.”
“Very well. I will get set up in the master suite.”
In short order the therapist returned and stated that she was ready to begin. “Please remove your robe, climb between the sheets and let me know when it’s fine for me to enter the room.”
“Will do.”
Ace found humor in Ellen’s serious nature and entered his suite with a smile. The shades had been pulled, he noted, with aromatic candles placed strategically around the room. An array of oils were positioned on a nearby table. New age music wafted from an iPod. Five minutes and Ellen had turned the master suite into a spa room.
He removed the robe, tossed it on the bed and climbed aboard a table, which, surprisingly, was as light, sturdy and comfortable as Ellen had claimed. As he settled himself between the sheets, a sound resembling a knock reached his ears. He paused and heard a muted conversation. Probably the housekeeper. Ace settled himself beneath the sheet, placed his head into the headrest and anticipated with pleasure a much-needed massage.
A moment later, there was a knock on his door. “Come in.”
“Ready?”
“Yes, Ellen. I’m ready. Come on in.”
“Just relax. Close your eyes.”
Ace’s brow furled. The voice sounded deeper, forced, her accent more pronounced. He dismissed the suspicion as quickly as it came. In his twenty-nine years he’d learned to question everything. But he was on vacation at a reputable, first-class resort and spa in a town he’d not heard of until clicking the link. If there was any place he could relax and feel safe it was here, in Temecula, California, in a bungalow named after a wine.
Two seconds after Ellen moved toward him, the frown returned. There was a smell—citrusy, spicy—that had not been there moments before. While most men wouldn’t have noticed, Ace had always been a lover of fragrance, especially when inhaled from the skin of a fine woman. Had Ellen whipped out the perfume before reentering his boudoir? Was there a little freak behind the formal facade? He almost laughed out loud. Still, his senses, especially those of smell and sound, were heightened in the darkened room. The music shifted from a haunting, piano-driven melody to a sensuous-sounding serenade led by a sultry sax. He heard hands being rubbed briskly together to warm up the oil. Felt the slightest of hesitations before two soft palms pressed against his upper back. Small hands. Smaller than he’d imagined Ellen’s would be. Softer, too. The oil was warm and soothing. Expert fingers began to knead the healing oil into his skin, across his back and shoulders. He closed his eyes, told himself he’d earned the right to relax.
Her fingers were slender but surprisingly strong. She massaged and nudged and kneaded his tight muscles into submission and glided her palms softly, slowly, almost lovingly, across his body. A swirl of air kissed his skin as the sheet was pulled lower, exposing the dimples just above his hard butt. Palms came together briskly. Ace could feel the heat of them hovering just above his buns.
Come on, Ellen. Don’t
