Tease. Suzanne Forster
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room, don’t you? I have one scheduled in ten minutes, and the room has two tables. I could ask the masseuse to work on both of us. She won’t mind. She can switch back and forth, and we can talk.”
He liked the idea. She could tell by his smile.
“A couples massage,” he said.
Tess thought about that. She really did. Naked in the same room with him, sharing the same masseuse, a woman who would be moving back and forth between them, her hands all over him and then those same hands rubbing all over Tess. Something about that made her nervous.
“I’ll pass,” she said. “Massages put me to sleep. I’d never be able to concentrate.”
“In that case, sit and talk to me while I have a massage.”
Somehow that option didn’t make Tess any less nervous. “Not this time,” she said.
“Rain check, then?”
“Oh, right, definitely. For sure.”
Gabriel took a money clip from his pocket. He pulled out a couple of bills that looked suspiciously like fifties, walked over to Mitzi and tucked them in the pocket of her navy blue duster coat. He thanked her without saying what for, nodded to Tess, and left.
As soon as the door closed, Tess turned to Mitzi. “What the hell was that about?”
“The one-hour orgasm?” Mitzi grinned. “One of his accounts is a pharmaceutical giant that’s developed the female equivalent of Viagra. Danny’s doing his research.”
So, Tess hadn’t been too far off about the Viagra. But she hadn’t meant the orgasm question. She’d meant the money. Was that an exorbitant tip, or was Gabriel paying Mitzi money owed for something he’d bought? It smacked of something more clandestine, like a drug deal or a bribe, but he’d hardly do those things in front of Tess. Was he buying her cooperation, maybe her silence?
Tess got closer to Mitzi, speaking in whispers. “You said something about Danny Gabriel having a secret.”
“I also said I couldn’t reveal it.”
“Name your price. I’ll pay.” If Mitzi was an information broker, Tess wasn’t above greasing her palm.
Mitzi just smiled. “Here’s your dominatrix for the Faustini ad,” she said, handing Tess the stack of glossies. “She’s right on top.”
The model Mitzi had picked was a long-lashed beauty with cat eyes, black-cherry lips and an evil smile. She would be the perfect Mistress of Pain, if Tess were going that route. But she wasn’t.
She thanked Mitzi, but did not slip any money into her pocket. The information broker would have to do better than that.
Chapter Five
Tess stood on the corner, clutching her tote to her body for warmth as she waved at the cabs sailing by. Someone should have warned her that a standard-issue quilted coat wouldn’t cut it this time of year. Was this New York or Antarctica? It was so cold her breath had created an impenetrable fog bank, which might be the reason cabs weren’t stopping. They couldn’t see her.
It was nearly midnight. She’d just finished working on the Faustini campaign, and her next mission was to get home. Not as easy as it sounded for a native Californian in New York. She’d decided to hail a cab rather than take the subway at this hour. Her furnished two-bedroom condo on the Upper East Side was owned by the agency and used for consultants and commuting executives, but Erica Summers had promised it to Tess, rent free, for as long as she was with the agency. That had cinched the deal for Tess. Finding an affordable apartment in Manhattan was not unlike a quest for the Holy Grail.
“Help the crazy freezing woman!” White steam plumed from Tess’s mouth. She had little personal cab-hailing experience—people drove their own cars in L.A.—but she’d been coached by Andy to be aggressive. Curse at them, he’d said. Flip them the bird. Speak their language, and they’ll stop every time, out of respect.
Tess might have to throw her body in front of their wheels to get respect tonight. Interesting that she was feeling almost ballsy enough to do it. She’d made some incredible progress in the last several hours. She’d actually come up with a concept and roughed out the print ads for the Faustini campaign.
Her imagination was still soaring. Brad Hayes had inspired the idea when he’d suggested goth glam, which didn’t quite cover all the bases, in Tess’s opinion. She’d tweaked it a bit and come up with Elegant Goth, reasoning that elegance would satisfy the loyal Faustini customers, and the gothic touch would attract the new young, hip crowd they wanted. It would either be the perfect crossover, or it would miss both markets and totally tank.
But Tess had a good feeling about it. And her team had liked the concept too, at least the ones she could reach. She’d arranged an emergency after-hours conference call to brainstorm the idea, and she, Andy, Brad and Carlotta had patched together a print layout with the Elegant Goth theme. Tess had been refining it until moments ago.
“Over here!” she yelled as a cab veered toward her. It rolled past her at a good clip and stopped up the street, brakes screeching. Tess broke into a run, struggling with her coat and bag, and praying the cab wouldn’t take off without her. The back door opened magically as she reached the car, and she piled inside. The only thing on her mind was escaping the cold.
She gave the driver her address as she pulled the door shut. Panting, she turned to throw her tote on the seat beside her and saw that something was already there. Or rather, someone. A man.
“Oh! I didn’t know the cab was occupied—” Several startling truths hit Tess all at once. She couldn’t get out of the cab. The driver had already taken off. They were speeding down the street, and beams from the streetlights illuminated the other passenger’s face. His shadow-carved features were disturbingly familiar. She could even see the scar.
“Danny Gabriel? What are you doing?”
The very slowness of Gabriel’s smile made it seem sinister. Tess sprang up to get the driver’s attention, but Gabriel blocked her. He clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back with him, mauling her in a way that would have been quite obscene, if not for the quilted coat.
“The Marquis Club,” he told the driver. To Tess he said in a low, mock-menacing voice, “You’re coming with me. Don’t say a word, and you won’t get hurt.”
Tess pried his hand off her mouth. “You’ve been watching too many movies. All I have to do is scream, and the driver will call the police.”
Gabriel shook his head in slow motion. “Not after the wad of cash I gave him. Besides, I told him we were regulars of the club, and we’re playing out a little fantasy. It happens all the time.”
It was beginning to dawn on Tess that this had to be a joke. Coworkers didn’t take each other hostage in taxis in the middle of the night.
“The Marquis Club?” she said. “That’s at the Marriott Marquis Hotel, right? On Forty-second Street?”
Danny just laughed. “Sweetheart, it’s marquis as in Marquis de Sade, and it’s the perfect backdrop for the Faustini campaign.”
“But that sounds like—”
“An S&M club. You’re going to love it. But don’t feel like you have to thank me. We all work for the same agency, right?”
“But we’re not all on the same team. How did you know I was working late? Are you spying on me?”
“Mmm.” His voice dropped low. “Your every move.”
Okay, maybe this wasn’t a joke. Tess weighed her options. She didn’t lack nerve. She’d moved to New York on her own, but going to an S&M club with him was about as safe and sane as flipping off a cabdriver. In other words, not.
“Pull over,”