Pleasure for Two. Pamela Yaye
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wasn’t nearly as handsome as Marcel. While Suzette made the introductions, Dominique discreetly checked out the soft-spoken millionaire she’d spoken to twice last week.
Marcel was the clean-cut, athletic-looking type. His skin was the shade of Hershey’s Kisses, and she suspected his lips tasted just as sweet. He spoke with a slight but distinct French accent, and if that wasn’t enough to excite her, he had the sexiest mouth she had ever seen. Though dressed modestly in shorts and a T-shirt, Marcel had a distinguished, almost regal bearing about him. Add to that his staggering wealth, and he was a perfect ten. His mansion was a bold, lavish display of his riches, and she was thoroughly impressed. Inside the garage, she’d spotted three luxury vehicles, a pair of jet skis and enough antique furniture to beautify the Vatican church. Marcel Benoit was exactly her type—established, accomplished and successful—and she was determined to get to know him better. Mixing business with pleasure was never a good idea, but Dominique wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of her spending quality time with the attractive millionaire.
“Why don’t I show you ladies to the pool?” said the guy in the blue trunks, his pearly whites blinding. “The groomsmen are all chilling out back.”
Marcel cleared his throat. “I thought it might be too crowded outside, so some of the women are going to work in here.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of room.” Kevin motioned with his head toward the French doors. “Besides, it’s much too nice outside to be cooped up in here. Don’t you agree, ladies?”
Behind her, Dominique heard her coworkers giggle.
“Would you like something to eat before we get started?” Marcel addressed the group, but he was staring right at her. “I could show you to the food tables if you’d like.”
Heart pulsing, mouth dry, she combed a lock of hair away with her hands. Dominique would like nothing more than to have some one-on-one time with the wealthy businessman, but the guy in blue trunks seemed intent on spoiling her plans.
“Marcel, you’re in charge of the barbecue, remember? You finish grilling the steaks, and I’ll help the ladies set up out back. Don’t worry, man. I’ll handle it.”
The matter decided, Kevin took Dominique by the elbow and led her out unto the patio.
Fingers splayed, Dominique kneaded the muscles between the groomsman’s shoulder blades, applying more pressure as she inched down his spine. Lying flat on his stomach, his eyes closed and his head cocked to the side, Tobias Carlson complained bitterly about his court-ordered child support payments and the financial toll his divorce had taken on him.
Dominique hated working bachelor parties, but since the clients were willing to pay more for the in-home service, she’d canceled her blind date and reported to work. As Tobias droned on about his twelve-room vacation home in Bel Air, Dominique searched the backyard for a distraction—a tall, toned distraction with a titillating French accent. Her gaze fell on Marcel Benoit, and time stopped. His arms cut powerfully through the water as he swam the length of the pool. The wind blew warm against her face, intensifying her already sweltering temperature.
Watching him, she wondered why he wasn’t already married. Her friends all liked bad boys, but she’d always been attracted to quiet, respectable guys. Good manners were a definite turn-on, and Marcel was polite and gracious. He wasn’t the life of the party, but he didn’t need to be. He was the best-looking man there, and although he hadn’t tried talking to her again, Dominique was confident he would. They’d been sneaking covert glances at each other, pretending to be uninterested, but when their eyes met she felt a rush of divine pleasure.
With extreme interest, she watched as Marcel trudged up the steps of the circular pool. His body was overrun with taut muscles, and seeing his bare chest made her mouth water. To regain control of her loose mind, Dominique forced her eyes away. But as she glanced around the yard, she noticed that her colleagues were ogling him, too. Back off, vultures! He’s mine!
“Your hands are magic,” Tobias praised. “Are you available on Wednesday mornings? I could use a good rubdown after my weight class.”
Dominique didn’t answer. The extra money she made working weekends helped pay the bills, but she wasn’t going to jeopardize her position at First Centennial Trust for anyone—not even a high roller like Tobias Carlston.
“Sorry, but I only work weekends.”
Turing onto his side, he propped his head up with his elbow. Not only was he failing miserably at appearing cool but it looked like he was posing for a trashy magazine. “Then, we’ll have dinner instead. Eight o’clock sound good?”
Dominique retrieved a cloth from her bag, and cleaned the massage oil from her hands. With as much sympathy as she could muster, she slowly recited the line she fed all of her clients who hit on her. “Call me next week, and I’ll try to see what I can do.”
His frown spoke of his disapproval. Breathing heavily through his nose, he reached into his pocket and offered her a wrinkled fifty-dollar bill. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.” Without touching him, Dominique slid the money out from his fingers. Her cell phone rang, and she fished it out of her purse. “I have to take this call. See you later.”
Tobias eased off the portable bed and stood with his hands splayed on his hips. He looked pissed, but Dominique didn’t care. Her sister was calling, and his massage had officially ended five minutes ago. Wanting privacy, she rushed inside the house, ducked into the main-floor bathroom and locked the door.
“How are you guys doing?” Dominique asked after greeting her sister.
“Good, but we miss you. You promised to come by last night. What gives?”
“I was planning to, but I got asked to work at the spa at the last minute. Now that I finally have my massage therapy certification, I’ve been working as many hours as possible.” Only a year apart, Taryn and Dominique were often mistaken for twins, and despite their furious schedules, they talked several times a day. “Now, pass the phone to Summer. I saw her profile on Facebook, and Ms. Thang definitely needs a talking to. A thirteen-year-old has no business wearing miniskirts and fishnet stockings!”
After chastising her niece, Dominique ended the call. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she decided another trip to her dermatologist was in order. Botox scared her, but a facial reflexology treatment would give her skin a soft, healthy glow. Two hundred dollars was a steep fee, but she was a thirty-three-year-old woman living in a city overrun with college students, and it was important to stay ahead of the competition.
Exiting the bathroom, her thoughts on her sister and the kids, she failed to notice Marcel in the kitchen until he called out her name. “Is everything all right?” he asked, stepping out from behind the granite island. “I don’t mean to pry, but you look worried.”
For a moment, Dominique couldn’t speak. The sensual sound of his voice aroused her, making her feel nervous and excited at the same time. Hoping she didn’t look as stupid as she felt, she held up her phone. “I was just talking to my sister. She was giving me a hard time for not coming over for dinner last night.”
“It’s tough being the oldest, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she said, puzzled by his assessment. “How did you know I was the oldest?”
Dark, slanted eyes focused on her face, and heat flooded her cheeks. “You’re a woman who likes to be in control, who likes to take care of others. Those are some of the traits of the first child. Am I wrong?”
“Let me guess, you’re the oldest, too, right?”
His smiled matched her own. “I have four sisters and one brother.”
“Your poor mom. All that estrogen in one house makes for a whole lot of drama. I have two sisters, and every time my dad left for work, he’d say he wasn’t coming back!”
“Were you raised in Seattle?” Marcel asked once her laughter