Call Me Miz (3 page)

She spread heat through his body, her magic clearing the dark streaks from his lungs and healing the bruised muscles and ribs. Without warning, the cat heaved himself to his feet, staggered for a moment and then sat down facing her. They stared at each other. The flashlight illuminated him clearly. He was magnificently beautiful, his golden pelt dotted with black rosettes. She frowned and said, “You sure ain’t from these parts, sunny.”

He chuffed and stared at her from amber eyes tinged with red.

“Just keep in mind, we had an agreement.” She rather desperately needed to puke. She hated an audience, but it was a cat. He didn’t seem inclined to stop her when she staggered to her feet, stumbled to a pine tree and leaned against it, vomiting for the second time that day.

Beads of sweat made her body shiver and her teeth chattered as if it were a cold night instead of hot and humid. She slid down the trunk and sat with her back against it and her knees up, looking at the animal. “That was some nasty shit you had in you,” she told him. Then she closed her eyes. “Go away.”

He was so quiet she didn’t feel his presence until his breath brushed hot against her cheek. She opened her eyes in time to see his big maw come at her. She’d always heard you saw your life pass by when you faced death, but all she could think was,
Oh shit.

He nudged her head to the side, almost gently. She thought he was going to nuzzle her like a house cat. Go figure. He bit her. Dammit. It hurt. She reacted without thinking and punched the cat in the nose with her fist.

He made a chuffing sound then pushed at her as though telling her to get up. “Fine,” she groaned, grabbing the flashlight that still pointed at them from where she’d tossed it.

She wanted to run like hell through the woods, but wobbled along instead. The cat kept to the shadows but she knew he was there. It took her a while to reach her bike. When she did, he stepped from the tree line into the moonlight and she could see he’d recovered quite well. Nice to know he felt fine. She felt like shit.

“Thanks for nothing,” she snarled at him. He snorted, curled his lip at her and disappeared. She returned home without the coffee creamer that had been her reason for the trip. It was just another crazy adventure to add to the insanity in her life.

Chapter Three

The jaguar stretched and yawned, staring into the night, focusing on the remote hills. His cat vision sharpened, following the terrain he’d just traveled. Her place was almost dead even across from his. Inside the cat, Thomas considered the turn of events.

She’d just saved his life. He didn’t know what she’d done exactly, but after she’d gotten him free of the trap, he still couldn’t breathe. The damned silver poison had already done its worst. He was two breaths from dead when she’d squatted over him and laid her hands on his chest.

Jesus.
Remembering the sensation made the big cat purr inside. Thomas tried to be sane and control his obsessive interest in the woman.
I’m on a job and I’ve been made. I need to get a grip and stop thinking with my dick.

His lecture didn’t work. After he’d checked out the perimeter of the cabin for more surprises and found none, he shifted into man form and went inside. He showered, thinking about red hair. He stretched out on the bed and, instead of thinking about the claws of death he’d just escaped, he went to sleep remembering the taste of her and dreamed about the woman’s long legs wrapped around him.

He was deep inside her, thrusting to the rhythm of lust when he woke, practically humping the bed, his cock jerking as he spilled.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He groaned and rolled to his feet, wondering if the healer’s touch had addled his wits.

Awake, Thomas shaved and tried to look honest. He needed to show himself at the convenience store. Whoever had set the trap would be watching and the local grocery and gas stop was the best way to advertise he was still here.

Besides, he needed milk and coffee—and yes, he also wanted to know the name of the woman. He could ask Shep. But alarm bells went off in his head.

It was earlier than he’d intended, still dark outside. When he drove to where he’d witnessed the fight, the parking lot was empty and he and the two clerks had the place to themselves. One hovered in the background trying to be discreet while she watched him. He kept his hands in sight.
No shoplifting, no stealing.
He stacked his goods on the counter one at a time, casually chatting as he shopped.

It took some coaxing to get it out of the clerk. Finally he baited the hook and cast. “I was in that line of traffic stalled on the mountain yesterday.”

The clerk looked sympathetic and shared her own story. “My husband didn’t get home until late because of it. I held supper for him.”

The clerk in the back forgot surveillance detail and chimed in. “It was a mess getting that coal off the road.”

Thomas mentioned the narrow road and steep incline, inquired about the health of the driver and was glad to hear he lived. Finally he mentioned the woman on the motorcycle.

“Missouri Hess,” the clerk muttered. She clammed up then, suddenly too busy to talk. But that was okay. He’d gotten what he’d come for.

* * * * *

Before she mounted her bike and headed for work, Miz walked to the willow directly across from her house and studied the ground.
No big cat tracks.
Her gaze was drawn upward.
But then again, I guess he’d not leave any sign on the ground.

It was an hour’s drive to the shop and she didn’t linger, but the niggling worry stayed with her. Big animals prowling around her place she didn’t need.

She opened the throttle on the bike, speeding once she hit the interstate. She needed to get a move on if she wanted to visit a drive-through. Her mouth watered thinking about a nice fluffy biscuit sandwiching a stack of ham and cheese. The fight and double healing the previous day had left her filled with hunger that food alone wouldn’t appease. But breakfast was a start.

When she rumbled onto the lot of her massage parlor at 7:30 and parked her Harley, Miz tried to ignore the
Hands-On
sign crudely painted over the door.
We have business so who cares what it looks like?
She let herself in and checked the day’s schedule while she ate her biscuit and chased it with inferior fast-food coffee. Jenny came in ten minutes after Miz had put on a fresh pot of brew.

“I swear to God you time it every morning to arrive with the last perk.”

“Exactly.” Jenny widened her eyes and blinked innocently. “Anybody interesting coming today?”

“Not unless you count Mrs. Lowe. She’s planting.”

Miz refreshed her early drink with a shot of steaming hot coffee, leaving enough room in the Styrofoam cup for an inch of white powder.

“Having a little coffee with your cream today?” Jenny teased her about her addiction.

Miz grimaced. “I’m out of the stuff. I’ll have to visit the store before I go home.” The bell on the front door jangled and the day began. Miz flexed her hands, ready for action. It looked as if her day as a masseuse would be pretty routine, starting with one of her favorite clients.

Mrs. Lowe talked about her flowers and her latest landscaping project while Miz kneaded her shoulders, massaging aches and pains from the arthritic joints. The old lady walked straighter when she left, wearing a smile on her face. Miz smiled too when she tucked the ten dollar tip in her pocket.

Mr. Barnes flirted with her outrageously, as usual, while she worked the knotted muscles loose in his back. He was eighty going on eighteen when it came to the ladies and he loved to talk about his latest conquests.

Jenny kept up a steady stream of chatter in the room next door. The building was small, the partition thin so each one of them could listen and make sure the other was okay at all times. Shutting yourself in a room with a stranger while you rubbed all over his or her body could get dicey.

She’d known Jenny before, having grown up with her in the same holler. But when they went to massage school together, they’d clicked. They’d decided early on that two women running a massage parlor would have to be careful about who their clients were unless they could afford a bouncer.

They couldn’t, so most of the clients were older. After making a pitch at a local senior citizen’s meeting, they’d developed a growing number of customers. If Miz added a little extra heat for those who hurt the most, her reward was always a smile and sometimes an extra-big tip.

It was pretty amazing actually, the way things had fallen into place. They’d scraped together the money to lease the old building as is. The plumbing worked and the electricity was up to code though the dated interior left a lot to be desired.

When Milo had volunteered to help paint and put in the needed partitions, he’d gotten interested in Jenny. The two had become a fast item and Miz had stepped back, glad that she’d united two good people. It did make for lonely nights though.

The day was half over when she took her first break and had time to relax. She felt good, her muscles loose, her mood mellow. She’d made fifty dollars in tips during the morning. Her share of the till would cover her half of the lease.
This afternoon’s clients are gravy.

She should have known better than to count chickens before they’d hatched. Her biggest tipper and last client called and canceled ten minutes before his appointment. She could have filled the spot if she’d had notice, but she couldn’t be mad. Mr. Ogliah had the flu that week. It was surprising his daughter thought to call. Not so much though after she made her request.

“He’s in his room. He asked me to call you and apologize for missing his appointment. He thinks the world of you.”

Miz felt her throat tighten at the unexpected sentiment. His daughter said hesitantly, “I know you don’t make house calls.”

Miz tensed, not wanting to hear the fear and need in the older woman’s voice.

“He’s so depressed. And he always feels so much better after he’s had one of your massages. Could you…”

The woman offered to pay her double the usual rate. The doctor had already approved it. Could she come at six o’clock?

Jenny drifted by the phone area and mouthed
what’s up?

Miz bared her teeth at her and crossed her eyes. “All right. You’ll have to give me directions.” She wrote down the street name and house number and said goodbye.

“I have no last appointment and dead time to fill until six tonight.”

Jenny shrugged. “That’s easy. You can come home with me. Milo’s fixing dinner.”

Miz fumbled to come up with an excuse to avoid Milo. It just didn’t feel right being with him tonight after his offer the night before. She’d deal with the why of her emotions later. She was saved from offering a flimsy excuse when the bell over the door jangled and they had a walk-in.

He was a black man from the city trying to play country. His jeans were creased and his boots new. In spite of the heat outside, he wore a long-sleeved tee shirt. She wondered about that. Whatever the reason, the damn thing molded to his abs and arms, not hiding his muscles at all. Drool collected in her mouth.
Down, girl. You’re suffering from the aftereffects of…
Hot damn, he was nice looking.

“If you have time, I’d like a massage.”

She watched his lips move, studying their shape. Good mouth, strong jaw. “From the waist up. No funny stuff,” she told him. He wouldn’t be the first bozo who’d decided to test the limits of their services.

He shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ve got a kink in my back. Fly fishing the other day I twisted wrong on a cast.”

Well, all righty then. Black stranger who fly fishes.
“Might you be renting Shep’s place?”
Way too eager, Miz. Slow down, girl.

“That’d be me,” he said. “Thomas Hunter. Glad to meet you.”

“It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I have an opening. I can do you now.” Then she replayed her words in her head.
Do you now. Well, damn. Why didn’t I just tell him I’m hornier than hell?

Looking at the hunk, Miz considered a little anonymous boinking but set that idea aside. It might be just what the doctor ordered but for all she knew he was an undercover cop checking to see if the parlor was legit. She fantasized for a moment longer then reined in her perv side.

He pulled out his wallet and waited expectantly. No push. Very polite expression. His demeanor held no hint of aggression. His eyes were whiskey brown, his brows and hair darker, his skin rich chocolate. But there was something about his overall stance that warned he was no pussycat.

“Fifty dollars an hour,” she told him. She looked at the clock, afraid saliva might drip on her chin at any moment. “We’ve got time for forty-five minutes. I’ll discount it.”

“I’m sure you’re worth full price,” he countered adeptly. He handed her a fifty, his voice melting over her like warm caramel.

Whoa, Nellie.
He was as smooth as a shot of Cîroc Ultra-Premium. Her fingers pulsed, her palms itched and her libido hummed.

“You might be more comfortable in sweats. Those jeans are going to be way too tight.” She felt like a fool as soon as she blurted that. He was polished, professional—probably a lawyer or a banker or something where he stayed clean all the time. She studied him. Whatever he was, she’d just informed him she’d been looking at his ass.

“Sweats will be fine.”

He wasn’t much of a talker. She pointed at the changing room, following behind him and admiring his butt, strong thighs, long legs and sleek stride. He moved like a panther.
Rawrrrr.
She thrust a pair of extra-long sweats at him.

“They’re clean.” She mumbled the assurance before she could stop herself.
As opposed to dirty.
Good Lord, he’d addled her wits.

“Of course they are.” He flashed a grin at her and her toes curled. She watched until he shut the door. Fanning her hot cheeks, she turned and saw her partner staring at her with an open mouth. Jenny had witnessed the whole thing.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“Double that.” Miz leered and raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll give Milo your regards,” Jenny said sedately, loud enough for him to hear. “I’m not leaving soon. I’ll wait until you finish up and we’ll leave together.” Before she left the room she pointed at her cubicle and mouthed,
I’ll listen.

Miz grimaced and gave her a thumbs-up. For all they knew he might be a monster looking for prey.
He doesn’t look like a monster.
She snorted. As if they wore brands on their foreheads that said, “born killer”.

Jenny’s old dear arrived and at the same time, Miz’s client emerged wearing sweatpants and nothing else. Duty called. She motioned at her cubicle opening and followed him in, grinning as she walked behind to enjoy the scenery.