Be Careful What You Wish For by Joanna Wylde
Chapter One
Sandra rubbed her hands together vigorously, letting the soap cut through the remnants of the massage oil.
Fat old prick.
The cheap bastard probably wouldn’t even pay her, not that she expected it. That’s what she got for agreeing to do a private appointment with a new client. At the time it seemed like a dream come true.
Edgar Williams’ secretary had said her boss was desperate, had even offered to pay twice her fee.
Of course, for what he seemed to believe a massage therapist did for a living, her price was a steal. She could still feel his fat, hairy fingers gripping her ass. Why on earth would a man like that think money could possibly be enough to make her have sex with him? She’d rather be eaten by a snake!
The pipes made a moaning noise as she shut off the faucets, and she wrinkled her nose. For a couple of lawyers, Edgar and his partner didn’t seem to make much. Their office was nothing more than an old, converted house, and it was a dump. She grabbed at the towel to wipe her hands and shuddered as her fingers hit crust. Yuck. She wiped them on her jeans instead, then turned and opened the door.
“I’m out of here. You should be ashamed of yourself, Williams,” she declared as she stalked out of the bathroom into the office. “I have every intention of reporting you to the Better Business Bureau—”
Her voice cut off abruptly as she took in the scene before her.
Edgar stood frozen, facing a tall shadow of a man. Neither spoke.
“What’s going on here?” she asked. The shadow stepped forward into the light. He was big, a man who had clearly spent a lot of time lifting weights. The clothes he wore fit poorly, as if they made for a smaller man. His long, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his face seemed chiseled in ice. His arm moved, catching her eye.
Something glinted in his hand. Shit. It was a knife.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” he said to her slowly, his voice so low she strained to hear it. “I’m sorry you have to be a part of this.” Her eyes flew to his face, meeting a cold gaze. What the hell?
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you, too,” he continued, watching her closely. “I’m here for Edgar, and I hardly figured he’d have a piece like you around. What should I do with you?”
Her heart seemed to stop beating.
“I don’t even know this guy,” she whispered. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything. I don’t want to be a part of this.”
“How stupid do you think I am?” he asked softly, eyes slipping down her still form. “You’ll scream bloody murder if I let you go. You’ll have to, or they might pin his death on you. In fact, I think I like that idea. You’re a masseuse, right? I thought guys had to go to special parlors to find women like you. A call girl is the perfect murder suspect.”
His mouth twisted, giving the word “masseuse” an ugly connotation. She stiffened.
“I’m a licensed massage therapist,” she said. “I went to school for a long time to learn my craft, and I’ve helped heal a lot of suffering people.”
“Shut up, bitch, nobody cares,” Edgar muttered. “Sean, you don’t have to kill anyone. I’m willing to work with you. We can make things right between us.”
“It’s too late for you Edgar,” Sean said. “I’m touched by your concern for your girlfriend, though.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Sandra said firmly. She edged slowly into the room, trying to control the shaking of her legs. Sean stepped toward her, eyes trailing across her body once more.
“I could use some of that licensed healing,” he said, the words sounding dirty. He dropped one hand slowly to his crotch, and cupped himself. Her eyes followed his hand, noticing a large, long ridge beneath his pants. Edgar shot her a glance and sidled to one side of the room. Maybe he had an idea? Not likely, but she couldn’t bring herself to give him away by following him with her eyes.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, letting her voice go soft. She straightened her shoulders, pushing her breasts out. If Edgar needed a distraction to help rescue them, she was ready and willing to help out.
Thankfully her T-shirt had a scoop neckline. Now if only she had some more cleavage…
“Not right away,” Sean murmured, running his hand slowly up and down the length of his erection. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Edgar slip through the door. What was he doing? He was supposed to thump the bad guy over the head while she distracted him, not run away. “Not before I’m done with you.
I haven’t had a woman in a hell of a long time. You look just like a ripe peach to me, all soft and filled with juices.”