WOMAN
ON TOP
McQueen Was My Valley 2
KAREN MERCURY
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Bird in Hand, Utah
Brooke had seen this man walking back
and forth past her desk for four days now.
The most he’d done was nod at her,
acknowledging her existence, that she sat behind a desk. Sat there day in, day
out, doing nothing more than point to the complimentary lemonade, strawberries,
and apples. Oh, sure, once in awhile there would be a newbie guest and Brooke
would be required to actually get up and give them a tour of the mineral pool, whirlpool,
dry sauna, wet sauna. This was the highlight of Brooke’s day, pointing at the
thermostat, showing people where to hang their white terry robes. Sometimes
old-timers would want to go sit on their noodles in the outdoor shiatsu pool,
and she’d have to explain that it was too snowy and therefore dangerous out
there. The outdoor area of the Triple Play Lodge was closed in January.
Of course, Brooke kept her e-book reader
on a pull-out tray under the desk and read books between greeting guests. This
was how the real highlight of her
days became the redheaded man who passed by her desk a few times every day. With
an exquisitely rounded ass and wide shoulders, he carried himself stiffly,
erect as though alert for enemies. His peridot-green eyes reflected light from the
skylights above, giving the impression of steely intelligence, a gritty
courage.
Brooke concluded that he had a military
background. She had nothing better to do, in fact, than to invent an entire
background for the ginger fellow she’d heard the masseuse call Adrian. Never
married, she concluded the hunk in his mid-thirties had been running black ops
overseas. He’d come to Utah to ski and forget the horrors he’d seen. She knew
he skied because once she’d seen him head out of the dressing room all decked
out in ski attire. Brooke made excuses to walk by the mineral pool just to
catch glimpses of his finely molded ass as he took a dip in his tight swim
trunks. Adrian had several long, slashing scars across his back that Brooke
romantically imagined were caused when he was held captive by insurgents. Of
course the terrorists got no information out of him.
After a few days of this torture, Brooke
talked to Adrian’s masseuse, Ashley. “That guy, Ashley. The redheaded one. What’s
his story?”
Ashley’s face lit up. “Oh, Adrian
Kinsey? He’s a mouth-watering morsel. He’s got game, doesn’t he?”
“What is his game, exactly? Is he married?”
“I don’t think so. At least, he’s never
mentioned a wife. No ring.”
“And he’s not gay,” Brooke presumed. Her
gaydar definitely hadn’t pinged.
“I don’t think so. He’s made some…remarks about women before. That he
appreciates them.”
The next time Adrian showed up for his
massage appointment—nodding ever so minutely to Brooke as he passed by her
desk—Brooke took impulsive action. She just could not tolerate watching this
delectable man walk by without becoming more intimate with him.
She waited twenty minutes before
completely abandoning her desk and walking upstairs. She lingered outside
Ashley’s treatment room, staring into her cup of chamomile tea, practically
whistling with nonchalance. A couple other masseuses walked by and tried to
engage her in conversation, but she cut them off abruptly. He’s got game. Brooke wanted to know more about Adrian’s game.
Then Ashley emerged, on time to give
Adrian his ten-minute meditative rest listening to space music while lavender
steam drifted through the room. Luckily, Ashley just nodded at her before
continuing down the hallway, and Brooke slipped into the room once she was out
of sight.
Adrian lay on his front, a sheet draped
over his buoyant ass. His swim trunks hung from a peg on the wall. Ashley was a
pert, vivacious young woman—just like every other masseuse at the Triple Play. It
wasn’t supposed to be intentional, but it somehow turned out that way, probably
because pert young women drew in more customers. So Brooke needed to have one
up on Ashley and all the other Ashleys of the Triple Play. She needed to stand
out in some way if she wanted to tempt this unusually gorgeous man.
She needed to be bold.
And since Brooke had fearlessness in
spades, she snatched up Ashley’s bottle of massage oil and warmed some between
her palms. She was loud about it, too, not stealthy. She smacked her palms
together like a child playing patty-cake, appreciatively eyeballing the lovely
slope of Adrian’s lower back. His beautifully shiny, scarlet-red hair looked to
have been cut in a military style but had grown out for perhaps over a month,
giving him a shaggy, boyish look. Lust surged through Brooke’s uterus, actually
making her ovaries throb as she stood beside his prone body, rubbing the oil
salaciously into her palms.
He didn’t jump one centimeter when she
touched her palms to his shoulders. She didn’t know if she should avoid the
scars, which didn’t seem that old. Is he
asleep? My, his skin is as soft as cream. Sweeping her hands down his
biceps, she squiggled each of his fingers in turn between hers. Several times she
had to add more oil, and her eyes were fixed on his face. He had a pointed,
aristocratic nose that gave him a very thoughtful, refined look. Of course,
being redheaded, he had exceedingly white skin, flawless aside from the
flogging scars that flared angrily across his milky back.
Brooke was shocked at how deeply this
man had already affected her. Was she not accustomed to partying at nightclubs
with many international, jet-setting men? Yes.
That’s why I was dragged here to Utah kicking and screaming against my will. Too
much partying. She had always been able to bag any man she wanted, on a
whim, never a single rejection. She had a feeling this refined, aristocratic
man might be her first. This made her want him all the more. Is that my problem? Do I need to conquer
every man in my sights? Maybe.
She leaned against the massage table in
order to prop his hand in her lap and squirm his fingers between hers. That was
when his beautiful green eyes popped open and he noticed her for the first
time. His face showed no expression. “You’re not Ashley.”
Brooke kept her composure. “I have a
different technique. She sent me in because I’m very good with hands
and…backs.” She looked meaningfully at the florid scars that decorated his
shoulder blades.
“Backs,” he stated, supporting his
chiseled chin on his fist. “You’re the receptionist.”
“I’m Brooke,” she conceded, letting his
arm dangle toward the floor and grabbing the oil bottle, which sat in a warmer.
She poured a good palmful this time, and did not rub it in, just let it pool in
her hand. “Ashley told me you had a painful back, and that’s my area of
expertise.” She was bluffing, of course. She just assumed that most people,
especially men, had painful backs at one point or another. Before he could
respond, she poured the palmful of oil into the delicious depression of his
lower back, right where an angel had pressed her fingers to create two dimples.
Adrian went with it, closing his eyes as
she smoothed her hands over his hips. His
skin is soft as velvet—aside from these ropey scars. She also dared to
brush her fingertips against the bottom edge of one scar, taking note that his
nostrils flared in pain or sensitivity. She didn’t try that again but focused
on his lower back, adding more weight behind each pass of her hands, keeping
her eyes on his face for any signs of pain. This part was easy. What girl hasn’t given a hundred massages to
men? Men were always demanding massages. At least, the type of demanding
man she was accustomed to being around.
She tugged the sheet down lower to
reveal the blindingly white rise of his ass. Oh, absolutely delicious. Brooke longed to bury her face between
his thighs. When her fingers swept over one of the shapely rises, she spoke to
take his mind off her fingers. “This is a Forbes five-star spa, you know. Utah’s
only. Well, aside from that other spa.”
“It’s very nice,” Adrian muttered
without opening his eyes.
She dared to undrape his ass further,
lightly sweeping her fingers over the delicious globes then returning to the
plane of his lower back. “And you enjoy skiing,” she stated, gliding her palms
again over his rounded butt. This time her fingertips strayed over the very
lowest slope of his ass, and Adrian lifted his hips to adjust himself. In doing
so, he spread his thighs even farther apart, and she moved down to eyeball the
rounded pouch of his ball sac that was exposed to view. I can tell he enjoys skiing. His haunches are muscled like a bull’s.
“I like it all right,” he admitted
apathetically.
“And where are you from?” She really
wanted to know where he’d obtained the scars, but of course that question was
too direct, too personal. “You’ve got a sort of vague, British accent.” She
knew she had him in the palm of her hand. She could tell by how swollen his
testicles were, squished between his thighs like that. I’m turning him on. He’s never going to be able to forget me now. Her
taunting and teasing of him would be seared in his memory for days, or until he
could stand it no more and sought her out again.
He spoke all in a rush, his eyes
squeezed shut now. “I grew up in Ireland until I was ten, then came to
Hartford, Connecticut.”
She tried to laugh lightly. “That
explains the accent. It’s music to the ears.” But really, the buoyancy of his
ass under her palms was making her sweat. If she’d been wearing a skirt, for
sure a trickle of pussy juice would’ve been dripping down her inner thigh by
now. As it was, her soaking panties and even her leggings cloyed annoyingly at
her, itching. She wiggled her hips to rub her pussy lips together. Adrian must
have felt the jiggling in her hands that swept over his tailbone, for he wrenched
his torso off the table, twisting his hips out of reach of her hands. Of
course, this only displayed his massive penis even more prominently, and his
erection bobbed in the air, purplish and delicious. His eyes flashed with ire,
and he snarled, “That’s enough.” Leaping to his feet, he strode to the peg and
stepped into his trunks.
“But…” Brooke protested feebly, holding
her hands before her as though they were bombs. What the hell did I do wrong? She had only tugged the sheet down a
few inches, to let his skin…breathe. Now he had his back to her, snapping the
snug trunks over that stupendous ass, stuffing his hard-on into the crotch,
stamping up and down like a marching soldier. “I’m not done yet.”
“Yeah? Well, I am.” He shrugged into the
white robe and took three long steps to the door.
Why
is he being so mean?
Before she could utter another word, he was gone out the door in a swirl of
musky lavender, and Brooke collapsed into a chair in a confused mess of limbs. That’s enough. Well, I am. He had vastly
overreacted to her innocent teasing, especially considering he had been
obviously aroused by her touch. His prick had stood out, stiff and proud. Proud,
even if Adrian himself wasn’t!
But shame overcame her triumph at having
stimulated him. Brooke leaped to her feet, too, and ran out the door. She
didn’t stop until she reached her reception desk, where she yanked her radio
from her purse and barked into it, “Brooke to Xandra. Do you copy? ” A bit more
frantic now, her voice rose in pitch. “Xandra, come in!”
Xandra’s annoyance was evident when the
radio crackled. “What, Brooke?”
“What’s your location? I need to talk to
you.”
“I’m just leaving the Neon Cocktail,”
said her sister.
“Good. Stay there. I’ll be right there.”
“But it’s not five o’clock yet,” Xandra
started to protest, but Brooke was already on her way, quitting before quitting
time.
Brooke’s beautiful older sister wore a
look of frank disgust when Brooke entered the lounge and took a seat next to
her by a window. Brooke knew she was being a burden on her capable sister, but
it had always been that way—that was her destiny! True, Xandra had been sent
out to Utah by their father in order to get her away from a questionable
boyfriend in Charleston and his drug-dealing ways. Brooke herself had fallen in
with Javier’s crowd, and following Xandra’s path, had traveled to the Triple
Play Lodge. But this time it was Xandra yanking Brooke from the hard-partying
Bolivian crowd in Charleston, demanding she come to Bird in Hand, Utah with a
promise of a healthier life, safer surroundings, and a luxurious spa job.
“I need a new job,” Brooke panted,
eagerly looking for a cocktail server.
“Already?” Xandra had just returned from
her Hawaiian honeymoon, flaunting her bronzed, tropical tan in the frigid snowy
Utah landscape.
Brooke knew she should’ve been settled
into what they’d decided would be the best spot in the lodge for her, the spa. Xandra
was already doing her no-good sister a favor by giving her the receptionist
position. What else did Brooke know how to do? She’d only worked in a lingerie
shop and done some modeling before, nothing terribly skilled. She’d been given
one more chance by coming out here, only to blow it in her arrogance—what their
father used to call her “high-spiritedness.”
Because of her impulsive nature and the
fact that she’d pretty much gotten everything she ever wanted, she had
automatically assumed Adrian would fall for her talented fingers, her bountiful
figure, her seductive sex appeal. Brooke was beyond mortified to realize not
only had he not fallen for her—he’d rejected her outright.
It was another aspect of her stubborn
character that Adrian’s rejection of her made her even more determined to win
him.
“I know, I know,” said Brooke,
anticipating Xandra’s lecture. “But I blew it with a guest.”
Xandra rolled her eyes and hid them
behind her hand. “What did you do, Brooke?”
“I…I sort of offended one of them.”
“Let me guess. A man. Which one?”
Brooke spoke hurriedly now. “Just this
redheaded buffoon from Ireland. I’m sure he’ll be gone soon back to
Connecticut, but Xandra, I just can’t go back to the spa. I can’t face him! I
can’t go back there—put me over at the ski lodge, operating the chairlift,
anything other than the spa! I’ve cooked before—put me in the kitchen with
Leif.”
Xandra grabbed her wrists to calm her
and spoke directly. “Redheaded buffoon? Dear Lord, Brooke. Was it that prisoner
of war, Adrian Kinsey? Handsome, tall antiquities expert for the military?”
Holy
shit. What have I done? “Yes, Adrian Kinsey, that’s it. I did get the feeling
he was military. He was a POW?”
Xandra’s exasperation was threatening to
overwhelm her. “Yes! He spent a
frigging month being tortured in
Damascus over some stupid frigging statue
he was trying to recover.”
Brooke temporarily forgot to be
mortified, becoming interested in Adrian’s story instead. “Really? That’s
fascinating. So he’s some kind of spy?”
“I guess you could call it that,” Xandra
said wearily. “He works for the same private military contractor that Nathan
works for.” Nathan was Xandra’s new husband, a dashing, athletic man who looked
as though he should’ve been cast as James Bond. Brooke didn’t know too much
about Nathan other than that he’d given up the spy life, having some kind of
PTSD after a traumatic event in Africa. He now ran around teaching fly-fishing
to visitors and didn’t seem traumatized at all.
Nathan was absolutely drenched in
virility, and Brooke was more than slightly jealous of her sister. Perhaps
there was a bit of competition with her sister that she wanted her own virile commando,
too. “So that’s how you know this about Damascus? Through Nathan?”
“Yes, Nathan had Adrian fly out here a
few months ago to…to help Nathan with a case.”
“Some antiquities needed analyzing?”
“Something like that. Now listen here,
my irresponsible sister. Adrian doesn’t need you stalking him, shoving your
bosom in his face, or otherwise trying to seduce him. Word is that he’s
avoiding women for now, and possibly for a long time to come. You’re just
spinning your wheels with him. I’d prefer
it if you didn’t stalk anyone, but I
know that’s asking too much.”
Brooke slumped down in her seat. “I
know. And the chairlift would be just as bad. Adrian skis, and I’d constantly
run into him there. What about the restaurant?”
“Leif has all his little culinary friends
working for him. How’s about you go and help Cass Cameron? Cass always needs
help.”
Cass was the director of the front office
and seemed to be Xandra’s closest friend—she had stood as maid of honor at
Xandra’s recent wedding and had actually knocked down a couple of women in her
zeal to grab the bouquet. “All right,” Brooke said timidly. “I’ll help Cass. Anything.
Anything to avoid seeing that poor man again.”
Xandra nodded with approval and relaxed
now that things were ironed out. “Good. It’s best you leave him alone for now,
although you’re right. He is quite
handsome. It’s horrific what happened to him.”
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