last
name."
"I don't know any Abbeys. Is she in
housekeeping?"
"Um, no. At least I don't think so."
"Right. Reception?"
"No."
Belinda raised her eyebrows as if to say,
"Well?"
"She's a masseur."
"A masseur?" The eyebrows nearly flew off
her face.
"She gives massages to your guests." Nick
could feel his face heating up. Control, Delaware, get a grip.
"I don't think we offer that kind of service to
our guests," said Belinda, a hint of amusement in her otherwise polite
voice.
"Is your manager here?"
"No. But I'm sure we can clear this up without
involving him. What sort of massages does she give?"
Belinda was clearly amused now and Nick's temper was
heating up. So was his face.
"The usual kind. Not…the other sort." Well,
only with him. He hoped.
"Other sort?"
"Yes, you know." Nick waved his hand in the
air. "The other sort. The sort you don't tell your wife about."
Belinda's mouth twitched. "Of course. Let me get
this straight. You're after an employee named Abbey who gives massages, but not the kind of massage you can't tell your wife about. Is that it?"
"More or less."
"Mr. Vane, I think I can say on behalf of Le
Meridian that we don't offer massages of any kind. However, if a woman is
posing as hotel staff and charging for massages, of a kind you can tell
your wife about — "
"She doesn't charge."
Belinda's brown eyes widened. "Free
massages?"
"Yes. Compliments of hotel management."
"I
think there's been a mistake, Mr. Vane."
"So do I. I'm sorry I took up your time."
Nick strode away, blood rushing in his ears. He'd
never felt like a bigger fool.
"Ah, Mr. Vane."
He turned round and Belinda waved him back to the
desk.
"What?"
She leaned forward on the desk, her chin in her hand.
The politely bland expression replaced by a flirtatious one.
"If you need a massage, I'm sure we can arrange
one. Of either kind." She smiled wickedly then winked.
Nick cleared his throat. "Thanks." He turned
and walked quickly to the elevator.
Back in his room, he closed the door and leaned
against it. At least he knew for sure that Abbey was lying.
Now he just had to figure out why.
***
Abbey sipped her gin and tonic and settled back into
the chair on the balcony of her Armadale apartment. The view wasn't spectacular — just
the leaves of the trees from the house next door — but she didn't
care. Her mind was still on that afternoon at the beach. And the man she'd
slept with yet again.
She'd been a fool she told herself. A damn fool for
letting it get this far. It was supposed to be just sex. Nothing more than a
roll in the hay with a stranger.
But Abbey's heart was telling her otherwise.
"Forget about him, Abbey Girl," said Lucy,
holding the neck of a beer bottle. She threw her head back and swallowed a
mouthful.
"He's an S.O.B. He can't keep it in his pants,
and you just happen to be the lucky girl in Melbourne. Or the unlucky
one."
Abbey sighed. "I know that." She did. She
really did know it.
Dusk had settled serenely across Melbourne and its
suburbs. The quiet hum of traffic in the background provided a distant reminder
of where they were, but the surrounding trees and orange-tinged sky made it
feel like the middle of nowhere.
Abbey loved her apartment. Located in one of
Melbourne's better suburbs, rent was expensive and the space miniscule, but it
was close to everything and the surrounding million-dollar mansions made her
feel wealthy.
She was far from it. They couldn't even afford a pizza
between the two of them, so Abbey had to cook. Something she hated doing. Something
Lucy refused to do, so she'd watched, sitting on a stool at the kitchen bench,
sipping her beer as Abbey threw the entire contents of her fridge into a wok. The
stir fry wasn't bad but it was rather bland.
Now, as she sat on the balcony, she wondered what
Damien was eating. Had he gone back to the restaurant where she'd performed her
fancy footwork on him?
She laughed quietly at the memory.
"What's so funny?"
Abbey shrugged.
name."
"I don't know any Abbeys. Is she in
housekeeping?"
"Um, no. At least I don't think so."
"Right. Reception?"
"No."
Belinda raised her eyebrows as if to say,
"Well?"
"She's a masseur."
"A masseur?" The eyebrows nearly flew off
her face.
"She gives massages to your guests." Nick
could feel his face heating up. Control, Delaware, get a grip.
"I don't think we offer that kind of service to
our guests," said Belinda, a hint of amusement in her otherwise polite
voice.
"Is your manager here?"
"No. But I'm sure we can clear this up without
involving him. What sort of massages does she give?"
Belinda was clearly amused now and Nick's temper was
heating up. So was his face.
"The usual kind. Not…the other sort." Well,
only with him. He hoped.
"Other sort?"
"Yes, you know." Nick waved his hand in the
air. "The other sort. The sort you don't tell your wife about."
Belinda's mouth twitched. "Of course. Let me get
this straight. You're after an employee named Abbey who gives massages, but not the kind of massage you can't tell your wife about. Is that it?"
"More or less."
"Mr. Vane, I think I can say on behalf of Le
Meridian that we don't offer massages of any kind. However, if a woman is
posing as hotel staff and charging for massages, of a kind you can tell
your wife about — "
"She doesn't charge."
Belinda's brown eyes widened. "Free
massages?"
"Yes. Compliments of hotel management."
"I
think there's been a mistake, Mr. Vane."
"So do I. I'm sorry I took up your time."
Nick strode away, blood rushing in his ears. He'd
never felt like a bigger fool.
"Ah, Mr. Vane."
He turned round and Belinda waved him back to the
desk.
"What?"
She leaned forward on the desk, her chin in her hand.
The politely bland expression replaced by a flirtatious one.
"If you need a massage, I'm sure we can arrange
one. Of either kind." She smiled wickedly then winked.
Nick cleared his throat. "Thanks." He turned
and walked quickly to the elevator.
Back in his room, he closed the door and leaned
against it. At least he knew for sure that Abbey was lying.
Now he just had to figure out why.
***
Abbey sipped her gin and tonic and settled back into
the chair on the balcony of her Armadale apartment. The view wasn't spectacular — just
the leaves of the trees from the house next door — but she didn't
care. Her mind was still on that afternoon at the beach. And the man she'd
slept with yet again.
She'd been a fool she told herself. A damn fool for
letting it get this far. It was supposed to be just sex. Nothing more than a
roll in the hay with a stranger.
But Abbey's heart was telling her otherwise.
"Forget about him, Abbey Girl," said Lucy,
holding the neck of a beer bottle. She threw her head back and swallowed a
mouthful.
"He's an S.O.B. He can't keep it in his pants,
and you just happen to be the lucky girl in Melbourne. Or the unlucky
one."
Abbey sighed. "I know that." She did. She
really did know it.
Dusk had settled serenely across Melbourne and its
suburbs. The quiet hum of traffic in the background provided a distant reminder
of where they were, but the surrounding trees and orange-tinged sky made it
feel like the middle of nowhere.
Abbey loved her apartment. Located in one of
Melbourne's better suburbs, rent was expensive and the space miniscule, but it
was close to everything and the surrounding million-dollar mansions made her
feel wealthy.
She was far from it. They couldn't even afford a pizza
between the two of them, so Abbey had to cook. Something she hated doing. Something
Lucy refused to do, so she'd watched, sitting on a stool at the kitchen bench,
sipping her beer as Abbey threw the entire contents of her fridge into a wok. The
stir fry wasn't bad but it was rather bland.
Now, as she sat on the balcony, she wondered what
Damien was eating. Had he gone back to the restaurant where she'd performed her
fancy footwork on him?
She laughed quietly at the memory.
"What's so funny?"
Abbey shrugged.
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