Page 66 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
What the hell?
CHAPTER 24
Marc
“Yes, you’re very beautiful, but I don’t need a massage. Not with a happy ending or without.”
Two minutes ago, Marc had been filled with disappointment when Phae knocked him back once again. Disappointment and a little hope, because at least they were talking, and if they were talking, that gave him a chance.
But now? Now he was glad she’d gone back to her room because he definitely hadn’t ordered a half-naked woman with a portable massage couch. And she was stunning. A local, judging by the looks and the accent, and probably right out of the Miss Indonesia pageant.
“You look stressed.” She took another step forward. “Let me help you to relax.”
“How did you get in here? This floor is supposed to be locked down.”
She shrugged, and the satin robe slipped off her shoulders, revealing a lacy brassiere. “Nobody was watching the stairs.”
“The room was locked.”
“My brother works here. He tell me you look stressed.”
“Trust me, having your hands all over my body isn’t going to help with that.”
“Why don’t you try?”
“No, I don’t think so.” How did the couch fold up? Marc tried lifting one end, and a leg fell off. Fuck. He changed tack and took the woman’s arm instead. “I’ll show you out.”
“No, no, no, I?—”
The door crashed against the wall, and suddenly, there were women everywhere. Arms, hair, shrieking. Miss Indonesia clung to the bedpost as Emmy and Phae tried to haul her out of the room, and sheesh, was that blood?
A stun gun crackled, then flew through the air and skidded across the floor. Marc crawled under the bed to retrieve it, and when he got to his knees, Serena was standing in the doorway, staring open-mouthed.
“Ohmigosh, not again?”
“It’s not my fault, I swear.”
She waded into the fray and grabbed a leg, but Miss Indonesia had a surprisingly good grip. Emmy was trying to pry her fingers away from the bedpost as Phae snatched up the stun gun and zzzzzzzap. Everyone fell in a heap.
Heath ambled in. “What did I miss?”
“Go and tell security they’re fired,” Emmy ordered, spitting hair out of her mouth. “All of them.”
Phae began dragging the woman toward the door by an arm, but Emmy stopped her.
“We’ve got this. Go handle your man.”
“He’s not my man,” she snapped.
Wrong. “Actually, he is.”
Serena clasped her hands over her heart. “That’s so sweet.”
Emmy hefted Miss Indonesia onto her shoulder the way Phae had done with KD—did they train for that in ninja school?—and Serena gave Marc a thumbs-up as she ran to hold the door. Then they were gone, leaving Marc alone with a headache, a broken massage couch, and a mightily pissed off ex-girlfriend. Oh hell, was her lip bleeding? It was. He tilted her chin to examine the damage.
“Who was she?” Phae muttered.
“I have no idea, but I like the jealousy. It suits you.”
