Page 90 of The Sadist and the Brat

“Just think how she’d feel if she could see all your Catholic schoolgirl outfits,” he said and nipped at her tongue when she stuck it out. “What time is Mass?”

“Eleven-thirty, I think? Dinner is at one.”

“I’ll kick you out by eleven,” he promised. “And I’ll make you breakfast before you go. Waffles.”

She liked waffles, and she didn’t really want to get out of this big, warm, comfortable bed to get dressed and drive home. “Will you show me how you use the rings in the shower before breakfast?”

“It’s a deal,” he said, and sealed it with a kiss.

* * * *

Sadie stroked her hands, slick with fragrant oil, down Amanda’s arms one last time, then eased back. “Okay, Amanda, we’re all done.”

Amanda blinked her eyes open on a sigh. “Sadie, you’re a goddess.”

“That’s what they all say,” Sadie quipped and dug a bottle of water out of her bag. “I’m putting your water on the nightstand, okay? And—”

“Drink it all,” Amanda finished. “I know the drill.”

“Good.” Sadie laid a hand on Amanda’s arm, keeping her voice soft. “Your robe is on the bed, and you take your time getting up. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Okay. Hey, Sadie?”

Sadie turned back at the door. “Yeah?”

Amanda sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts. “Do you have to rush off to another client?”

“You’re my last massage today. Why?”

“James won’t be home for another couple of hours, and I’ve got a lasagne in the oven. Want to join me for dinner?”

“I could go for some lasagne,” Sadie decided.

“Good.” Amanda slid off the massage table, taking the sheet with her. “I’m going to grab a quick shower, you pour the wine. There’s a bottle of red on the counter.”

“Fine, but you only get a glass if you drink all your water.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amanda muttered but grabbed the bottle on the way to the bathroom. “Ten minutes.”

“Take your time,” Sadie called back, and, to save herself a trip, broke down the massage table before making her way downstairs.

Ten minutes later, she was halfway through the single glass of wine she allowed herself when she had to drive, her mouth watering from the smells coming from the oven, when Amanda padded in. Wrapped in a long green robe, her dark hair sleeked back and her skin dewy from the shower, she all but floated across the floor. “God, I feel good. Loose and relaxed.”

“That’s how you’re supposed to feel,” Sadie told her and handed her a glass of wine.

“Scheduling a weekly massage with you is the best thing I’ve ever done,” Amanda declared, and tapped her glass against Sadie’s just as the oven timer dinged. “Oh, good, it’s done. I’m starving.”

“Can I help?” Sadie asked as Amanda circled the kitchen island.

Amanda slipped a pair of oven mitts on her hands and opened the oven door. “Grab plates and silverware, will you? And there’s a spinach salad in the fridge.”

Sadie dutifully got out the plates and flatware, laying out two places at the stools that lined the kitchen island, then opened the fridge. “That smells amazing. Where’d you get it?”

Amanda set the pan on the hot pad she’d set out on the kitchen island. “You don’t think I could’ve made this?”

“Amanda, I love you,” Sadie said, setting the salad down. “But if you made that, I’ll eat my massage table.”

“Brat,” Amanda accused, laughing, and boosted herself onto a stool. “Julia made it. Our new housekeeper.”

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