A long, flat limestone table took up the center of the room. Towels were placed around the site, and a luxurious open glass shower was set up in the corner. The walls were a pristine white and bare of decoration except for a few shelves that displayed an array of glass bottles. Music drifted softly from the speakers. He caught a flute, birdcalls, and the sound of rushing water. The air was moist and smelled of clean soap and the faintness of lavender. Ming headed toward a small bamboo-type desk with a large white basin and began prepping. Nate watched as she busied herself like a doctor preparing shots, lining up jumbo-size containers and pouring liquid in. Finally, she turned and faced him.

“You get naked.”

“What?”

The top of her head didn’t even hit his chest. Her bare feet peeked out from underneath the white robe that seemed to swallow her whole. Black hair was cropped close to her head, and her dark eyes snapped impatience and command. “I say get naked. Then lie on table.”

Nate held on to his lab coat and shoved down the panic. Naked? In front of her? Hell, no. “Um, can I leave my T-shirt and boxers on? I’m not very comfortable removing all my clothes.”

She spit in his direction. Sheer disgust marked her face. “You big baby? You no get naked for old woman? What you so afraid of?”

He jerked back. “I’m not scared! I just don’t think I need to.”

Ming took a step forward and wagged her finger in the air. “You orange. You look like carrot. I fix you, but you listen to me. Now get naked and lie on table on stomach.”

Kennedy’s words flashed in his mind. This was his first test. How could he fail already? And he was orange. Even Wayne agreed today that he should do something because it was distracting his concentration. He had hoped it would go away, but after four days, it still hadn’t faded. Was he really nervous about a professional seeing him without clothes? No, he refused to let her win this round by acting like a child. Women did this stuff all the time, right?

“Fine.” He took off all his clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them on an unoccupied shelf. The table was smooth and cool as he stretched out on his stomach, and his head was cushioned by a soft mat. He turned his head to the right, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of his naked ass up in the air for Ming to view.

He waited a while, breathing and listening to the flute, and began to relax. Steam began to rise up in the room and opened his pores. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. A massage was something he really needed for his neck and back. Long hours spent stationary had tied him in knots. Maybe he’d even get in a bit of a nap. He figured—

“Aghgh!”

A mass of cold liquid was dumped on his back, trickling down his rear. Before he could process, a thousand stiff bristles worked its way over his skin, the rough back-and-forth motions scraping him and causing a mixture of tickling and pain, until he twisted around and batted it out of the way. “That hurts!”

“Be quiet.”

He gasped. She scrubbed harder, completely disregarding his tiny yelps as she worked every inch of his skin, from the soles of his feet, ass, back, shoulders, and even his armpits. His skin tingled and burned, and the tiny beads of gel caused an abrasion that he swore would mark him for life. Dear God, he was going to have scars! She had no idea what she was doing, and seemed to even chuckle menacingly the few times he jumped and tried to wriggle away from the brush of doom.

The torture went on forever, until she muttered something and finally stopped. He dropped his head to the table and panted. Okay, he’d done it. The orange must be off. Maybe he’d get to recover and use that fabulous shower. The worst had to be behind him. He heard a few clicks, the drag of metal, and was just about to lift his head to see what was going on when the spray hit him.

The icy cold, bone-chilling spray, that is.

“Shit!” He jerked up, but she pushed him back down on the table with hard hands. The spray wasn’t a gentle rain shower; it was more like a fire extinguisher filled with ice cubes hitting him at full power. He shivered under the stinging nettles and moaned softly under his breath. That’s when he knew it was going to be a long night. She hosed him down thoroughly, not missing an inch, the intense pressure of the spray not allowing him any relief.

He slumped over when it finally stopped. He should get out of here. Walk away, call the Better Business Bureau, and bring her up on charges of assault. He thought of all the ways he’d get even with Ming while she clattered around behind him with something else, and he held his breath.

Ah. Warm, fragrant oil dribbled on his back and leaked over his spine. Heaven. His muscles finally relaxed. Maybe it was worth it to get to the good stuff? Nate imagined strong, nimble fingers working out the kinks in his lower back and neck and—

With a wild war cry, a hundred pounds of flesh slammed onto his back. In horror, he realized she’d jumped on top of him, and was stomping on his back with her bare feet.

“What are you doing?” he yelled, but she ignored him, doing some crazy dance routine and grinding her toes and soles of her feet into the sensitive skin of his ripped-up back. She worked her way up and down his body, her heels hard and demanding, twisting deep into different muscle knots until he bit his lip to keep from screaming in agony. Nate bit his tongue and silently cursed her and her children, prayed for revenge, and begged for mercy. He swore she wouldn’t win, wouldn’t break him. He’d survive this with his head held high and then he’d laugh at her for thinking she could destroy him.

As seconds turned to minutes, he got lost in a daze. Finally, she jumped gracefully off him, her robe flapping, and leaned over him. Her bright smile reminded him of the Joker from Batman before he struck. “Turn over.”

He shook his head, which wobbled on his almost broken neck. “No, no turn over.”

Ming cackled again, the wild gleam in her dark eyes scaring the crap out of him. “You big baby. I fix you. I do front now.”

“No.”

Her lips pulled back and she spit something out in Chinese.

“Fine! But I swear if you hurt me again, you will not get a tip!”

She helped roll him over. Nate looked at the ceiling with his most sensitive part out on display, ready to be tortured, and prayed for it to be over.

Time passed in a blur. When she jumped on his stomach, Nate was grateful she avoided his dick, which would probably never get an erection again after Ming was done with him. When she informed him there was to be one more round on each side, Nate gave up. He lost consciousness somewhere during the second round.

After his body, Ming moved to the head of the table and worked on his face. At least she couldn’t jump on it. Still, her deft, firm fingers left no feature unexplored until his cheeks and jaws actually ached.

He was wrung out and exhausted when she finally allowed him to rise. He felt vulnerable, raw, and weak as a newborn kitten. He leaned a bit on her as she guided him into the shower and turned on the water. The hot spray was heaven, gentle and soothing, and she gave him a musky type of soap that lathered and wrapped him in bubbles. He took a long time in the shower and dried off with a fluffy towel. Ming came over and wrapped him in a terrycloth robe, tying the sash nice and tight, and led him to a small bench. He winced when she took a hairbrush, but she brushed back his long strands of hair from his forehead in long, soothing strokes that massaged his scalp. He relaxed into her ministrations. The music drifted over him, and no one spoke. When he finally opened his eyes, her face was right in front of him. She smiled, but this time it didn’t strike him as evil.

“You good boy.” She patted his cheek. “No more orange. You sit here a bit then come out when you ready.”

She placed the brush down and left.

He had one last thought before he allowed himself to drift away for just one more minute.

Ming had definitely won.

NATE BIT INTO HIS cheeseburger and admitted that Mugs could be his new favorite place. The bar restaurant was casual, giving off a rustic appeal with wooden booths nicely offset by a large modern bar. The attached poolroom held tables, darts, and a variety of other fun games. The beer list was pretty damn impressive for a quaint town, where organic everything and chai lattes usually ruled. He swiped a fry in a pool of ketchup and savored the salty bite.

Kennedy had taken one look at his expression after Ming time and declared the need for food. He’d followed her back into Verily without protest, and after a cold microbrew and some red meat, the strange floaty bubbly feeling had finally popped.

“Why did you ask for a Clorox wipe for the tables?” she asked. “Didn’t you trust them to clean it properly?”

He focused on his burger. “Waitresses get busy and don’t bring a sterile cloth. Food slips off the plate and unconsciously you scoop it up, eat it, and come down with E. coli poisoning.”

“You’re a certified germaphobe, aren’t you? How bad?”

“I’m not gonna do a Jack Nicholson imitation from As Good as It Gets, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just like to follow proper hygiene in bathrooms and public restaurants.” He decided to change the subject rather than linger on another one of his issues. “That woman was horrible,” he said. “Have you ever had a client sue because of her?”

She tossed him a smug smile. “They’re too afraid to bring a lawsuit. Besides, Ming’s the best. Look at yourself. Not a smidge of orange, and your skin is practically glowing with health. I bet your muscles feel like limp noodles, too.”