The thoughts are too strange to fathom, so I shove them away and focus on the feeling of his hands. His touch is at once purely platonic and shockingly intimate. It’s strange — I know I should be objecting, I know I should be putting up a fuss about the fact that he’s crossing this line… but I can’t vocalize a singleprotest.
My body has betrayed me. My thigh muscles clench tight together beneath my laughable skirt; my back bows involuntarily under the sensation of his fingers, until my cleavage challenges the confines of my lace-lined bodice. There’s no way he doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on me — not when he’s this close, staring at me with such intent focus you’d think he was memorizing my face to describe for a sketchartist.
Undeniable lust stirs inside me, like the first rumblings of a long-dormant volcano. I haven’t been touched by a man in months, not since my life fell to pieces. The feel of his hands on me after an uncharacteristically long dry spell is stoking embers of attraction into a steady flameofneed.
Tell him to stop, a small voice pleads from the back of my mind.Tell him thank you and pull away, before this escalates from purely therapeutic to something very, verydifferent.
The voice falls silent as his Luca rolls his knuckles against the ball of my foot. I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in an embarrassing mewling sound, wishing I could escape his unflinching gaze. It would be far less intimate if he’d look away, but he doesn’t — he keeps his eyes on mine the entire time, even after he switches to work the kinks from my left foot. When his fingers trace along the delicate bones of my ankle, static and sensual through the friction of my stockings, I feel an undeniable bolt of desire spark along the nerve endings from my toes straight between mythighs.
Holy.Fuck.
I can’t remember the last time anyone did this for me. Maybe never, if I’m being honest. I’m usually in such a rush to leave the morning after I’ve slept with someone, there’s no time for things like cuddling or massages. Whenever possible, I avoid the unsettling intimacy of such couple-like activities — it makes it easier, when I inevitably decide to end things a few weekslater.
Lather, rinse,repeat.
I fully realize, if I weren’t so exhausted, I’d probably be freaking out right now. But it feels too good to stop.Hefeels too goodtostop.
Luca rolls my ankle in an achingly slow circle. The effort to hold in a moan is making my eyes water. A crazy, reckless thought pops into my mind as I stare down at him with glossy eyes, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasteblood.
How easy it would be to open my knees, just asliver…
To reach for him with shakyfingers…
To pull him down on top of me on this comfortablecouch…
To see how those skilled hands feel on other parts ofmybody…
Retreat!Retreat!
Sensing the danger in my own shockingly vivid visualizations, I yank my ankle from his grip and scramble to my feet. Before he can react, I take several purposeful strides away from the couch, putting some much needed distancebetweenus.
Not that I don’t trustmyself.
Ha! Who am Ikidding?
I totally don’t trustmyself.
When I glance back at Luca, breathing hard, I see his eyes are simmering with humor and something else — something that makes me want to run straight back to my jail cell in Mattapan, where I’d be safely separated from him by a wall of impenetrablesteelbars.
His lips twitch, as if he can read exactly what’s going on inside my mind, so I plant my hands on my hips and school my face into what I hope is a mask of total composure. As if my pulse isn’t pounding double time. As if my toes aren’t pressed firmly against the wood floor in a vain attempt to ground me back inreality.
“Thank you for…” I swallow hard, undeniably flustered. “For…that.”
Crap on a toastedcroissant.
He full-on smirks at my discomfort, thebastard.
“Wasn’tfinished,babe.”
“Well, I was,” I mutter in a flatvoice.
“Whatever you say.” He shrugs, still half-smiling as his eyes drop to my toes and slowly scan their way up my body until they’re back on mine. “Never seen you without theheels.”
“And?”
His lips twitch. “You’reshort.”
“I’m not short,” I insistimmediately.