Page 39 of Meant to be Mine

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“I know.” She didn’t stop. “Hand me that one.”

I picked up the garment bag near me and passed it over. She checked the tag, made a mark on the clipboard, and hung it on the rack.

We worked through the rest of it quickly. It wasn’t much. Fifteen minutes, maybe, and then the staff would handle everything else. The van was already pulled around to the service entrance and one of Annika’s people appeared to take the rack. Kensey handed over the clipboard. Done.

She leaned against the wall for a moment and looked at her feet. Then she looked at me.

“I’m ready to not be wearing these shoes,” she said.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

She picked up her clutch from the small table where she’d left it and we walked out through the side entrance. The night air was warm and still smelled like the ocean. I loved that it always smelled saltier at night. The brine marinated in the sun all day and then came out to play. The limo was waiting. The driver had the door open before we reached it. She slid in and I followed. The door closed behind us and the world outside went quiet. She lasted approximately four seconds.

She reached down and slipped both heels off in one quick motion. She groaned and flexed her feet. “Sweet Jesus.”

“That bad?”

She turned to look at me with the expression of a woman who had been through something. “These shoes are works of art. Annika has impeccable taste and I would die for her. But my feet have been screaming at me for the last two hours. Men will never understand the torture devices known as heels.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it’s a fashion event and you take your heels off when you’re dead, apparently. That’s the rule.”

She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes for just a second. The party lights and noise were already behind us. In the soft interior light of the limo she looked beautiful and tired and completely at ease in a way she hadn’t been when we’d pulled up to the venue hours ago.

“Give me your feet,” I said.

She opened one eye. “What?”

“Your feet. Put them up.”

She looked at me for a moment with the expression she got when she was deciding whether to argue. Then she turned sideways on the seat and swung her legs up, settling her feet in my lap. I wrapped both hands around her left foot and pressed my thumbs into the arch the way I knew worked, firm and slow.

The sound she made should have been illegal. My cock nearly knocked her foot off my lap. I quietly shifted in my seat to keep it from making itself known.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the thing. That’s exactly the thing.”

Fuck me.

“How do you know how to do that?” she asked.

“I have many hidden talents.”

She laughed softly and let her head fall back. I kept working, moving up toward the ball of her foot, then back down. She was quiet for a moment, just breathing. I watched the tension ease out of her shoulders and her neck. The flower was still in her hair. I moved to her right foot. She made a small sound of relief.

“This is the best part of the whole night,” she said.

My thumbs pressed slow circles into the arch. I worked my way up toward her ankle, and then, without entirely deciding to, I let my hands drift slightly higher. Just past her ankle. Just to the curve of her calf. My fingers massaged the calf muscle that was very tense as well.

She didn’t pull away, and if the noises she made were any indication, she approved.

I kept going. Slowly. My hands moved up the back of her leg. I felt the shift in the air between us. The easy, comfortable warmth that had been there all night was still there, but there was something electric about it now. I suspected she had felt it before, but I knew for certain she did now. There was no way she couldn’t.

Neither of us said anything. My hand continued to run over her calves and teased just an inch higher before moving back to her feet.

We both moved at the same time. She sat forward and I leaned in.