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“Death by pie?” I arched a brow.
“That’s right.” He rubbed his stomach. No. It wasn’t flat. It was all bulky, washboard planes. You could see each hump and defined divot through his skin-tight shirt.
“You could have eaten one piece instead of two,” I razzed.
He sent me a dubious look. “I think it’s become pretty clear I have no self-restraint when it comes to you.”
“Far too much, in my humble opinion.”
He shook his head, something flitting all over the edges of his plush, full lips.
Mischief.
Affection, maybe.
I was kind of shocked that he was donning it at all. That he was allowing himself even a moment’s lightness when I’d been sure he would have sentenced himself to self-reproach.
Condemning his actions like they could be sins when he’d lifted me to a height where I’d never been.
“Come tomorrow, I’m a reformed man.” It was a tease deformed with threads of guilt.
My brow arched. “Tomorrow, huh?”
That gave us some time…
He cut me a soft laugh and shook his head. “Correction, after that pie, I’m a reformed man. I’ve learned a very hard lesson.”
“I’m pretty sure you liked that lesson.” I glanced at his plate on the coffee table that had been scraped clean. I was surprised he hadn’t licked it.
“Far too much. Things that make you gluttonous and self-indulgent only ruin you in the end.”
“I see no issue in allowing oneself a little pleasure.”
Shame rippled through his features, magnified by the flickers of color flashing from the television. “Biggest issue is when it hurts another.”
Is that what he thought? That he’d hurt me?
“You think I’m afraid of you, Trevan Niles?” I stretched out my foot and nudged him in the thigh with my toes.
He clamped a hand around my ankle.
A punch of air shot from my lungs, and flames lapped up my leg.
Ugh.
How in the world was I supposed to act like everything was normal and nothing had changed between us when his mere touch elicited that reaction?
He stilled for one moment, then he carefully took both my feet and settled them onto his lap. He started massaging them the way he always did. My feet bare and my toes painted pink.
I moaned at the bliss, though I taunted, “That’s what I thought.”
His grunt was soft.
“Want to take care of you.” He kept rubbing, angling so he could knead his thumbs into the ball of my foot. “Bet your feet are aching after standing on them all day in those boots.”
It was the tingly spot between my thighs that was really aching.
“Not too bad.” It was a stuttered, raspy whisper.
