“A man in your profession probably sees women at their worst, all sneaky, and determined to strip the man of everything he has. Ranting about ruining the man in every way they can. Knowing what you know, about how vicious the gender can be,” her mouth finally stopped in mid-sentence. Did she actually say all of that? Using the heel of her hand, she hit her forehead. The offending pot grabbed her attention because she couldn’t even meet Will’s gaze. It would either be full of contempt or a suspicion that she was one of those women who turn on a man like a coiled cobra.
“Hey, don’t do that, “the shouted warning came too late.
Her foot connected with the pot before she even considered the fact she was barefoot. “Ow, damn it to hell and back and twice around the bank.”
His shadow fell across her as he bent to sweep her into her arms. Tonya hooked one arm around his neck snuggling into his shoulder. Her cheek nestled against his shoulder allowing her to breathe in his scent, a combination of fading cologne, a whisper of dryer sheet from the t-shirt, a sharp note of sweat, mixed with a muskiness that identified the man. Ah, an aroma she could grow use to. Will worked his way through the maze of boxes, into the kitchen, and carried her into the living room. He backed up to the loveseat and collapsed onto it, holding her tight in his arms.
“Pretty inventive cursing out in the garage. Can’t say I ever heard that before.” He chuckled as he eased her onto the loveseat.
“Yeah, my paternal grandfather, Leonard majored in cursing. My grandma usually caught him at the first damn, so he had to improvise after that. He also had to put quarters in a cursing jar. One time he just shoved a twenty in it before he let loose, but grandma rushed me out of the room.” His close embrace, as he carried her, made her forget about her hurt toe. She couldn’t remember anyone carrying her. Made her feel all ultra-feminine. True, she was no lightweight, which might explain one reason she never received the delicate flower treatment. Then again, maybe she never dated the right kind of man. Her big toe took the major brunt of the collision. It throbbed reminding her of the fact.
A closer foot inspection required resting her ankle on her opposite knee. Hard to tell if any bruising occurred with the dark purple nail polish. The reddened skin around the nail didn’t reassure her. Will wrapped his hand around her foot with his thumb on her instep. “Wiggle your toes.”
She did. Ached a little, but still moved. No immediate care visit, but flats for a few days at least. The thumb resting on her instep moved in an oval pattern. “Will, what are you doing?”
“Must be doing it wrong, if you don’t know. Go ahead, and put both feet in my lap.”
Only one foot was bruised; she almost pointed out the fact, but didn’t. Instead, she decided to wait and see what he’d do next. The heat from his palms warmed her foot as he massaged it.
“Oh, that feels great,” she moaned the words as she pushed back into the couch. “I pay for pedicures just to get the foot massage, but they’re not this good.” Her eyelids fluttered shut as she relished the experience. “You’re, ah, too good.”
His throaty laughter caused her to open her eyes a sliver, catching a satisfied smirk on his face. Go ahead and grin, as long as you keep those magic fingers on me. As if hearing her unspoken command, he continued to massage her feet, taking special care with her big toe.
It felt so good after the day she had. Of course, there was no practical reason for him to be massaging her feet. The hell with practical. “Where did you learn to massage feet so well?”
“Well, would you believe I was a slave boy to a powerful foreign queen?” he teased. She could hear the smile in his voice.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and tried for a stern one of her own. “I don’t believe any woman, queen or not, would ever let you go with those hands.”
“Oh, is that so?” He winked as he smoothed one hand up her calf under her yoga pants.