“Feels good?” His voice, that magical, sexual voice, made her shiver, and she nodded, unable to gather up the energy to actually speak. He continued massaging her fishnet-stocking covered foot, his fingers working her flesh, her entire state of mind, into a weakened piece of nothing.
He had excellent hands, a sure touch. The way he cupped her heel, positioned her foot so it slid up along the couch, her leg bending, knee propped, was so natural she didn’t even think of how the position exposed her until it was too late.
Her hand went to the hem of her skirt, and she pushed down, but it was no use. So she tried to straighten her leg out again instead
.
Trevor wouldn’t let her.
“Hey.” She didn’t want to sound accusing. The man was, after all, giving her the best foot massage of her life, and she didn’t want him to stop. But a girl had limits. She couldn’t go around exposing her underwear to a stranger.
Well, he really wasn’t a stranger, but she didn’t want him checking out what color her panties were. And they just so happened to be virginal white cotton, bikini-cut with little bits of eyelet decorating them. She’d worn them on purpose, wanting the contrast of the stern yet sexy outfit with the sweet, innocent panties.
Not that she’d planned on showing them to anyone. She’d done it for herself. Well, and maybe for Drake, if he’d been interested.
And he hadn’t been interested.
“Relax,” he said. His voice easy, his gaze locked on her face. “Enjoy it.”
“Okay.” Oh, she was ridiculous, falling for this. A foot massage here turned into a grope session there until the next thing she knew, she would be having sex with him. And she didn’t want to do that.
Did she?
No, she didn’t. Despite the fact that his hands were weaving a spell over her body, despite the warm rush of sensation that filled her when he looked at her. His fingers slid up, circled her ankle for the briefest moment before they continued their descent.
Up her leg.
“Too bad you can’t take these off.” He fingered her fishnets. “I could get an even better grip on your feet if you weren’t wearing them.”
Now he was trying to undress her. In such an innocent way too. He was as crafty as the big bad wolf, and she didn’t want to fall for him a la Little Red Riding Hood.
“They’re thigh-highs.” Her voice was whisper soft, almost breathless, and she nibbled on her lower lip, determined not to say another word.
Because the next words would encourage him to take the stockings off.
Trevor’s hands stilled, and he blew out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She cocked a brow, couldn’t believe she had the power to slay him with just a few words. “They’re more comfortable.”
“And easier to slip off.”
“Maybe you should test that and see.” Oh, God.
Scarlett swallowed hard, pressed her lips together. She could not believe she just said that. The words had fallen from her lips with ease, the gathering sexual tension between them so strong it was palpable, throbbing in the room like a living, breathing thing.
“I’m willing to give it a try.” His words were casual, but the intent was clear. This had gone from a mere massage, just as she thought it would. And she’d let it.
She was insane. She was also aroused. More aroused than she remembered ever being, and all from a simple massage.
It was confusing. Thrilling. And so, so wrong.
But she didn’t want it to stop.
The woman had basically invited him to peel the fishnet-stockings from her legs, and he wasn’t about to turn her down. Trevor couldn’t believe this was happening, and he wasn’t one to sit around and think about what was unfolding.
But this was different. It was Scarlett. The woman he’d wanted for far too long. And now he had her, her pretty little feet in his lap, one leg propped. He dipped his head, trying to see underneath her skirt, but it was too shadowy.
He planned on getting beneath that skirt.