“Shouldn’t wear a boot with a heel,” he said, going into the kitchenette and opening the fridge.
“It helps with tips.”
His head popped up over the open refrigerator door. “The boots?”
She waved a hand down her body. “The whole outfit.”
His head disappeared again for a second and when he straightened, he slammed the door shut and had a beer in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He handed the water to her.
He remembered she didn’t drink beer. Hmm, a man that listened and remembered. Those were a rare breed.
“Sit,” he grunted. “Jury, off.”
The dog scrambled from the couch to the floor and Judge waited for Cassie to take the dog’s place.
She did and put the water bottle on the floor at her feet.
Judge settled on the other end of the couch, cracked open the beer, guzzled half of it and put the bottle down on the floor. He twisted toward her. “Take your boots off.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“When’s the last time someone did somethin’ nice for you?”
“When’s the last time someone did something nice for you?” she repeated the question back to him.
He shook his head. “Not talkin’ ‘bout me.”
“Heather and Tyler letting Daisy and me move in was more than nice.”
“When’s the last time a man did anythin’ nice for you?”
Why was he asking this? “I... I don’t know.”
“Take your boots off.”
“I don’t understand why—”
“Take your fuckin’ boots off, Cassie.”
This was just weird. Coming up to his apartment was a mistake. “I need to get home.”
“Kid’s asleep. Sister’s home. You got time.”
“I came here to find out why you’re following me and why you know things about me that are none of your business. Not to get comfortable.”
She froze and her heart seized when he surged forward, grabbed one ankle, pulled her leg up and unzipped her boot.
“Hey!”
He had the boot pulled off and tossed across the room before she could scramble away from him. Then he pulled her foot into his lap and began to work the sole with his big, strong fingers.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Holy shit.
A groan slipped from between her lips.
His lips twitched at her reaction. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” she breathed, leaning back against the arm of the couch, getting more comfortable. “Oh... my... God.”
He grinned. “Like that?”
“Yesssss.”
“Get your other boot off,” he ordered as he continued to massage her foot.
She didn’t hesitate this time. This time she quickly unzipped the other boot and plopped her foot right into his lap, so she was sitting sideways on the couch.
She groaned as he began to massage her feet with both hands. “Holy shit.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head back.
Whatever he was doing felt like heaven.
Pure heaven.
Oh God, it was better than sex. Way better.
A little whimper escaped her as he dug his thumb deep into a sore spot.
She almost sounded drunk when she asked, “How’d you know my feet hurt like that?”
“Aunt was a waitress. My uncle, Deke’s pop, used to massage her feet after her shift. Kept their marriage alive. Afterward, we’d hear them go into their room and bang one out.”
Her eyes popped open and her head jerked up. “What?”
Was he expecting them to “bang one out” after he was done massaging her feet?
Judge wasn’t looking at her but was concentrating on her sock-covered feet with a smile. “It was tit for toe.”
Tit for what? “Tit for tat?”
“He got her tits after massagin’ her toes.”
Cassie slapped a hand over her mouth to smother the laugh. “Was that a joke?”
He grunted. “Kinda. But it was true.”
“I take it they had a good relationship.”
“Yeah.”
“You were close with them?”
“Yeah.”
“Family should be important.”
“Should be.”
She groaned as he hit another sore spot. “I agree. They should be. I’m thankful for my sister and her husband.”
“Why’d you run?”
She lifted her head again. “Tell me why you know things about me first.”
His fingers slowed and she wanted to complain, but she had no right to, so she didn’t.
“Own Justice Bail Bonds.”
Cassie shot up and jerked her feet from his hands, curling her legs under her. “What?”
“My cousin, Deke, and I run a bail bonds business.”
“Okay...”
“Lookin’ for your husband.”
“You’re not the only one.”
His green eyes hit hers and held. “You lookin’ for him, too?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know where he is?”
“No. If I did...”
“If you did...?”
“I’d finally be divorced.”
He nodded. “Kinda figured that.”
“How?”
“Feet,” he demanded, his hands held out.
She sighed and uncurled her legs, putting her feet back in his lap. She jerked as he peeled off her socks and tossed them to the floor. He began to rub her bare feet.
And, holy shit... It made her melt like butter.
If he was some psycho killer, he knew how to bring down her guard.
But instead of going all Ted Bundy on her, he began to talk. “Got a call from a bondsman in Rochester about your husband jumpin’ bail. Told me you came to Manning Grove and to keep an eye out for Lange. We catch him, we make a little scratch.”