My cheeks flushed and wetness pooled between my legs. I was shocked but I couldn’t deny I liked the idea all too much. Before I could think anything more of it, he was pulling me toward the blanket, and coaxing me to sit down with him.
No sooner than I’d set the polish in my other hand down on the coffee table, my stomach growled, causing us both to laugh.
Guess I can eat after all.
“Dig in, beautiful.”
It was a first date for the books even if I knew it wouldn’t be all roses when I had to start talking about my past.
* * *
My gut clenched.
The wonderful food I’d eaten threatened to come right back up when Paxton asked me why I’d tried to run.
Even though I knew it was coming, I still wasn’t prepared for the feelings swarming me. I’d worked hard to not think about my late husband and failed marriage. And I slammed the door on thoughts of my parents' deaths anytime they tried to rise and swallow me whole. But I couldn’t do that now.
I wasn’t sure what the protocol was when two people were having a serious conversation but I have to say that I never thought I’d find myself sitting on a couch with an extremely gorgeous man, my bare feet in his lap as he massaged them and waited patiently for me to start talking.
A moan almost left my lips and I wondered how I was supposed to concentrate on anything when I was receiving my first foot massage that felt so freaking phenomenal. As I watched, I wondered how a man's hands could be so sexy, but it must’ve been how he was using them. And all of a sudden my mind went to other things his hands would be good at.
That moan I’d managed to contain a moment before, slipped free.
Paxton’s gaze locked with mine and desire simmered in his eyes. I was sure it mirrored my own.
It’s only our first date.I had to remind myself because he was seriously hard to ignore.
Who knew if there would be another date and it was too soon to understand all these feelings he brought forth, but damn I’d never felt so desired, nor had I ever wanted to act on something so desperately.
His fingers stopped moving but he still had a hold of my foot. “Behave yourself, darlin’.” His hands started moving again and I looked down at my feet as he worked some serious magic.
“Should have painted my toes,” I mumbled to myself, remembering that doing so was supposed to give me extra time before I had to spill my secrets.
One of Paxton’s hands left my foot and grabbed the bottle of polish on the table.
“I’ll paint, you talk,” he said in the most casual tone.
My mouth dropped open in wonder and my eyes snapped back to his. “You’re going to paint my toes?”
“Sure, how hard can it be? Besides, I’m good with my hands.” He winked, and flashed those dimples, then laughed.
I had a feeling he was damn good with anything he put his hands on.
He opened the bottle and on the foot he’d been massaging moments before, he started painting.
And I started talking.
“I was married,” I started and Paxton’s hand paused for a second and then resumed applying the polish.
Just those three words brought forth anger, hurt, betrayal and I struggled to get myself to keep talking.
Paxton looked so cute as he concentrated on the job he was doing, even though I knew he was also listening intently. I focused on him doing something sweet for me and the words started to tumble free.
“My late husband, late because he is dead but I’ll get to that, was a liar, cheater, and not the man I thought him to be when I married him.”
The hand holding my foot tightened letting me know that he didn’t like what I’d said before he once more relaxed. The little signals he was giving me let me know he was angry or unhappy on my behalf and it made me feel cared for.
My stomach churned as I started the next part. “One day I’d come home from my parents' bakery earlier than normal and was confused when I saw my husband’s car in the driveway. While I had an inkling that he had been having an affair or affairs, I wasn’t expecting to find him in our bed in the middle of the day with another woman.”
