“So good,” I moan despite myself. “I admit it—you’re ridiculously good at this. Happy now?”
Harris chuckles, low and smug. “I knew you’d come around.”
I don’t even have the energy to glare at him anymore. Every muscle in my body is dissolving under his touch, and honestly? I don’t care. Let him have this victory. Let him think he’s a foot-massage god.
He kind of is.
“This is dangerous, you know,” I say, my voice softer now, more playful. “You’re setting the bar way too high. What if I get addicted to this and demand a foot rub every time I see you?”
He glances up, his lips curling into that maddeningly cocky grin. “I don’t mind. As long as you keep making those noises.”
My cheeks flush, but this time, instead of shying away, I lean into it.
“Oh, so you like my noises?” I tease, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Maybe.” His hands slide up to my calf, his thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle. “Depends. Got any other good ones?”
A laugh escapes me, light and unguarded, and I let my head fall back against the couch, the tension finally melting away.
“Those hands are magic.” I finally say the words out loud that I’ve been thinking since his thumbs pressed into the pads of my feet, my teeth biting down on my lower lip. “I’d pay for this.”
Harris’s grin turns wicked, his thumbs still kneading my calf with maddening precision. “Oh, you’d pay for it, huh?”
“Absolutely,” I say, my voice teasing, but there’s a slightly breathless edge to it that I can’t quite hide. “You’ve got talent, Bennett. Don’t waste it on lumberjacking.”
He chuckles, the sound low and smooth, as his fingers glide down, tracing slow, deliberate circles over my ankle. “I think I like the idea of you owing me more than a paycheck.”
The way he says it—quiet and suggestive—sends a shiver skittering down my spine. My head tilts back again, and I let out a soft, contented sigh, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Careful. I might start thinking this is foreplay.”
His hands pause for a heartbeat; then he laughs—a deep, rumbling laugh that makes my stomach flip.
“Who says it’s not?” he murmurs, his voice lower now, his hands moving again, slower this time, more deliberate.
I snap my head forward, meeting his eyes, and the look he gives me is so warm and full of amusement, I can’t tell if he’s actually joking or testing the waters.
My heart skips, and I decide to test him back. “Well, if it is ...” I lean forward slightly, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “You’re doing a damn good job.”
His grin widens, but there’s something sharper in his expression now, something that makes my breath catch. He shifts closer, his knee brushing mine, and his hands slide back up my leg, stopping below my knee.
“Good to know,” he says softly, his thumbs pressing into my knee in a way that’s both innocent and completely not at the same time.
The air between us is thick.
Heavy with unspoken words.
His hands still, resting on my leg, his fingers warm against my skin, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are locked on mine.
His hands linger, his fingers curling slightly, the heat of his touch radiating through me. I can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick, a quiet invitation rather than a demand.
I don’t say a word.
I won’t tell him to stop, because I do not want him to, even if I can’t say the words out loud.
My body betrays me, leaning slightly closer as if drawn to him by some invisible force.
His hands move, gliding up slowly, teasingly, until his palms rest above my knee. The pressure is firm but careful, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over my skin. It’s intimate, dangerously so, and I don’t want it to end.
