She had one hand on the wall and her other hand gripping her ankle behind her butt, stretching her quads, when Lovell knocked again.
His expression tightened when he saw her, but he didn’t comment. “Dottie is finishing the oatmeal. I came to see if you needed help.”
She glanced around the room, looking for her clothes. When she came up empty, she figured Amber had taken them to wash. “Can you put my bag on the bed? Just the carry-on is fine. It’s not heavy, but…”
He strode into the room and in six efficient strides had the luggage on her bed. She went through its contents in her head, deciding on a suitable outfit. The only problem was the socks.
“I can get dressed, but I might need help with socks.”
“Want me to step outside while you change?”
She shook her head. “I’ll change in the bathroom, brush my teeth, do the morning things.”
He nodded and moved to the chair positioned by the window.
Opening her bag, she dug through the contents, pulling out clean underwear, a pair of leggings, a front-clasp bra, and a button-up flannel. She had a down vest she’d pull over it, but for now, she had enough to cover herself.
Sitting down on the toilet took longer than she’d ever admit, but ten minutes later, she emerged, teeth brushed, bladder empty, and dressed well enough. She’d even managed to pull her hair back into a low ponytail and open the little jar of face balm that Amber had left her. The wool blanket had done as good a job as it could protecting her the night before, but her cheeks had taken a beating from the brutal wind.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and took a seat as the huge man knelt in front of her, much as he had the night before. He was doing nothing more than helping her put socks on. Just as he’d been doing nothing more than taking her boots off the night before. But as it had then, the sight sucked her into some sort of mesmerizing trance.
After bunching the sock up, he gently lifted her foot and eased the soft wool over her toes. His warm hands wrapped around her arch as he pulled it along her foot, sliding it over her heel and covering her ankle.
“Are your feet sore?” he asked, his fingers gently pressing the soles.
She closed her eyes in bliss and nodded. “Those boots are great winter boots, and they will forever hold a special place in my heart for how well they got me through last night, but they aren’t hiking boots.”
His fingers continued to rub and press. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the relief. She almost whimpered when he stopped, but relaxed when he picked the other up and did the same, this time, his skin sliding against hers.
Fleetingly, she considered the implications of him giving her a foot massage. The only men who’d ever done the same—other than professionals—had been men she’d been dating. And even that was rare. The iconic dialogue between John Travolta’s and Samuel L Jackson’s characters inPulp Fictioneven ran through her head. But the magic Lovell was working felt too good to letthoughtsdistract her.
“I should book a massage for today,” she mumbled, her eyes still closed.
In response, his hand moved from her foot to her calf. She didn’t mean to let out the sigh of pleasure, but damn, the man was good with his hands, just the right amount of pressure in all the right places.
The warm, relaxing pleasure did a one-eighty when his thumb pressed on the spot above her knee on the inside of her thigh. She barely managed to stop the sharp inhalation of arousal as heat shot straight up her body to her core.
His thumb continued rubbing small circles along the inside of her thigh, as his other hand closed over the top of her leg, his palm pressing into her quads as he stroked from her knee to her hip.
Her eyes flew open as his thumb dug into the tendon below her pelvic bone and his fingers curled around her backside.
Green eyes held hers as he continued working the tension, the pain, from her body. Only he was doing much more than that. Her body twitched, a fluttered clench of physical desire. His thumb inched higher on her inner thigh.
His gaze never wavered. He’d take this as far as she’d let him, but he was watching, waiting, for any sign from her to pull back. She should. Lovell was Gabe’s family; it would get complicated. Not to mention, she didn’t reallywantto make room in her life for another person. She was far too comfortable on her own. Which meant she’d only be using him for the orgasms she was100 percent sure he’d give her. Not necessarily a bad thing, depending on where he stood on the issue, but that conversation should happenbeforecrossing the line.
“Daph?”
Amber’s voice startled her out of her debate. Lovell’s hands immediately dropped away.
She opened her mouth to respond, but a small croak came out. Lovell grinned as he grabbed her second sock. She cleared her throat. “Come in,” she called back.
Amber nudged the door open. Her gaze dropped to Lovell, almost done sliding her second sock on, then shot to Daphne. Amber’s deep brown eyes searched hers, then, with a tiny shake of her head, she said, “Ready for breakfast?”
“I am now,” she said. Lovell rose and held out his hand. Setting her palm in his, she stood with his help. Despite the delicious distraction of the past few minutes, pain shot through her body, and she wasn’t fast enough to cover her wince.
Lovell shifted, but she sensed his intent and raised her hand to stop him. “If you so much as think of carrying me downstairs, it will not end well for you.”
