“That’s okay.” He wiped his forehead. “Is this the right one?”
At her nod, he carefully opened the lid. “That is a lot of shoes. How long are you planning to stay?”
“I like to have options,” she said, ignoring the second half of the question—and the hopeful lift in his voice.
“I suppose it’s easier when they’re so small,” he reasoned, holding up a size six stiletto with a distinctive red sole.
“I don’t feel like wearing those.”
Charlie picked up an equally ridiculous pink slipper. The feathery fluff at the toe danced as he turned it from side to side, a half smile playing across his face. “Funny to think a grown-up could have such little feet.”
“Can you find something that isn’t for the boudoir, or are you too busy touching my stuff?”
Charlie dropped the slipper like it was covered in spikes instead of satin, reaching for the next closest shoe. “How about these?”
“Fine,” she sniffed, though it was clear he’d grabbed a pair at random. Straightening her leg, Jean pointed her toes.
He stared at her foot. “You—want me to put it on you?”
“Yes. I want you to put it on me.” She batted her lashes. “It’s only fair. Since you broke the other ones.”
“I’m very sorry about that.”
“So you’ve mentioned.” She wiggled her toes at him. “Well?”
His dark eyes met hers. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll pretend you’re my podiatrist.”
His warm fingers clasped her ankle before sliding down to cup her heel. A lesser woman might have weakened, but Jean kept her eyes on the prize. Which was—her mind blanked out as his knuckle stroked the arch of her foot.
Revenge! She was doing revenge. And the prize was bringing him to his knees, which she’d technically achieved, considering he was crouched on the ground in front of her. It didn’t quite feel like the slam dunk of victory as Charlie slowly slid the satin strap of a midnight-blue heel over her toes. Her heart was beating a little too fast.
“I like a nice tight fit,” Jean said, retaking control of the situation.
He frowned in concentration. “I’ll do my best.”
She lowered her leg, watching awareness settle over him. Jean was lying on the bed, his head between her thighs. His gaze tracked from one knee to the other, a slow pan he couldn’t seem to control.
She would have given a lot to know what he was thinking. For a few seconds, she indulged herself in an alternate scenario where he turned his face to plant a kiss on the inside of her thigh, then kept going. Charlie had been an eager student in that department, taking to it much more naturally than cards.
“It sure is nice of you to travel all this way.” His voice was faint.
Jean was glad she could still affect him this strongly, even if it forced her to feel something too. Lust was a normal human reaction—nothing to be ashamed of. “I like a good time.”
“Is that why you came?”
“Why else would I be here?” She let the challenge hang in the air.Go ahead, Charlie. Explain it to me. To my face. “Maybe I just really love—” Jean drew out the pause, letting him twist in the wind—“beer.”
He had the nerve to look disappointed, as if she was enough of a chump to whisper sweet nothings after he tossed her aside. “And beans, I hope?”
“What?”
“Do you like them?”
“I… sometimes.”
“Good. Because that’s what we’re having for supper. Over a campfire.”
