What could he do to me? What a loaded question. He could torture me completely in front of a crowd of people, and no one would ever know. He tortured me completely all the time without even being in the same room with me, and he didn’t know it.
But he’d been right with what he said at Gaston’s—asking him to stop hadn’t stopped my reactions. In the month that had passed, he’d kept his distance, but I’d still thought about him. And the second he stepped into my presence, I lit up in awareness.
So what did it matter if I let him give me a foot rub? It could be a truce. Make our working relationship better, at least.
Reluctantly, I gave him my foot.
He began rubbing the sole through the black nylon thigh high. He wasn’t soft, using his thumb to dig deep into my muscle, but he seemed to know right where to massage and how much pressure I needed to release the tension, not only in my foot, but even in my shoulders and my back.
“You’re good at this.” I couldn’t stop watching him. Couldn’t stop watching his face, how serious he was. How focused.
“I know.” His fingers moved to my ankle, and my entire leg started to tingle, like I’d been lying on it for too long and it had gone to sleep.
I wanted to pull away. But I couldn’t.
He glanced up at me and grinned, as though he could sense my inner struggle and enjoyed it. “Now, my advice.”
“I knew there was a catch.” I huffed, putting on a show, though mostly it was to cover how shaky my breathing was at the moment.
“Of course there was a catch. Stop fighting this.” It was both an order and an appeal, and something about that made me actually pause and listen and wonder if he were talking about more than listening to him spout wisdom.
“Say what you want to say,” I said after a beat. It was probably a bad idea to hear him out. I couldn’t think of many worse.
He kneaded his fingers up higher into the flesh of my calf. “You already have the job.”
“I’m not afraid of losing my job.” Okay, I was somewhat afraid of losing my job.
“You feel like you have to prove yourself.”
I pursed my lips. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel that way if one of my superiors didn’t take every opportunity to discredit me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nate likes you fine, and we both know Weston is more concerned with what’s under your skirt than what’s inside your head.” But he was smiling. He knew I was talking about him.
“You’re an incredible asshole.” I smiled back. Begrudgingly.
Donovan let go of my leg. “Now, Weston isn’t going to fire you, but if you want something permanent with him, you do have some work to do.”
I perked to attention. “What do you mean?”
“Weston will lose interest.”
Oh. For a second, I’d thought he’d been talking about my career. I’d forgotten the stupid thing I’d told Donovan about pursuing Weston when his marriage was over.
I started to say something in protest about Weston, but then Donovan reached for my other foot and began to repeat his massage, and my focus was captured once again.
“He’s going to stay interested in you longer than usual, I predict,” Donovan continued while I swallowed back a groan, “simply because it’s forbidden right now. That’s intriguing to him.”
He found a particularly sensitive spot, and he pressed his thumb in deeper.
I bit my lip.
“But after the wedding ring comes off, he’s going to get bored and that’s a fact. It’s his M.O. So don’t bother shedding tears about it. It’s nothing to do with you.”
Donovan paused massaging and speaking, waiting to make sure I understood.
What I understood was how good his hands felt on me, but hurriedly I mentally replayed everything he’d just said, putting his words into context.
I ran two fingers across my forehead. “Let me see if I get this. ‘Go after Weston; you’d be good for him, but don’t be bummed when he gets tired of you; that’s just his thing.’ Correct me if I’m wrong, but that almost sounds like you’re reversing your endorsement for our coupling.”
If Donovan were actually trying to keep me from being with Weston…well, that would have implications. Implications that I wasn’t sure what to do with. Though I liked the way they felt to think about, even as tentative as they were.
“Not at all. I’m doubling down on the endorsement not only by giving you this warning but also by telling you what you should do to make sure he doesn’t get tired of you.”
“You’re going to tell me how to keep Weston interested.” The disappointment in my voice sounded a lot like incredulity. Maybe it was both.
“I am. You have to recognize that the problem lies with Weston. He’s a seemingly open book, but the reason he hasn’t had a serious relationship with anyone is because he’s never let a woman get past the persona he puts up to see his true self.” Donovan’s hands moved up to my ankle, burning my skin through my stockings.
How was it possible that he could both brand me and give me away all at once? It wasn’t the first time. How was I not used to it?
I wrapped my hands along the edge of the table, needing the support.
“If you want to find a place in his heart, you have to get there first.”
“Easy enough,” I said sarcastically. Maybe Donovan’s guidance was meant to be generous, but it tasted sour. It wasn’t the advice I wanted.
“I can’t tell you how to do it exactly. You’re going to have to work that out yourself. But I figure you should know something about hiding, since you do it so well.”
I tried to pull my foot away, but his grip tightened.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I lied.
“Oh, Sabrina,” he chided. His conceit irritated me. Why did it arouse me as well?
“While we’re on the subject”—his hands moved slowly up my leg—“you aren’t going to be true to yourself when you’re with him. You know that, already. You’ll have to accept it.”
I shook my head. He couldn’t really be saying what I thought he was saying.
“Don’t shake your head at me. You know what I’m talking about. He’s not going to be able to fulfill you sexually.”
“You know I’ve slept with him.”
“Thank you for the painful reminder. I’m sure you’ll tell me he made you come, too. But you and I both know there’s more to sexual fulfillment than just having an orgasm, so unless you can tell me that he can make you sleep through the night, then let’s not talk about what Weston does for you in the bedroom.”
My breathing was so shallow now, my arms covered in goose bumps. How could he know that about me? That I had trouble sleeping? That it was only my dirty fantasies that helped me rest through the night?
He couldn’t know that, that’s how. It was coincidence.
And I was taking all of this too seriously.
I let out a long breath and allowed him a smile. “This is the most fascinatingly bizarre conversation I’ve ever imagined having with you.”
Donovan’s caress changed as I relaxed. It was lighter now, long strokes up the length of my calf and to my knee. I shivered.
“Have you imagined many?”
My smile faded. I’d given myself away. Yes. I’d imagined so many conversations with him over the years, but there was no way I could tell him the things we’d talked about in my head.