That made her head snap up. “What is this, high school? I don’t need to steal your sweatshirts. I have my own.”
“You like mine, apparently,” he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “I like it.”
“You self-satisfied male.”
“Guilty.”
“Thanks, counselor.” Wanting to get the conversation back on track, she cleared her throat. “Now that we’ve completely gotten off topic, let’s try again. I can’t date you.”
That took a little wind out of his self-satisfied sails. But he straightened and leaned forward, forearms on the table, a determined glint in his dark eyes. “I know you’re a truthful sort of person, Kara. I believe you when you say you’re not using Zach as a reason to not date. And I believe you believe you can’t date me. But I need you to tell me why.”
“Does it matter why?” she asked, feeling miserable now. She’d let this happen, somehow. She hadn’t shut down the flirting, the anticipation soon enough. She hadn’t prepared Zach enough to not get so attached to the handsome, helpful Marine. Her eyes stung, and to keep from crying she started mentally listing all the reasons she despised Henry.
“Yeah, it does. Because if it’s something negotiable, I’m open for it. In fact, I love negotiating.”
“Your lawyer’s showing.”
“I’m not a lawyer right now. I’m a man, who wants a woman, who says not that she doesn’t want to date me, but that she can’t. And I’m a determined son of a bitch, so let’s find out the ‘can’t’ so we can move on to the ‘will.’”
Her mind twisted that around a bit, and she gasped when he grabbed her calves and pulled her feet into his lap. “What—what are you . . . wait, what? That made no sense.”
He quickly pulled her sandals off and let them drop to the floor, then started rubbing her ankles. “I’m a big fan of full disclosure, so I’ll go first. I want my hands on you, Kara. I want them all over you, and inside you.”
Her entire body clenched at that blatant statement. At the heat in his eyes, the tight readiness of his own body. But his hands were gentle as he started to massage. She couldn’t quite hold back the pleasured moan when he hit the sweet spot of her arches. Rubbing your own feet was nothing compared to having someone else do it for you.
“Your turn,” he added, amusement in his voice.
She glared at him, but didn’t want him to stop. “I want you, too.”
“Then the rest can wait.” His thumbs pressed hard into her instep, and she almost melted into a puddle on the kitchen floor. “There’s nothing wrong with living in the moment. We’re both adults, right? Both mature, productive members of society. By spending time together, it’s not throwing off society’s delicate balance. It’s simply two adults, getting to know each other better.”
He paused, and she sensed he wanted her to say something. Her eyes slid shut. “I hear you speaking words, but all I can hear is my own blood and this vague Charlie Brown teacher sort of voice. I’m in foot rub heaven. Don’t kill the buzz.”
He went quiet, and she sensed it was difficult for him. But he was the one who started the foot rub in the first place.
His fingertips finally grazed over the tops of her feet, up her calves and back down again for one last squeeze before gently setting her feet down on the floor. Time to stop being an amoeba. But damn if she could open her eyes.
“I want you.”
His husky voice was what did it. She cracked one eye open. He watched her with such longing, such hunger, she shivered again. Despite the sweatshirt, despite the fact there was no chill in the house, she couldn’t stop her arms and shoulders from shaking a little.
She’d denied herself for so long. Not for Zach’s benefit, but for hers. Because she’d been tired, she’d had no time, she’d had no money, or decent prospects. And now here sat a man who wanted her, who was quite possibly the end all, be all of prospects, with plenty of time, a fresh foot rub under her belt, and no need for money.
And she still couldn’t have him forever.
Would it be bad to have him for a night?
“You’re thinking too much.” He reached for her slowly, so slowly, and she could have said no. Instead, when he hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her to sit on his lap, she let him. Her long legs dangled over the side, and her ear rested on his chest, just above his heart. One large hand stroked up and down her sweatshirt-covered arm.
He kissed the tip of her ear. “Will you stop thinking about it so much for tonight?” His phone buzzed, and he grunted and reached for it in his pocket. “Sorry, not trying to be rude but—”
“Work, I get it.”
He unlocked the screen, then chuckled a little. “Zach’s asleep.”
“That’s early . . .” She checked her watch. “Normally his bedtime’s not for another half hour. And usually he cons a sitter into tacking on another thirty minutes.”