Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,76
my toe.
“Hey now, don’t do that.” He reaches down and grabs my feet, pulling both of them into his lap. “In the first place, you run the most successful pie shop in SoHo.”
“The only pie shop in SoHo.”
He smiles. “That’s not the point. Your optimism is the thing I like best about you. There’s a bar with your family’s name on it—you decide to figure out how to run the place, with no help from the man who’s supposed to pass it down to you.”
“I had help from you, though,” I point out.
“So what?” He shrugs. “You got in there and rolled up your sleeves. You measured gin by the half ounce, and invented a song to help you remember all the ingredients in a Harvey Wallbanger. Even when you were irritating, you were really pretty cute. And that’s because of your upbeat attitude. We can’t all be cynical grouches.”
“Vodka, Galliano and orange juice. Plus a dash of self-righteousness and incompetence. I was an irritating rookie, wasn’t I?”
“Occasionally.”
“You told me I should wear V-necks, and my tips would improve. Instead of thanking you for the advice, I gave you a lecture about feminism.”
“I deserved it. That was just gratuitous on my part,” he says with a grin. His strong hands begin to massage the arch of my foot, his thumb lovingly stroking my skin.
“Omigod,” I moan, and then slap a hand in front of my mouth. There’s a chance my sister is still awake, reading one of her favorite dirty books and listening for signs of mischief upstairs.
Gunnar snickers, and then switches feet. I basically melt back onto my sofa and try not to moan like a porn star. I spend a lot of time on my feet, and they’re often achy at the end of the day. Nobody has given me a foot rub since …
Ever. I have literally never had a foot rub like this. Gunnar works his hand up my ankle and then back down again, stroking the muscles, smoothing the skin. And how did I not know how sensitive the bottoms of my feet were? The longer the massage goes on, the looser I feel.
And, fine. I’m turned on. All it takes is a foot rub and I’m ready to strip off my clothes and let him do me on the sofa. The sooner the better.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. I refuse to admit that Gunnar has turned on my libido as easily as I can turn on the oven broiler.
“Uh huh,” he says, as a knowing smirk appears on his face. “Me too. Why don’t you come closer and we can do nothing together?”
I don’t move, though, because I don’t want to seem as eager as I feel. I still have Spalding’s critique ringing in my ears.
“You don’t trust me,” Gunnar says, his thumbs making sweet love to the arch of my foot.
“I’m confused about you,” I admit. “But it’s not just that. I have an uneasy relationship with—” I drop my voice down so low it’s a miracle he can hear me. “—Sex.”
“Hmm,” he says, switching my right foot for my left. My feet are basically sexual organs now. Are footgasms real? “How did—” he drops his voice the same way I did “—sex do you wrong?”
“It was Spalding who did me wrong,” I admit.
“How ’bout I do you right?” Gunnar asks with a grin. “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.”
“Oh, there weren’t any complaints,” I whisper. “But last night was a lightning strike. I don’t believe it can happen like that again. I’m not—” How to phrase it?
“You’re not what? My lightning bolt is ready, baby.”
I let out a snort. “I’m not as confident as you. I’ve been told that I’m not any fun.”
His hands go still right in the middle of a glorious instep rubdown. “Come again?”
We’d like to! my hormones shout.
“I’m not fun. I don’t have moves. You didn’t notice last night, because we were both liquored up on adrenaline. But before last night I’d only slept with one man in my life, and apparently he was just putting up with me all those years. He says I’m …” I swallow hard.
“What?” Gunnar whispers, and his eyes have gone scary.
“A starfish,” I whisper.
Gunnar’s head jerks back like he’s been slapped. “Baby, that’s just bogus. I have scratch marks on my back that prove he’s a liar. Do you know what kind of man calls his wife a starfish?”