“Have you spoken to him about this problem?”
“More than once. He seems very sincere and says it won’t happen again. But . . .”
“You think this is a personality flaw.”
“Yes. Which means I’m probably going to have to let him go. He’s very talented, has a great personality and everyone likes him. But he’s placing a burden on my kitchen and my staff, and I can’t let that happen.”
Flynn nodded. “I’ll handle it.”
She shot him a look. “No, you will not. I’ll handle it.”
“It sounds like you have more than enough to deal with. I don’t mind.”
“I’ll handle it, Flynn.”
“Okay.” He took her now empty glass and refilled it, then picked up her foot and pulled her boot off, then did the same with the other foot.
She frowned. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking off your boots.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“You’re tense. And I’ll bet your feet hurt standing all those hours.”
“I’m used to it.”
He draped her feet over his lap. “But your feet hurt, right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Not much of a complainer, are you, Amelia?”
“No.”
He smiled, then started rubbing her feet. Oh, God, it felt so good. She wanted to curl her feet into his hands. And maybe moan a little. Which would be very, very bad.
“After a game, it’s like every part of my body hurts. I take a lot of hits, and during the game I don’t feel them. It’s only after, when I allow my body to relax that I feel every hit I’ve taken. My bones ache, my muscles are tight. Hell, even my hair hurts.”
She looked up at his thick mane of dark hair. “Poor hair.”
He laughed. “I know you know what that feels like.”
“Being pummeled on every part of my body? No. I can’t say that I do.”
“But your feet know. And I’m sure your back hurts, too.”
“I might get a little sore being on my feet a lot.”
“There you go. Complain a little, Amelia. Whining is good for the soul.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Is that cross-stitched on a pillow somewhere?”
“Hell if I know. I just know it’s okay to say your feet hurt after a long night at work.”
He dug his fist into the ball of her foot, and she sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“That feels really good.”
His lips curved. “It feels really good here, too.”
He was not helping her saying things like that. It made her imagine being naked and him using those strong hands on every part of her body.
“But you don’t have to rub my feet.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Flynn. What are we doing here?”
“I’m rubbing your feet. You’re drinking wine. We were talking about caramelized bluefin tuna, but you weren’t paying attention.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m trying to get you to relax, Amelia. Do you have to analyze it?”
“Maybe.”
“Try not to. We’re just talking.”
“You’re touching me.”
He looked down at her feet. “Technically I’m giving you a foot massage. That’s not really touching.”
She slid a dubious glance at him. “It’s actually more than touching.”
“No. More than touching would be if I slid my hand up your leg, like this.”
She wasn’t sure if she was happy or sad that she was wearing denim when he cupped her calf, then swirled his hand over her knee. And then farther up, his fingers teasing her thighs.
Every feminine part of her wanted to explode. She was pent up, anxious and so turned on that if he got anywhere near her sex she’d probably have an orgasm.
Wasn’t that what she wanted?
No. She definitely did not want that.
Yes, you do, Amelia. Give in.
She needed to tell her inner sex voice to go to hell, because logic was going to win here.
His voice had gone deeper when he leaned in and said, “That would be touching.”
Her sex quivered and she went damp, logic evaporating with his every touch. “Yes, it would be.”
He stood, placing her feet on the floor, then leaned over her. “And this—this would be touching, too.”
She hadn’t expected it, but she didn’t object when he brushed his lips across hers. It was brief, but the contact was like being struck by lightning. She wanted to reach out, to slide her fingers in his hair. Instead, she gripped the edge of the sofa cushion like a lifeline.
“Do you agree?” he asked.
She’d lost the ability to think. “Agree about what?”
“That kissing you is definitely touching.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Would you like more?”
She wasn’t certain if she’d nodded or not, so she wanted to make sure to give him an affirmative. “Yes.”
He turned her to the side and lifted her legs onto the sofa, then hovered over her.
Right now she was barely breathing as he pressed down on top of her. She felt suspended in time, her gaze riveted on the amazing sea blue of Flynn’s gorgeous eyes. He had impossibly long lashes, and the kind of mouth that was made to give pleasure to a woman.