Page 21 of All for You

The warmth from his calloused hands seeps through my skin, inviting arousal to swirl through my body like a Texas twister gathering force. Maybe I have a foot fetish? Or I’m developing one?

“Feels good, huh?” He says it so casually, but the hushed timbre of his voice sends a tingle over my skin and heat pools low in my belly.

“More than good,” I confess, my eyes closed to savor the sensation. “But why’d I have to pick you of all people?”

“Pick me for what?” His hands still, and I sense him watching me.

Crap. Did I say that out loud? I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his nearly knocks the breath right out of me. Warning bells clang in my head. But my heart? It’s doing a happy little jig, urging me to throw caution to the wind.

“You know. This whole pretend thing.”

His gaze is heavy with something unspoken, and that twister intensifies.

“Now I’m here, getting a foot massage that’s making me question every damn decision I’ve made since leaving New York.”

“Even the pretending part?” His voice is a soft drawl, teasing the edge of our strange reality.

“Especially that.”

This relationship is becoming more real by the second, and it scares the hell out of me. I’ve been down this road before, and it nearly broke me. But something about Travis makes me want to risk it all again.

Then I spot her.

Laura Kincaid is standing on the porch, her hawk-like gaze fixed on us, and even though there’s some distance from there to here, I’m certain her eyesight is perfect.

My stomach clenches, and I fight the urge to yank my feet away, knowing it will only make things worse.

He must sense my sudden tension because he raises his head, concern deepening the lines between his eyes. “You okay, Rachel?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. How long has she been watching? The weight of her judgment presses down on me, but it also sparks a thrill of defiance. What if I just let her look? Let her see how attentive her son can be.

When his thumbs dig into my arch, I swallow a moan and heat creeps up my neck. I shouldn’t be enjoying this so damn much, especially not under his mother’s scrutiny.

I watch as she spins on her heel and marches back into the house.

“Travis,” I whisper, “we should stop.”

“Stop?” He pauses, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “Or maybe what you need is for me to not stop at all.”

I intend to remind us both of the boundaries we’d set. But when his lips brush against my calf in a feather-light kiss, every shred of resistance is smashed like dry earth under a cowboy boot. My hand finds its way to his shoulder, gripping hard enough to tell him I’m anything but indifferent to his touch.

“Travis, your...”

The rest of the sentence dies on my lips as he sweeps the edges of my dress aside, bares my spread legs, and presses his mouth to my inner right thigh. Slowly, he travels higher, creating a trail of fire that blazes straight to my pussy. His eyes never leave mine. Dark pools of desire promise things I’ve fantasized about since he kissed me at the festival.

“Rachel,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

Travis gets to his feet, the heat from his body enveloping me as he widens my legs to stand between them. Then, he bends down, and his lips are on mine. Soft at first, a tentative question to which my body screams yes. The kiss deepens, turning hungry and urgent. His tongue teases mine, and I moan into his mouth.

Instinct takes over, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

Travis slips his hands under my ass and picks me up and I fling my arms around his neck. He walks inside the barn. The air is musty, the sunlight gone. I hear a horse’s soft snort, and its hoof stomp the stall’s floor.

Travis keeps walking until he has me pressed against a wall or a stall. I don’t know, but I don’t care as long as there’s no splinters. A thrill of pure desire shoots through me. For once, I don’t care about past heartaches or future consequences. All that matters is this moment, this man, this overwhelming rushof passion that I’ve never experienced. Strong and sure, his hands roam down my sides until he grabs me under my thighs and hitches me a little higher until I’m perfectly settled, my feet crossed behind his back, his groin notched against mine.

His kiss brands me with a longing so intense it borders on pain. His hands map my body with a possession that speaks of his own need, fingertips leaving whispers of heat wherever they touch. The thin fabric of our clothing feels too thick, cruel, and an impediment to the skin-on-skin contact we both crave.

I pant when his mouth leaves mine to cut a trail down the column of my throat. “W-what are we doing?”

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