Page 21 of Nothing to Deny

“Money shot,” Baer muttered, stepping back from the bed to take his jacket off.

And, sure enough, Presley’s eyes dropped a little.

Sitting up fast, she held a hand out to Baer. “Can I have that, please?”

He handed over his jacket. “Won’t protect the assets.” Putting her arms in the sleeves, she wrapped it around her front and leaned back to massage her foot again. “If you’re dating, he’s entitled to the view.”

Baer went around the end of the bed to the seat by Presley’s uninjured hand.

“No one is entitled to anything, even in a relationship,” she said. “You should know better than to send young boys that message.”

“This from the woman dating a twelve-year-old,” he said, loosening his cufflinks and lifting his hips to put them in the pocket of his slacks.

“Stop being jealous, Baer,” Presley said while Baer folded his cuffs over his forearms. “I manned up for her first.”

She swooned a little and switched her smile from him to Baer.

Presley was glaring at his brother and didn’t notice her mouth, “I love him,” to the elder Claymore.

In response, he rolled his eyes.

Shifting his chair closer to the bed, Baer presented her a hand. “Gimme.”

“Give you, what?”

He sat straight, gliding his fingers over the apex of her knee to skim it down the front of her calf. Ah, he’d noticed her massaging.

A foot massage? Oh, God, yes. It might be polite to refuse, but she wouldn’t. Uncrossing her legs to extend one toward him, if he knew what he was doing, this would be the highlight of her week.

“Take this,” he said, pulling a pillow from the top of the stack behind Presley.

One the kid wasn’t tall enough to notice missing.

He guided the foot she’d given him closer and surprised her by scooping up the other one to put it on the arm of his seat. With one of her legs next to him and the other in his grip, her ass shifted closer to Presley’s ankles.

“Now, kid, you watch close,” Baer said. “You get this right, you’ll never have to worry about your view being taken away.”

“Baer,” she murmured, but didn’t pursue her scolding.

Instead, she put the pillow under her head and lay down. And when he squeezed the sensitive spot next to the ball of her foot, her eyes closed. Exhaling, she hadn’t meant to sound quite so blissed out, but in that opening gambit, he proved his skill.

“Do you trade?” Presley asked.

Her twisted upper body didn’t allow for a view of the youngster. No, when she opened her eyes, Baer was all she saw. He fixated on her with that same sleepy look in his eye as before, only this time it was hotter, steamier, far from age appropriate for their audience.

Neither of them answered.

Presley spoke again, “Freya says she has to wear the shoes that hurt her ‘cause of you. Is that why you have to massage her feet?”

“I massage her feet because I want to,” Baer said to his brother, forcing himself to stop looking at her.

The new angle gave her a better view of his profile. Clean-shaven tonight, unlike the stubble he wore when they met. She preferred the stubble. God, talk about presumptuous. It wasn’t her place to be thinking anything close to that. So new thoughts. New thoughts…

Hmm… smooth would be nice too, she’d be able to lick his jaw, to taste his skin, slide her lips across his cheek to his upper lip. Smooth meant no stubble burn. No barriers. No clues.

Baer was a gentleman; he’d been polite and courteous. Yet there was something about him that suggested he could be a little rough around the edges… if he relaxed some.

It would be so easy to take her foot from his hands, to prop it on the opposite arm of his chair and slither forward, off the bed, into his lap…

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