Page 58 of The Crowned Garza
“No,” I rush out, not ready for him to go yet. “You still owe me a foot rub, so don’t roll those down just yet.”
He contemplates me for a bit, then acquiesces with a nod. “Go shower. I’m expecting an important call in about ten minutes. I’ll be up after.”
“Are you saying I stink?”
“You said it.”
This little—I grab an orange from the fruit basket and hurl it at him.
He sidesteps to dodge it, and the orange explodes against the cupboard. “Dangling you on a string would work better than a crucifix to scare vampires away right now.”
“Oh my God, justgo! I don’t want your hands on me anymore.”
The smile that splits his face takes my breath away. He reaches for me, but I swat him off and scamper away. “No, don’t you dare try to touch me after insulting me.”
“You might want to take some bleach with you. A little bit of vinegar and baking soda.”
“Ugh. Just go away, you jerk!” I sprint off up the stairs. “Go. Away.”
His rich, deep laughter follows me. And it’s such a stunning sound that I halt at the landing, take a deep breath, and soak it all up. I’ve never heard himlaughbefore. But,oh,what a glorious sound it is. A sound I want to wrap up and snuggle with for the rest of my life. A sound I want to own. To capture in a bottle and keep for my ears only.
Please risk with me.
Please choose me.
Please be mine.
Once the sound has seeped into my skin, and the timbre, bass, and vibrations of it have imprinted on my heart, I continue to the en suite bathroom and take a cold, cold shower.
~
WHEN I EMERGEfrom the bathroom, he’s in my room. Lurking by the vanity, observing my cosmetics.
Tightening the towel around me, I halfheartedly snap, “I told you to go away.”
Without looking at me, he motions to the bed. “Lie down.”
He then takes his time hovering his fingers over my cosmetics before he plucks up a bottle of moisturizer. When he turns in my direction and sees me rooted defiantly in place, he sighs, strides straight toward me, and scoops me up in his arms again.
My traitorous body refuses all commands from me to fight in protest. It just sags and surrenders as Saint carries me to the bed.
After laying me down, he sits at the edge and lifts my feet onto his lap. Squirts lotion into his palm and begins massaging my feet. “Foot rubs are better when your feet are damp and soft. That’s why I told you to shower first.”
Oh.“Well, I told you what my love language is. If you tell me I stink, I’ll take it to heart.”
“I’m not trying to woo you,regalità.”
Yet, here you are, rubbing my feet. AmIthe one in denial or him?
“I’m looking for a…” I trail off on a moan. God, his hands feelsogood on my feet. I might’ve finagled this foot rub merely to spend time with him, but it turns out Ineededa foot massage. With each press of his thumb and each knead of his knuckles, tension I didn’t know was there flees through my toes.Wow. This is nice.
“You’re looking for a…?” he prompts, reminding me of my forgotten train of thought.
“Oh, a housekeeper. This place is too big to do all the cleaning myself.” Another wave of tension leaves me, lulling me into a calm, relaxed state. “I was wondering if I could borrow your sex slaves?”
“Hands,” he corrects.
“Sure,” I mutter, the word drenched in sarcasm.
