Her eyes sprang open, and she inched her legs away. “Does that contain any synthetic fragrance?”
“What?” He sniffed his palm. “I don’t think so.”
“What about parabens, benzos, artificial colorings, or hydrocarbons?”
“I don’t know.” He tossed the bottle to her, then brought his hands together and warmed the lotion between his palms. “I’m a pilot. I’m an ETT. I’m not a chemist.”
“Hmm.” Brow scrunched, she tried to read the ingredient list. After a moment, she picked up her glasses from the table and slipped them on.
Uh-oh. No Izzy. Not the glasses. I’m trying to be good, here.
“I guess it’s pretty clean.” She placed the bottle on the table and—thank you, God—took off the glasses and put them down beside it. “The active ingredient appears to be cannabidiol, which I don’t usually use but—”
“Izzy?”
Her attention shifted to him. “Yes?”
He placed her foot on his thigh. “Lie back and shut up.”
She huffed out a breath but did as instructed, and then let loose a long, grateful, “Mmmmmm,” as he ran his thumb along her arch, from her heel to just below her toes.
He wasn’t a fetishy person, as far as he knew, but the sight of her dainty, pampered extremity cupped in his larger, far less pampered hand went straight to his cock. Or maybe it was the moan. Jorg thought he needed Viagra? Not true. All it took to get his circuits sparking was pure, unadulterated Izzy.
Sparking? Hell, they were playing with fire. He knew it, but he wasn’t sure if she knew it, so he did his best to ignore the sparks and stick with the task at hand. He swept his other thumb along her arch and repeated the move until her ankle relaxed. Then he switched to the top of her foot, closing his hand around her instep to lightly squeeze the fine bones.
“That feels amazing,” she murmured, and extended her leg, as if her body automatically sought more contact. The move caused her foot to brush his lap, which caused him to swallow a groan as parts of his body sought more contact.
Heavy eyelids slowly opened. Dark eyes found his. Gold flecks glowed in their depths, and…yes. Now she also knew they were playing with fire. She didn’t move her foot. Didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t even blink.
Not wanting to break the spell, he left her foot where it was, leaned in, and ran his hands up the backs of her calves. Her breath hitched as he cupped the hollows behind her knees, then released in a slow exhale as he slid his hands down to the curves of her ankles. Her knees parted a little. One of her hands slipped inside her robe to rest low on her stomach. Her foot settled more firmly against his groin, her arch bracketing the ridge of his hardening cock, her toes curling into his jeans. He glanced up and found her watching him, lips slightly parted, cheeks slightly flushed. Slowly, purposefully, she rubbed her foot over him.
Seeing no reason to talk this thing to death, he leaned in and ran his palms up her calves again, hitching his hands behind her knees this time. He guided one leg so it rested along the back of the sofa, and let the other splay open, supported by the seat cushion and anchored by the foot still braced against his cock.
Resting a palm heavily along the inside of each silk-shielded knee, he inched forward and slid his hands slowly up her thighs. Slender muscles jumped and twitched under his touch. Her head tipped back, exposing the line of her throat. He’d put his lips right there, kiss that smooth, graceful column, while he touched her intimately for the first time.
His fingertips grazed the apex of her thighs, finding warm, damp silk. She arched. He groaned. A phone rang.
Not yours, a far back part of his mind declared, and immediately dismissed the sound.
Izzy, however, had a completely different reaction. Her whole body stiffened. “Shit. Shit.” Her eyes flew open and stared into his. “I’m so sorry. I have to…”
He backed off while his body endured the kind of bone-deep frustration nothing short of a hard, fast fuck would relieve. A stubborn little flame of hope flickered in his chest as he watched Izzy march to the nightstand and retrieve her charging cell phone.
“Hello, Chuck,” she said into the receiver.
And, just like that, the flame died.
Chapter Eleven
You will apologize, obviously.
Izzy faced herself in the bathroom mirror and applied an armor of makeup to conceal the effects of a sleepless night and unrelenting embarrassment over her behavior yesterday evening.
Apologize, advise your client such a lapse of judgment will never happen again, and then conduct yourself in a professional manner from here on out.
Her future depended upon it, no matter what Danny said about things that happened in Captivity staying in Captivity. What if they didn’t? Her boss was a longstanding Shanahan family friend, for Christ’s sake. Practically a relative. Even if she were inclined to take Trace up on his offer to keep a secret—which she wasn’t, because it was wrong—it was doubly wrong to ask him to keep a secret from someone with whom he ought to, legitimately, be able to confide in regarding both his personal and professional life. Because there was something about him, that sadness in his eyes, a red flag in his determination to divest himself of his role in the business his family founded, that warned her he needed to confide in someone.
And yes, it might have been better to get this all resolved yesterday evening, but she couldn’t find it in her to regret that Trace had gathered his things as soon as he’d realized who was on the line, blown her a kiss, and shown himself out while her body wept, and her conscience flinched. She’d needed all night to settle her hormones and put her head on straight. Her attraction to him surpassed anything she’d ever felt for anyone, including the litigation associate she’d dated-slash-slept-with for three unmemorable months over a year ago. The physical disappointment her body had to endure was irrelevant. She’d simply be thankful he’d proven she could feel such intense attraction to someone, but alas, acting on it, with him, wasn’t to be. Even if they waited until after the deal closed, what was the point? She was destined for Los Angeles, and the next level of her career. There would be no return to Captivity for her.
And for him? She paused in the process of bundling her hair into a tidy knot at the back of her head. She didn’t know his long-term plans, but for some period of time he’d be tied to the airfield. After that, very little suggested he’d want to come to L.A. and be her fuck buddy. Securing her hair with pins, she pictured him with Jorg yesterday, with Lilah and Rose. With Bridget. Whether he saw it or not, he was an intrinsic part of Captivity, and it, him. And wasn’t that another red flag? For a man who appeared so anxious to sell out of a business intrinsic to his entire life and move on to the next thing, there was a distinct lack of definition around that next thing. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t leaving Captivity Air for another goal or destination. He was simply leaving.