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“You’ve never seen me before I walked through that door.”
Her eyes drop, her fluster growing rapidly as she flips the tap off.
“Callie,” I say again, this time quiet. “Did someone pick this colour for me?”
“Yes, yes, okay, Mr. Harrison may have stopped by and influenced the choices.”
He’s dictating what nail polish I should wear? I huff and scan the row of polishes on the glass shelf behind Callie. “I think I’d like that one. Third in from the right.”
“Seafoam?”
“Yes.” I nod. I’ve never in my life chosen any shade of blue or green polish. “Perfect.” It reminds me of Jude’s eyes. I frown to myself.
“But . . .”
“It’s perfect,” I say again, thinking. I amwayout of my depth.So no more games?Something tells me Jude Harrison is having a lot of fun. But what happens when the game ends? Who wins? I wince at the pang of pain that flares in my chest, automatically reaching up and rubbing into my robe. What the hell is that?
He chose nude polish. Isn’t he the one who’s gone on about being more ... loose? As in adventurous. I laugh under my breath and close my eyes, letting Callie at me. Here I am. My God, what on earth am I doing? This isn’t me, bending to a man’s will, begging for him, dreaming of him, rendered useless by him. Jude Harrison has brought out a side of me I never knew existed.Submissive.I’m not sure how comfortable I am with it. Except ... I sigh. I can appreciate the step out of my everyday life, escaping expectation and letting someone lead.
In my darkness, I think in circles, going over the same things again and again, as if something new might pop up and offer a different take. It doesn’t. I keep coming back to the same conclusion.
I love how he so easily wipes my mind of everything except the moment I’m in with him—whether it be a moment of frustration, desire, or anger. I love how he consumes my thoughts. I love how he so easily distracts me from work, giving me momentary—and needed—freedom from the pressure I place on myself. It’s like handing the reins of a part of my life over to someone else and letting them steer me for a while. Because when I surrender to him, I’m light. Free. Happy to go wherever he takes me.
That’s not so bad, is it?
I open my eyes and see Callie has finished soaking my feet and massaging a foot scrub into them, and is now painting my toes. I smile at the lovely bluey-green shade as she places a UV lamp over my right foot to set the gel polish before starting on my left foot.
“Same for your fingers?” she asks, not looking up.
I look down at my perfectly neat coral nails. “I think so.”
The door knocks, and Callie calls out for whoever it is to come in. I wilt in the chair when it opens, revealing Jude, his hair now perfectly back in place and tucked behind his ears. I breathe in, feeling the scratchiness of his facial hair on the inside of my thighs.Where’s my knickers?
The corner of his mouth lifts in the semblance of a knowing smile as he steps into the room. He’s still in those faded jeans he pulled onbefore walking out of treatment room four—what a treatment—but he’s added a casual white linen button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up. I mentally faint on the spot.
“Mr. Harrison,” Callie says, abandoning my toes, looking a little panicked. It’s the nude polish. I’ll defend her to the end.
Jude frowns down at my toes and turns interested eyes my way. I don’t shy away. “Green?”
“It’s seafoam, actually,” I say, inspecting my feet casually, thinking how it’s a similar shade to Jude’s eyes when he’s about to send me delirious with pleasure. His accusing glare licks my skin. Over nail polish? I look out the corner of my eye. He doesn’t seem impressed.
“Callie, would you give us a moment?” he says calmly.
What?
“Of course!” She’s up and gone before I can protest, and Jude’s soon sitting on the little stool she’s just vacated in front of me.
Reaching for the leather arms of the chair, I hold tight, stiffening from head to toe as he takes my ankles and starts to pull my legs apart. I fight him with everything I have. No, we’re not doing this again. I tense harder, resisting his force, but I’m no match for him. My legs spread, and I go lax in the chair, surrendering to himagain, as he moves his stare to between my legs. On a long, deep breath, his chest expands, and he sighs, tilting his head, having a good study while I sit there and just let him, his large hands flexing around my ankles.
“How was your massage?” he finally asks, keeping me exposed to him.
“Overrated,” I say quietly, making him smile a little, peeking up at me. I’m unable to stop myself from mirroring the glorious sight, my own small smile breaking. He’s maddening. And fucking wonderful.
“Maybe you should leave a review on Tripadvisor.”
A burst of laughter erupts from me. If I leave a review on Tripadvisor, he’d be fully booked for the rest of his life. And, weirdly, that makes me wonder about all the women who have come before me.
And those who will come after.