Tangled (3 page)

she belonged there. With him.

She felt good. She felt right. And he didn’t want to let her go.

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Chapter Two

Trevor was such a macho, unbelievable show-off with the heroic gesture he had just made. Sweeping

her into his arms as if she was some sort of damsel in distress and he’d ridden in on his white steed to save

the day. Her feet had been killing her but nothing too outrageous. She suffered with ache-inducing shoes all

the time. It wasn’t a special occurrence.

Scarlett didn’t want to admit that deep down inside she loved it. Enjoyed the way he had picked her

up with ease, his strong, capable arms carrying her down the hall, through the crowds of onlookers. He was

gorgeous. He drew many appreciative glances, but he didn’t seem to notice. His soul focus was her and

getting her off her feet.

She appreciated his attentiveness. She wondered if Drake would be so gallant and rush to her aid.

Not the thing to think about right now.

He approached the private rooms she had told him about and leaned over, tested one doorknob with

outstretched fingers. His position caused her to slide a little, his hand close to her butt. When he opened the

door and then adjusted her in his arms, she felt the delicious press of his fingers against her abundant flesh.

Trevor carried her into the room and deposited her on the loveseat that sat against the wall. She sank

into the corner of the overstuffed little couch with her legs stretched out and watched as he sat at the other

end. He reached for her feet and rested them in his lap, his fingers working on the back of first one shoe,

then the other, tipping them both off her aching feet so they fell to the floor with a muffled thump.

Wiggling her toes, she sighed, a small murmur of approval escaping her. It felt so good—away from

the constricting shoes, her feet free to stretch. In their elevated position, the blood slowly flowed back into

them so she could actually feel them again, and she rotated first one ankle, then the other. She glanced up,

her gaze meeting Trevor’s. He was studying her, his gray eyes darker, stormier, lids heavy. As if there were

some sort of determined purpose in his gaze, and she couldn’t look away. She was snared in his trap.

She wasn’t protesting.

Scarlett didn’t realize he was going to touch her until she felt the warm press of his fingers on the

underside of her left foot. They sank into her arch, circling, digging, driving every last kink out of her

muscles. Her eyes slid closed, a groan escaping her.

“Feels good?” His voice, that magical, sexual voice, made her shiver, and she nodded, unable to

gather up the energy to actually speak. He continued massaging her fishnet-stocking covered foot, his

fingers working her flesh, her entire state of mind, into a weakened piece of nothing.

Karen Erickson

He had excellent hands, a sure touch. The way he cupped her heel, positioned her foot so it slid up

along the couch, her leg bending, knee propped, was so natural she didn’t even think of how the position

exposed her until it was too late.

Her hand went to the hem of her skirt, and she pushed down, but it was no use. So she tried to

straighten her leg out again instead.

Trevor wouldn’t let her.

“Hey.” She didn’t want to sound accusing. The man was, after all, giving her the best foot massage of

her life, and she didn’t want him to stop. But a girl had limits. She couldn’t go around exposing her

underwear to a stranger.

Well, he really wasn’t a stranger, but she didn’t want him checking out what color her panties were.

And they just so happened to be virginal white cotton, bikini-cut with little bits of eyelet decorating them.

She’d worn them on purpose, wanting the contrast of the stern yet sexy outfit with the sweet, innocent

panties.

Not that she’d planned on showing them to anyone. She’d done it for herself. Well, and maybe for

Drake, if he’d been interested.

And he hadn’t been interested.

“Relax,” he said. His voice easy, his gaze locked on her face. “Enjoy it.”

“Okay.” Oh, she was ridiculous, falling for this. A foot massage here turned into a grope session there

until the next thing she knew, she would be having sex with him. And she didn’t want to do that.

Did she?

No, she didn’t. Despite the fact that his hands were weaving a spell over her body, despite the warm

rush of sensation that filled her when he looked at her. His fingers slid up, circled her ankle for the briefest

moment before they continued their descent.

Up her leg.

“Too bad you can’t take these off.” He fingered her fishnets. “I could get an even better grip on your

feet if you weren’t wearing them.”

Now he was trying to undress her. In such an innocent way too. He was as crafty as the big bad wolf,

and she didn’t want to fall for him
a
la
Little Red Riding Hood.

“They’re thigh-highs.” Her voice was whisper soft, almost breathless, and she nibbled on her lower

lip, determined not to say another word.

Because the next words would encourage him to take the stockings off.

Trevor’s hands stilled, and he blew out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “Are you trying to kill me?”

She cocked a brow, couldn’t believe she had the power to slay him with just a few words. “They’re

more comfortable.”

“And easier to slip off.”

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Tangled

“Maybe you should test that and see.”
Oh, God.

Scarlett swallowed hard, pressed her lips together. She could not believe she just said that. The words

had fallen from her lips with ease, the gathering sexual tension between them so strong it was palpable,

throbbing in the room like a living, breathing thing.

“I’m willing to give it a try.” His words were casual, but the intent was clear. This had gone from a

mere massage, just as she thought it would. And she’d let it.

She was insane. She was also aroused. More aroused than she remembered ever being, and all from a

simple massage.

It was confusing. Thrilling. And so, so wrong.

But she didn’t want it to stop.

The woman had basically invited him to peel the fishnet-stockings from her legs, and he wasn’t about

to turn her down. Trevor couldn’t believe this was happening, and he wasn’t one to sit around and think

about what was unfolding.

But this was different. It was Scarlett. The woman he’d wanted for far too long. And now he had her,

her pretty little feet in his lap, one leg propped. He dipped his head, trying to see underneath her skirt, but it

was too shadowy.

He planned on getting beneath that skirt.

Afraid to say anything, afraid to ruin the mood, he kept his mouth shut and scooted closer to her, her

knees now in his lap, her legs hanging over him. He rested his hands atop her bent knees, cupping them, her

skin smooth and warm beneath the fishnets and then he slid one hand up, nice and slow until it disappeared

beneath her skirt. He could feel the very heat of her emanating from between her legs.

Christ, this was tough. Tough to restrain himself, tough not to reach for her panties and tug. But

instead, his fingers searched for and found the top of her thigh-high stocking, slid beneath the firm elastic.

He heard her sharp intake of breath at his touch on her bare skin, and it twisted him up inside, turned his

cock into a rock hard, raging thing.

He pulled the stocking down her thigh, over her knee, across her calf until it was bunched at her

ankle. Withdrawing the stocking completely from her foot, he let it flutter to the ground, his gaze lifting to

meet hers.

“One down,” he murmured.

“One to go,” she finished for him, her stocking-covered leg shifting in his lap, nudging against his

erection.

If she knew what she was doing to him, she didn’t let on. At first glance, it appeared he had no effect

on her either. Her expression was calm, her breathing normal, but he saw the darkening in her eyes, the

faint rosy flush that covered the skin peeking from the open vee of her shirt.

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Karen Erickson

She was aroused. He bet if he reached between her legs and tested her there she’d cream all over his

fingers.

Sweat broke out on his brow, and he shoved the thought firmly from his head. He needed to bide his

time, not just trying to cop a feel. He wanted to do this right.

So he could keep on doing it. With her. Again and again and again.

Trevor reached beneath her skirt once more, his fingers trailing, tickling her skin. He swore he heard a

muffled giggle. Again, he tucked his grip beneath the elastic of her stockings and tugged, pulling them

down until they were completely off, landing on top of the already discarded stocking on the floor.

She wiggled her toes, and he caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye. “Want me to scoot

back?”

“Why?”

Scarlett laughed. “I thought you wanted to massage my bare feet.”

“I’ll massage your legs.” He began rubbing her calves, easing the slight knots from first one, then the

other, and she tilted her head back, her eyes sliding closed in ecstasy.

Oh yeah, he could watch her all night. The rapturous expression on her face, her mouth pursed, lips

parting as a sigh slid from between them. Her feet flexed, her legs flexed and the movement caused her

skirt to ride up, revealing inches of the creamy skin of her thighs.

He could only imagine her legs parting for him as he thrust deep. Long legs wrapped around his hips

as he plunged again and again. His hands holding her slim thighs apart as he dipped his head and licked her

pussy.

“You’re good at this,” she said, knocking him from his dirty thoughts. “You have good hands.”

Not the first time he’d been told that but usually when he was doing something a little more fun than

massaging. Not that this wasn’t fun, oh no.

But it was more like exquisite torture.

“I can make it even better.” He slid his hand beneath the skirt, reveling in the silky soft flesh of her

thigh. She shivered. He felt the subtle movement beneath his hand, and when he looked at her, he saw the

caution, the apprehension shadow her face.

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered. She tried to draw her leg away, but he held firm.

“Let me,” he whispered back, his fingers crawling farther up, closer to her heated pussy.

“Trevor.” Her voice hitched when he brushed his fingers over the cotton front of her panties. “I don’t

like you.”

He laughed. Her brutal honesty should’ve hurt, at the very least should’ve pissed him off, but her

words only spurred him on. He stroked her, back and forth, slow and easy, pressing harder with his every

movement. All the while he kept watching her, his gaze locked on her beautiful face, watching it change as

desire slowly took over.

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Her lids lowered, long dark lashes casting shadows upon her face. Lips parted, her tongue licked at

her lush lower lip and made it glisten. Wet and inviting and tempting him beyond reason.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to fuck her with his fingers and then fill her with his cock.

This woman drove him insane, and he wanted a taste. Just one taste.

“You like the way I touch you.”

Her eyes flared, a rich chocolate brown he could drown in. “You could be anyone touching me like

this, and I’d react.”

“Anyone?” His brows lifted. That was a challenge if he ever heard one. His pinky finger reached,

until it met the elastic leg of her underwear. “So if I dived beneath your panties you wouldn’t be wet.”

“Um…” She looked flustered. And guilty. “Anyone, remember?”

“Right, so any guy could be sitting here with his fingers on you and you’d react sexually. Maybe if it

was Drake.” Her lids fluttered, and he didn’t doubt Drake could cause this reaction. Her crush proved she

had a thing for him.

Jesus. Why had he even mentioned Drake’s name?

“How about…” He thought, his mind reaching, searching for a name of someone they knew.

Someone about as sexy as a lump of cold mashed potatoes. “Keith.” Austin’s sometimes lighting assistant.

The guy had beady eyes and a cold disposition. He gave the girls at the theatre the creeps.

Hell, he gave Trevor the creeps. Austin justified keeping him around because the guy was damn good

at his job.

The disgusted shudder was unmistakable, the look of horror on her face equally so. “You would have

to pick the biggest asshole in the world.”

“He’s not bad.” He let his fingers drift across her mound, the unmistakable heat underneath nearly

burning him. “Would you react the same if it was him touching you? If I was Keith?”

She released a shuddering breath, her gaze locked with his, dark and irritated. Her entire body tensed,

and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. “Of course not.”

“That’s what I thought.” He played with the elastic, touched bare flesh, the silk of her pubic hair and

holy hell he wished he could see her.

“I don’t want you to touch me.” She didn’t sound very convincing though. He wasn’t one to push

himself on a woman, he’d never had to but something told him she was lying. She wanted his touch as

badly as he wanted to touch her.

Scarlett was fighting it, fighting him. And he didn’t quite understand why.