Tangled

by Karen Erickson

  “I don’t need taking care of…” she started, but Trevor cut her off with a look.

  Surprisingly, she shut up. Nibbled on her plush lower lip instead, her teeth stark white against the deep red of her lipstick. The urge to kiss all that lipstick off was overwhelming, all encompassing and he breathed deep, trying to control himself.

  He wasn’t one to lose control. He was always the one in control. Women threw themselves at him. He knew this, appreciated it, thanked the good Lord above every day for his bounty. He preferred men he could dominate as well. He liked to be in command though he wouldn’t consider himself a total caveman.

  There was something about Scarlett tonight that made him feel possessive. Like he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and cart her off to a quiet room, where he could explore and ravish her body for the rest of the night. She would fight him off at first with little shoves at his shoulders, protesting whimpers low in her throat. Until finally she would give in to what she really wanted, which was him. And he would show her just how explosive it could be between them.

  Yeah that sounded good. Too good.

  “Let me take care of Scarlett, she’s hurting. Just give us a few minutes,” Trevor said to Drake though he hoped the last part wasn’t true. If he had his way, he’d cart Scarlett off and spend the rest of the night with her. Alone. Naked.

  “Okay. See you later,” Drake said slowly, his expression wary. As if he didn’t believe him.

  “Let’s go,” Trevor murmured close to Scarlett’s ear, catching a whiff of her delicious scent. The woman smelled good, sweet, like vanilla and something else he couldn’t quite figure out.

  But he wanted to find out. He wanted to take his time with this woman. Wanted to get to know her, what made her tick, what she liked, what she disliked.

  The problem was, he had a distinct feeling she disliked him. She seemed downright immune to him though he swore he saw a flicker of interest in those fathomless dark brown eyes.

  That minute show of interest kept him in pursuit.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked once they got out of hearing distance of Drake.

  “I don’t know. There are private rooms around here aren’t there?” He slowed his pace for her, wishing he could haul her into his arms and carry her somewhere. Though he figured she’d balk at that. Probably call him a few filthy names and demand he put her down.

  He was sorely tempted to do it to see her reaction.

  “You can’t take me to a private room.” She sounded indignant. Also, a little intrigued.

  “Why not? You need to get off your feet, get those shoes off.”

  “Once I take them off, I’m never putting them back on.” She hobbled along, the wince that appeared on her face driving him insane.

  “Why do women buy shoes that torture their feet? I don’t get it.” Trevor shook his head, his hands itching to grab her.

  “They’re hot right? Sexy? You said so yourself. We do it to impress you.” She said you as if he was the most disgusting thing on this planet. The expression on her face matched her inflection.

  He couldn’t stand the fact that she didn’t like him. What had he ever done to her? He’d never gone out of his way to talk to her out of fear he’d make an utter ass of himself. He’d bided his time, wanted to approach her at the right moment, but now he was afraid he’d made a bad choice.

  Yeah, nice choice asshole. Approaching Scarlett at the sex club she frequented. What the hell are you doing anyway? Are you really interested in a woman who actually frequented sex clubs?

  “So was it worth it?”

  She stopped, her delicate brows crinkling in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “The shoes and looking hot for me. Were they worth it?” He slid his arm around her waist, this close to picking her up.

  “I didn’t wear them for you specifically. Just for, um, someone who might notice.”

  “Who? Drake?”

  Scarlett sighed. “Does everyone know about my personal business?”

  “Pretty much.” He smiled. “But I’ll tell you this. I definitely noticed. And I like what I see.” Deciding to go for it, he bent at the knees and swooped her into his arms, holding her against his chest.

  A little squeal escaped her. She automatically circled her arms around his neck, her face so close he could feel her breath fan across his face. “What are you doing?”

  “Tell me where the private rooms are.” He started walking, headed deeper inside the building. Her fingers fluttered on the back of his neck before pressing into his skin, sliding up into his hair.

  “There’s a bank of them to the left, down that hall,” she offered. “Not everyone knows about them so most of them should be empty.”

  Trevor followed her direction, forcing down the wave of lust that threatened to consume him at having Scarlett in his arms. She was tiny. She weighed hardly anything, and she snuggled against him as if she belonged there. With him.

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

  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.

  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.”

  “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.

  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.

  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 r
eact.”

  “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.

  “Say the word, and I’ll stop.” He slipped further, felt her plump pussy lips, a hint of wetness, and heat. Such heat. He bet she was creamy and sweet, so sweet. He wanted a taste. Wanted to push her skirt up to her hips, tear her panties off and place his head between her legs.