Free Parker’s Price by Ann Bruce

He wrapped his hand around one foot.
    “Your feet are tiny.”
    She looked down. His hand, from heel to fingertips, was longer than her foot by a couple of inches. “I’m short and small and you’re big and lumbering.”
    His thumb stroked up and down the high arch of her instep. She inhaled deeply and bit down on a corner of her bottom lip. Her toes curled and she tried to jerk her foot away. He didn’t release her. “Lumbering?”
    “Okay, maybe not lumbering,” she quickly conceded. “Now, let go of my foot. It’s rough and callused from running and too many years of high heels…and sometimes running in high heels.”
    Dean ignored her request. His thumb moved to the center of her foot. Parker had never known how sensitive that center line could be.
    “How often do you run?”
    “Five days a week. I…uh…try to do it early in the morning before I get ready for work.”
    “Central Park?” He released her limp foot and picked up the other one.
    “Um hmm,” she sighed. Her conversation skills were quickly deteriorating and the man massaging her foot looked like he knew it and was thoroughly enjoying it.
    “There’s no park here, but one of the beaches should work for you. There’s six on this island. You can take your pick.”
    “Um hmm.”
    “Or you can do them all. Six days, six beaches.”
    “Um hmm.”
    “And I’ll run with you tomorrow.”
    “Um hmm.”
    “And we can strip down and play doctor afterward,” he added dryly.
    “Um hmm.”
    He chuckled and, to her disappointment, ended the impromptu massage, settling her foot in his lap. “Watch the movie.”
     
    Despite having slept the day away and the gratuitous violence as Bruce Willis shot his way across the screen to save his wife and a group of hostages from highly organized thieves, Parker slowly drifted toward sleep, her internal clock apparently trying to adjust to the new time zone.
    Dean watched her, taking note that the dark circles under her eyes weren’t as pronounced as before, and felt guilty because he wanted to cover her body with his, her mouth with his, and wake her up and keep her up until they were both exhausted. But she needed sleep more than she needed him proving to her just how much of the Neanderthal he actually was.
    As the credits rolled, he powered off the television and DVD player with the remote controllers. Then, sliding one arm behind her back and another under her knees, he lifted her up, keeping her against his chest. She was light in his arms, fragile, and he resolved to feed her until she had another ten pounds on her slender frame.
    Like earlier when he’d carried her from the private jet to the waiting SUV and from the SUV into the house, she snuggled up against him, burying her face in his neck. Warmth spread within his chest. Awake, she didn’t trust him as far she could throw him, but asleep, those barriers came down and her instincts took over. And he had less than six days to convince her to trust those instincts.

Chapter Four
    Parker glared at the figure backlit by the early morning sun twenty feet ahead of her. She continued running, putting one worn running-shoe-clad foot in front of the other, each step marking the powdery sand that bordered impossibly blue water. But she couldn’t enjoy her surroundings, not when that competitive side of her was smarting because of the man waiting for her, looking like he’d done nothing more strenuous than enjoy a stroll along the beach instead of a hard run on two miles of sand.
    “Are you sure you spend all day sitting behind a desk?” she asked when she slowed to a halt, breathing heavily, but, thankfully, not panting. That would’ve been just too humiliating to bear.
    Looking amused and pleased with himself and a smidgen indulgent, Dean handed her a blessedly chilly water bottle. She twisted off the cap and downed half the contents without pausing to take a breath.
    “I never said I spend all day sitting behind a desk,” he countered easily