Free Shades of Temptation by Virna Depaul Page A

bounced, then swung her feet onto his
lap. Lying back, she folded her hands behind her head and stared up at the
ceiling, trying to control her escalating heartbeat and erratic breathing.
    For the longest time, Jase didn’t touch her. When he finally
did, when he cupped his big palm over the arch of her right foot, she closed her
eyes. And prayed like hell she’d be able to hide just how very, very much she
wished she was his type, after all.
    * * *
    T ODAY WAS TURNING out to be Jase’s lucky day.
    Not only had he spent the past hour talking shop with Carrie,
in her private sanctum no less, but now she had her bare little feet in his lap,
obviously willing to let him put his hands on her to prove that he didn’t scare
her.
    But he knew that wasn’t true. And she sure as hell scared him.
Even so, he wasn’t a fool. He might never get the chance to touch her like this
again, so he planned to enjoy it while he could.
    She had small feet, and her toenails were painted a soft pink,
the color so subtle he’d thought they were bare. He cupped his fingers around
one of her arches and began to massage the bottom of her foot, alternating
between kneading and pressing deep with his thumbs.
    Her involuntary moan of pleasure made him swell, and he shifted
her feet slightly away from his erection. Despite the massage he’d started, she
was tense, her limbs rigid. To distract himself and her, he murmured, “You said
you were concentrating on your career. So DeMarco was wrong? You haven’t been
dating your way through SWAT?”
    The foot he held jerked slightly, but he held on and moved to
massage her toes. They were adorable. Perfectly shaped. He’d never paid much
attention to feet before, but he could see himself quickly becoming enamored
with this woman’s toes.
    “I—I still date occasionally,” she breathed. “I’m not a freak.
I have needs just like anyone else.” When Jase’s hands stilled, she snorted.
“Sorry, I set myself up with that one, didn’t I? But this feels good. I could—”
She yawned. “I could almost fall asleep. I think you have magic fingers, after
all.”
    “Close your eyes.”
    To his surprise, she did. He worked on her feet for several
more minutes, then pushed up the hems of her sweats. Her eyes flew open.
    “It’s okay. I’m just going to massage your calves. Close your
eyes, Carrie.”
    It took longer this time, but eventually she did as he said.
With firm pressure, he squeezed her slender calves, working the muscles there.
Though she was strong, she wasn’t at all bulky with muscle. She had the lithe
limbs of a dancer, muscled but not overblown. When he was done, he gently
skimmed his fingers over her right thigh.
    “This is where he shot you,” he said.
    Her eyes were still closed, but she’d gone still. Her breathing
quieted. She nodded.
    “How firm should I be when I massage it?”
    “The pressure you’ve been using is fine. It’ll help tomorrow,
and I won’t be so sore. But if you’re tired—”
    In reply, he began stroking her thigh through her sweats. Using
a firm but gentle pressure, he kneaded the tight muscles before moving to her
other thigh to do the same. He kept alternating his attention between them. Each
time he shifted his attention from one thigh to the other, his fingers trailed
near the juncture between them and she sucked in a breath. He became hypnotized
by that intoxicating rhythm: kneading her flesh, stopping to move to her other
leg, but only after she gave him that soft, sexy inhalation.
    At one point, he pulled her thighs farther apart to get a
better grip, and she whimpered. His eyes shot to hers. She was watching his
hands just the way he’d been. Her face was flushed and her eyes dilated. Her
mouth trembled.
    Shit. He was breathing hard.
    He wanted to push her thighs even farther apart to make room
for his hips. Wanted to press his aching flesh into hers and confirm that she
was warm and wet the way he thought she was.
    For several shaky