Page 20 of All for You

“Never thought I’d find peace like this,” I confess, turning toward him. “But damn, it feels like freedom. Please tell me it’s always like this.”

Travis laughs out loud, his eyes lighting up. “Well, we do have our issues and it’s not an easy life. Some days are downright hard. But I like to think the good out numbers the bad.”

I wince because these new boots are pinching my toes something fierce. My attempt at looking the part suddenly feels silly, and I grit my teeth as I shift my weight, trying to find a position that doesn’t scream, ‘city girl with sore feet.’

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Fine. Just breaking in these new boots.”

“Come on, let’s sit for a bit.” He gestures toward a nearby bale of hay under an alcove of the barn, and I follow, grateful for any excuse to get off my aching feet.

We sit side by side, and a warm breeze slides across my skin, carrying with it the perfume of wildflowers, earthy scents, and a smell intrinsically linked to Travis. Even his cologne is irresistible. A euphoric blend of leather, sun-warmed skin, and sandalwood. It’s suddenly getting more challenging to remember why this was all supposed to be pretend.

“Let me help you with those boots.” Travis drops to kneel on one knee, his strong hands gently grasping my right calf.

Heat pools in my lower belly. My body sure as hell didn’t get the memo about our fake relationship.

He tugs off one boot, then the other, then my socks, revealing my swollen red feet with pink-tipped toes.

“Better?” His voice is low and growly, almost sensual. His touch lingers, thumbs massaging circles into the arch of my foot, sending a surge of pleasure up my leg to other places.

Jesus H. Christ. The sight of him on his knee, those capable hands on me—it’s like a live wire straight to my core. I bite my lip, trying to keep my breathing steady. This man has no right to look so fucking good while doing something so simple.

“Much.” I breathe out, fighting the urge to lean back and close my eyes. Instead, my eyes are riveted on him, watching how the bright afternoon light plays over his features, crafting shadows that make him look handsome and impossibly tender. There’s this insane desire to stroke the grey streaks in his hair, rub the pad of my finger over his brows, and my thumb across his lower lip.

Every press of his fingers sends sparks of desire shooting through me. I didn’t realize my feet were erotic zones. I want to grab him by that perfectly tousled hair and crush my mouth to his. To hell with the consequences.

Except, I’m not supposed to feel this way. We aren’t supposed to be more than a convenient lie to keep our meddling mothers at bay. Yet, as Travis’s hands work their magic on my sore feet, I start to imagine what else those hands can do—what it would be like to have them explore every inch of my naked skin without pretense or restraint. My body purrs with an arousal that is far too real for our fake relationship.

Fuck. I’m treading on perilous ground here. I wanted to reach out and touch him. To feel the strength of his armsaround me. But the memory of bruises and broken promises holds me back. My past shrieks to run, to protect myself. But my traitorous heart? It whispers seductively of taking a chance, of letting Travis in.

There’s suddenly a battle raging inside me, and desire and fear are locked in a heated dance. Travis isn’t Matthew, I know that. But old habits die hard, and mine warn me to keep my distance.

“Travis…” I swallow, unsure of what I want to say but desperate to say something to break this sexual tension between us.

“Yes?” He raises his head until his gaze meets mine, and in that moment, I think we both know. Whatever we’re doing here, whatever game we thought we were playing, the rules have changed.

My body hums with anticipation, every nerve ending on high alert. I can practically taste the electricity crackling in the air. I long to say fuck it and jump him right here on this hay bale. But the sensible me, which has kept me alive and sane, reigns me back. Just barely.

“Shit.” The curse slips past my lips. I imagine sex with Travis would be very hot, unlike any previous experience. I have the distinct feeling he knows his way around a woman’s body.

I feel like I’m holding my breath as he kneads one foot and then the other, his touch setting off fireworks under my skin. Each press of his fingers initiates sparks that threaten to consume me. It’s a struggle to keep my cool.

“Are your feet feeling better?”

“Yes. But… keep rubbing, please.”

What am I thinking?It should be awkward—a man I barely know touching me so gently and with such intimacy. But as his hands rub away the pain of my sore muscles, I find myself leaning into the sensation, my body softening, and a moanthreatening. I bite it back before I embarrass myself any further. But every stroke, the perfect amount of pressure he applies, it chips away at all the barriers. God help me; I want nothing more than to stay right here like this forever.

“Good hands,” I manage to utter, my voice husky with more than just relief.

“Part of being a cowboy.” His thumbs press into a particularly tender spot, and my breath hitches.

If cowboys can do this with their hands, sign me up for the next rodeo.

Why did I choose Travis to be my fake boyfriend? Of all the men in Cupid’s Creek, I had to pick the one who makes my heart do backflips, my belly flutter, and my common sense take a vacation. I blame this on Sheila. She got me all riled up on a day when he was in the diner. I also blame my mother for her timing. Couldn’t she wait a few more months, or years, before deciding to visit? I would have had time to develop a better plan.

My mind reels with a blend of pain and pleasure as his hands work over my throbbing feet. The white cowboy boots—Sheila’s foolish suggestion for impressing the great cowboy—sit discarded on the ground. I glance at the ridiculous boots, cursing her advice and vanity.

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