Page 25 of Win Big

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she protests, but holy shit, she nearly falls over when she gets out of the SUV. It could be those sexy-as-fuck shoes with the skinny heels. Or it could be the booze.

I hold her up and lead her to the sidewalk. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice sounds like she’s ninety years old.

But I’m not letting go. “Which unit is yours?”

“Unit E.”

The building has townhouse-style units with their own entrances. We walk down a sidewalk through shadowy trees and shrubs. She unlocks the door to hers and I follow her inside. It’s a long, narrow apartment, with only an open-concept kitchen/dining/living room on this level, but a staircase just to the left of the door leads up to the second level.

“Okay, I’m home.” She slaps a light switch on the wall and a modern chandelier above us illuminates the foyer. “Thanks for the ride.”

She’s pale and sweaty despite the strained smile she attempts.

“I’m not leaving.” I close and lock the door behind us. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“That’s a little personal...” Then she sighs. “I don’t even have it in me to make a joke. Upstairs.”

I bend my knees and pick her up. She squeaks and grabs on to my shoulders. “Jeez, Wyatt, you don’t need to carry me.”

“You seem a little unsteady.” I take the stairs. She’s not a heavy woman, but let’s be honest, carrying a hundred and twenty pounds up the stairs takes a bit of muscle. I’m a hockey player, not a bodybuilder, and the stairs are all the same honey-toned hardwood as the main floor, meaning, it would be easy to slip. Don’t want that.

There are two bedrooms up here and she waves to the one on the left. I enter a spacious room with a big bed in the middle of it, pale in the darkness and piled with pillows. I cross more hardwood and deposit her gently onto the mattress.

She sinks back into a fluffy duvet and a mound of pillows with a soft sigh, eyes closing again. After sucking in a deep breath and letting it out, she says, “Okay. I’m good now.”

“Good to hear.” I reach down and curl my fingers around one slender ankle. Her leg jerks away, but I keep hold of it. “Let’s get these sexy shoes off you.”

“You like my shoes?” she murmurs.

“Oh, hell yeah.” I had a hard time focusing on serving dinner watching her walk around in those shoes. There’s not much to them, to be honest. One little strap across her toes and one around her ankle. I work at the tiny buckles and set the shoes on the rug at my feet.

She wiggles her toes. “That feels good.”

I try not to drool over her legs, which are stellar. “Here.” I sit on the bed near her feet and lift one onto my lap.

Again, she tries to pull away. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a foot massage. Your feet must be sore from walking around in high heels all night.”

“Mmm. A little. You don’t have to do that...”

“I know.” I press my thumbs into her arch and she moans. Her foot feels delicate, small-boned and soft-skinned, her toenails painted a soft pink. I work my way down to her heel, then back up to her toes, my fingers digging in and massaging.

“Oh my God. That’s amazing.”

“You’re welcome.”

I’d like to run my hands up her calf, but I resist the temptation, and after a few minutes on that foot, I switch to the other. She lies there, eyes closed, sighing soft appreciative sounds that make my dick stir. Once again, I’m not going to take advantage of her drunkenness to get into her panties. Much as I’d like to.

What would it be like? She’s so fucking sexy, so smart-mouthed, so bossy... does she like to be in charge in bed too? Because I sure as hell do. That could be... interesting.

Fuck. I can’t think stuff like that.

I smooth my hand over her instep, both her legs resting on my thighs, daringly stroking up to mid-shin then back down. “How are you feeling? Need anything?”

She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

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