Page 19 of The Gambler's Prize
“Now, just let me get you out of these shoes,” I say.
I unlace them ever so slowly, holding his gaze, and all the while his powerful body gets stiller and stiller. I thought he might try to back away, stand up and tell me to stop being silly, but he stays where he is. It’s as though he’s under a spell. I lift his feet, one at a time, to take off his shoes. Then I put on the work boots and lace them up for him, my hands soft and careful. The whole time the silence in the room gets louder and Grimes sitsso still it’s as though he hardly dares to breathe. When I’m done I rock back on my heels and smile at him.
“There, Boss,” I say. “How do you like having a valet?”
“It’s… it’s all right.”
His throat sounds dry and his voice has a breathy note. Like he’s been walking in the desert all day without a drink.
I toss my hair over my shoulder, still on my knees in front of him. “And while I’m down here—”
“Florian, jokes like that are unacceptable.” His voice is louder now, real anger breaking through.
I scoot back on my heels and grab a can of boot polish from the side table.
“I was only going to say I might as well polish the boots for you.” I give him a reproachful look. “What did you think I was going to say?”
He runs a hand under his hood as though he’s feeling the heat. “Nothing,” he lies. “What the hell is the point of polishing work boots when I’m about to go outside and dig in the dirty ground anyway?”
“Well, I guess it’s not exactly… practical,” I say, running the cloth through my fingers as his eyes follow the movement. “But it’s nice to be spoiled every now and then.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he growls. “If you must.”
His stare is pure dark challenge now. He’s annoyed with me, and himself. He wants to prove that I’m not turning him on. But he’s proving nothing. I see my effect on him in those strained eyes. I start to polish the left boot with slow, slow, teasing circles. I whistle softly to myself, knowing his eyes are on my lips even though I’m not looking up. As I rub the cloth into the old, cracked leather I imagine I’m massaging my boss’s tense, angry shoulders, easing out the kinks and knots, making him putty in my hands. His breath gets lighter. Is he imagining the same thing? I wish I could read his thoughts.
“Okay, Boss?” I whisper.
No answer. I look up. His eyes are fixed on me, and they’re burning up. His hands are clamped on the arms of the chair. That look on his face tells no lies. He wants me. I reach up and touch his knee, waiting for an invitation to do more. His breath catches. Then he leaps out of the chair so fast I almost tumble over backwards.
“What thefuckare you doing?” he shouts.
I shrink back.
“N-nothing,” I stutter. “Sorry. I thought… I thought you were giving me the signal.”
“The signal? What signal?”
I can’t even look at him. “You... you know.”
I’m so embarrassed. I don’t usually misread that badly. I could’ve sworn he wanted me to go farther. Especially after our moment of connection last night as he let me share his bed. It felt as though he almost liked me, for once. Or, at least, like he hated me a little less.
“Get up, right now,” he barks.
I scramble to my feet. He backs away like I’m contagious. My face and neck are flaming. I’m utterly humiliated.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I really thought… after last night—”
“Shut up,” he grates out. “Just stop talking. Some fucking valet you are.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “Outside, now.”
He grabs my hat from the patched sofa and throws it at me. His boots are still uneven, one polished and one not. He leads the way to the foundations in silence. I sneak glances at him, starting to wonder if he’s only playing at being angry. In my shock, am I taking this way too seriously? He was definitely turned on by the valet act. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve refused it, but he wanted me kneeling in front of him. So maybe I just went a little too far, and he has to put me back in my place. Maybe this is going to be a fun “punishment”.
“Sit there,” he growls.
He points to the shade of a tree. Embarrassed as I am, his dominant tone is demanding my attention. My body begins to tingle with heat… and hope. But as I watch, he starts to dig, ignoring me completely, driving the spade hard into the earth over and over as though he’s mad at the ground.
“You want me to just sit here,” I check.
“Yes. And quietly. Think about what you did.”
