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Chapter Five
Amanda stepped into the house a week later and sighed with relief. Work had been one headache after another all day, and all she wanted was a glass of wine and twenty minutes of peace and quiet. If James was finished working and could be conscripted into playing foot masseur, she’d be in heaven.
She slipped out of her shoes, wiggling her toes against the cold tile, and with her arches still screaming from being jammed into the three-inch heels, shuffle-walked her way to the closet. Bag and coat put away, she headed immediately for the kitchen and the open bottle of red wine left over from dinner last night.
The fireplace was on, though James wasn’t lounging in his usual spot on the sofa. She thought briefly about hunting him up, then rejected the idea in favor of getting off her feet faster. She was pouring a glass when James called her name.
“Mandy?”
“It’s me,” she called back. “I’m having wine. You want?”
“Go ahead and pour me a glass. I’m wrapping something up, be down in five.”
She poured the second glass and took both with her to the living room. She took a healthy sip of hers before setting both on the coffee table and stretching out full length on the sofa. She let her eyes drift closed with a sigh.
Five minutes later she was roused from her light doze by her husband’s low chuckle. “Rough day?”
“It sucked,” she told him, not bothering to open her eyes. “New clients who think they know everything, multiple meetings, worked through lunch. The car ride home was the first time I sat down since noon.”
“Aw,” he said, his voice much closer, and she smiled a little as he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “Better?”
“Better,” she allowed, then forced her smiling lips into a pout. “But my feet really hurt.”
“Do they?” he said, amusement creeping into his tone.
She opened her eyes, making sure to flutter her lashes a bit, and put on her bestpretty pleaseface. “Would you rub them for me, please?”
He grinned down at her. “Wow, I got the big eyes and everything.”
“All afternoon on my feet. In high heels. I’ll beg if I have to.”
He chuckled and moved to the end of the couch. “I won’t make you go that far. I like to save the begging for more pleasurable activities.”
She smirked and sat up, scooting back to lean against the cushions, and lifted her feet so he could sit down. “Right now, I’ll take the foot rub over an orgasm.”
“Well, then.” He set his wine on the end table and drew her feet into his lap. He skimmed a palm up her arches. “Stockings or pantyhose?”
“Stockings,” she said with an anticipatory sigh.
He tapped her big toe. “Let’s get them off, so I can do a proper job.”
She wiggled her skirt up to expose the top of the thigh-high stockings, and his eyebrows rose. “No garters? I thought you hated the stay-put kind.”
She shook her head and reached for the one on her right leg. “Rebecca said she’d had good luck with this brand, so I thought I’d give them a try.” She winced as she rolled down the top, the silicone grip strip that made the stocking stay up without garters tugging at her skin. “I still hate them.”
She shoved the delicate hose down past her knee, not caring if they tore since she had no intention of ever putting them on again. He peeled it the rest of the way off her leg while she went to work on the left one, rubbing absently at the red marks the bands had left on her thighs.
“Almost looks like rope marks,” he commented, setting the stockings aside.
“Almost feels like rope marks.” She leaned over to grab her wine from the coffee table, then snuggled into the cushions. “They were too tight.”
“Too small?”
She shook her head. “They’re the right size. They just have to be tight to stay up. I’m sticking with the kind that need help to stay up from now on.”
“Fine with me,” he declared, and picked up her right foot and began to rub.
“You just like looking at my ass when I wear garters,” she teased.
