Page 10 of Operation: Wife Her Up

“Eat your dinner. Then, you should take a shower. And I’ll re-bandage your feet after.”

“They feel better already,” she says, her voice softening. She really is grateful for the break from the trails, I know that.

I shrug. “They’ll feel even better after a night with fresh ointment on them.”

And I need another excuse to touch her tonight.

* * *

I don’t have a big water heater here, so I warn her to keep the shower short. I hear her turn the water off, then back on again, and I’m reminded again that for all the clues that she’s an expensive little princess, she also has some real survival skills baked in.

How long will it take until she confesses how she picked the lock? What will I have to do to get that story?

And she knows how to shower with a mind to conserving water. Another clue in the Goldilocks puzzle.

When the water turns off a second time, I picture her toweling off, then getting dressed in the new clothes she pulled out of her pack.

I’m not prepared for her to come out of the bathroom wearing little volleyball shorts and a racerback tank top that skims over her breasts and ends an inch above her waistband, revealing a slice of tan belly.

My breath catches in my throat. She pauses. Can she tell how much she affects me?

“Here,” I say gruffly, getting her to sit on the sofa. I prop the first aid kit on the arm of the couch, then take her foot in my hand. Where before I was able to treat her with some detachment, now I’m painfully aware of how warm her little foot is in my hand, how soft her skin is. I carefully apply the antiseptic and the antibiotic ointment, then cover the worst blisters with bandages. Some of the smaller blisters have closed up already, and she might be good to hit the trails again in the morning.

I don’t want her to go.

It’s a ridiculous thought. She’s invaded my space, with and without invitation, and I’d been looking forward to the peace and quiet.

I carefully roll on her socks. After I finish covering her second foot, I hold her ankle in my hand, my fingers circling completely. Manacling her slim leg.

I should let go. I can feel the tension in her calf. Like she wants to yank her foot out of my hand.Let her try, the little criminal.

It’s harder to ignore this time. That pulse of attraction, the desperate desire to have her want more of my touch beyond this functional assistance.

Instead of letting go, I sweep my thumb in a slow arc on the inside of her ankle bone. Her breath catches in her throat, sharply enough that I hear it, and I jerk my gaze up to her face.

I’m not the only one affected by our close proximity.

She breathes my name.

I have an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms, to cradle her tight. Not let her go, no matter what. Not even if she protests, not even if she fights.

I’d love a little fight from her. Have her fists pound against my chest as I take her mouth.

I yank her foot deeper into my lap, and she squeaks. “What are you doing?”

“You should let them rest for a minute before you step on them.” It’s not really true, but whatever.

Her lips part, her cheeks going pink, and her chest rises and falls unevenly. Like my aggression is making her pant in anticipation of what I might do next.

She’s so fucking sexy as she stretches out on the couch, her gaze challenging. “Then if we’re gonna stay here for a minute, tell me why you want to help a girl like me.”

I sweep my hand up her calf. Curving my fingers beneath her knee, stroking the soft skin there.

Her pupils dilate.

“Tell me what kind of girl you are. And then I’ll tell you why I want to help you.”

But she doesn’t want to tell me anything.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com