Chapter Ten

“What’s all this?”

Lilah turned from pushing a tray down the hall toward Izzy’s suite and gave Trace an apologetic look. “A nice dinner. My mom insisted, and you know how she is when she decides something needs to happen. Izzy couldn’t talk her out of it, even after going over all her dietary restrictions. She did manage to convince mom to send it up to the suite, though, so you guys don’t have to eat dinner on display in the dining room.”

A small bullet dodged, as far as Trace was concerned. Spending the afternoon delivering packages and picking up a space heater from the general store before dropping Key at the house with Bridge, he’d endured bald curiosity, bold questions, and even bolder advice concerning the new woman in his life—primarily regarding how to keep her happy in Captivity. Everyone’s lack of confidence in his ability to pull it off if left to his own devices irked. True, keeping Izzy happy in Captivity wasn’t actually a goal, but still. It would be nice if people thought he had it in him.

Lilah, at least, was only following orders.

“Here. I’ll get that.” He stepped around her to unlock the door with his keycard. She murmured her thanks and waited as he pushed the door open and stood by to hold it for her while she wheeled the room service cart into the suite. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

Izzy looked up from her spot on the sofa, in front of the fire, working away on her laptop. “Hi. And hi, Lilah.” She slid her reading glasses off and put them, plus the laptop, on the coffee table and rose—stiffly—from the couch. “You can put everything over here,” she said, moving to the small table.

Trace got a little distracted at that point, taking in her pale blue knit robe that slipped off her shoulder to reveal slender straps of a silky, white sleep top and matching pajama pants. Her bare feet boasted pearly pink polish that turned her toenails into little jewels. How had he missed that detail last night?

The sweat beading at the base of his spine couldn’t be blamed entirely on the thermostat setting. He peeled his hoodie off, pushed up the sleeves of the beige thermal he wore underneath, and hoped to get comfortable.

“I am under strict orders to lay it out picnic-style,” Lilah explained as she unfurled a white, linen tablecloth over the bed.

“A picnic…in bed?” Izzy approached, and shot him a wide-eyed look.

He, for one, loved the idea, even knowing it stemmed from Rose assuming he had to be dragged into a romantic gesture like a sick dog being dragged to the vet. “Can’t have you defying strict orders, can we, Lilah?”

“Nope.” She shook her head as she efficiently placed covered plates, napkins, a basket of bread, and small silver-capped salt and pepper shakers on the cloth. She finished by uncorking a half bottle of cabernet and pouring two glasses. She left those standing together on the nightstand closest to Izzy. “Enjoy your dinner.” Just as she was about to wheel the cart over to the door, she stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here…” She pulled a curvy plastic bottle from beneath the linen-draped cart and handed it to Izzy. “For sore muscles. Made right here in Captivity.”

“Oh.” Izzy took the bottle, squinted at the label. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If you need anything else, please call.” With that, she took the cart handle and backed it toward the door.

Trace held it open for her and slipped her some folded bills. “That’s for you. Tell your mom thanks, and now she can mind her own business.”

She laughed. “I will, but I offer no guarantees.”

And then he and Izzy were alone. He stood just inside the door and watched her return to the sofa. She put the bottle of lotion on the coffee table, then powered down her laptop and placed it in the messenger bag she’d propped on the floor by the sofa. Every move seduced, from the slide of silk over her legs, to the way the robe slipped off her shoulder, to the little tendrils of hair that escaped her loose updo to curl from her temples and the back of her neck. Though glad he’d left his outerwear in the Yukon, he wished he’d changed into something nicer than the jeans and shirt he’d worn all day.

Maybe he did need seduction pointers, after all?

“How goes the work?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to call them back. If you’re hoping to get her into bed, maybe don’t remind her of the one reason she thinks she can’t go there with you?

“It’s going. I’m almost done with the inventory of assets. Once I’m happy with it I’ll pass it to you, and… Owwww!”

She collapsed onto the sofa and clasped her foot in both hands. He rushed over. “What’s wrong?”

Her body balled tight with pain while she rocked back and forth, clutching her right foot. “I don’t know.” Her voice was a gasp. “Sudden pain, right here. Oh, God, it’s awful.”

He wrapped his hands over hers, skimmed his thumbs gently over the back of her uppermost hand gripping the sole of her foot. “Down here in the arch?”

She nodded, a bit desperately. “Yes. It’s relentless. Jesus. Like something’s twisted or—I don’t know—torn? I think I need a doctor.”

While sympathetic to her pain, the first slippery bubbles of concern popped. “Oh, baby, you’re okay. You just need to flex your foot.”

“I can’t. I can’t move it.”

“Yes, you can.” Gently, he unwrapped her hands from her foot and took it in his own, pausing a moment to let her get used to his touch. “Just try to relax. I’m going to help you.”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “No, no, no. It really hurts. I hate to be a baby, but I don’t want to cause more damage.”

“Izzy.” He waited until her eyes met his, dismayed to see hers were glassy with unshed tears. “Relief is seconds away. I promise. Trust me?”

“Oh, God. Okay.” She squeezed her eyes shut and released his wrists. “Be careful. Please.”

“Careful is my middle name.” While he spoke, he eased his fingers between her toes. “I’ll always be careful with you. Ready?”

She nodded, but then her eyes popped open, and she shook her head. “Wait.”

“Izzy—”

“Just give me”—she straightened her spine, placed on palm on her chest, the other below her rib cage, and slowly lowered her eyelids—“a minute.” While he watched she inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled through pursed lips, as if whistling. Once, twice, a third time and a forth, each round becoming successively more shallow and rapid.

“What are you doing?”

“Belly breathing. Reduces stress. Breaths through pain,” she said without opening her eyes, and managed another three breaths between the quick bursts of words.

“I don’t know about breathing through the pain, but you’re going to hyperventilate if you keep that up.”

She opened her eyes and sagged out of the posture. “You’re right. I should have tried figure eight breathing to regulate my speed.”

“Come on, Izzy.” He cupped a hand around her heel to prevent her from pulling away at the moment of truth. “Just trust me. Ready?”

He took her reluctant whimper as a yes, and slowly worked her foot from an arched position to a flexed position. Her whimper rose to a thin, high-pitched keen, that, after a few moments, segued into a moan of relief.

Very throaty. Profoundly relieved. It vibrated through him, settling in his balls while his overactive imagination suggested the sound was a close relative of the noises she’d make when she came.

“Ohhh.” Eyes still closed, she relaxed back onto the sofa, letting her shoulders sag against the arm rest. “Oooh.” She sighed as he slid a hand up to hold her calf, and cautiously rotated her ankle.

“Better?”

“So much better.” Nodding, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

The soul-deep gratitude in those two little words brought a smile to his lips. “Anytime.” He switched to massaging her arch.

“Mmm.” Her eyelids fluttered—pleasure this time—and her lips curved. “How did you know what to do?”

“I’m a certified Emergency Trauma Tech. Since we fly sick and injured to Juneau regularly, I figured someone ought to have some medical skills. But even without the credentials, I know a charley horse when I see one.”

Surprise widened her eyes. She lifted her head a degree to aim them at him. “That was a charley horse?”

“Yep.” He ran his palm down her shin, then back up. “Probably from snowshoeing in the wrong boots. I take it you’ve never had one before?”

“Never.” She lay back against the sofa and let her eyelids droop. The front of her robe gaped to reveal a shoulder, chest, and a hint of lace trimming the snug top beneath.

She wasn’t trying to seduce him, he reminded himself. She’d trusted him to help her, not take advantage. He moved his hands back to her foot and flexed her arch. “Exercising in extreme cold can trigger them. Especially when you don’t normally participate in a lot of winter sports.”

“Snow’s scarce in Southern Nevada and my family’s vacation budget didn’t extend to winter getaways. To be honest, sports weren’t really my thing.”

“Kept that cute little nose in the books, huh?”

He figured it was memories more than his compliment that brought a small smile to her lips.

“Mostly. But I feel like a big baby now. I never dreamed a measly muscle cramp could feel so debilitating.”

“At least now you know what to do if it happens again.”

That brought her head up once more. “Again? It could happen again?”

“It’s possible. Sore muscles can be caused by a buildup of lactic acid.” He gently squeezed her foot. “Encouraging reabsorption usually helps.”

“Okay, Dr. Shanahan.” She reclined again. “I put myself in your hands.”

God, if only she would. He could ease all kinds of discomfort for both of them, but he knew that wasn’t what she was suggesting, and he wasn’t here to pervert her moment of need into something illicit. His gaze snagged on the bottle of lotion Rose had provided. As usual, the woman thought of everything. He reached for it, then hesitated as he eyed Izzy’s pajama pants. He didn’t know a lot about fabrics but suspected the lotion might stain silk. “Mind if I clear the area?”

“Hmm?”

He pushed her pajama legs up past the bend in her knees, exposing more smooth, tan skin. “That’s better. Sit back. Relax.” Upending the bottle, he squeezed a generous amount into his palm.

Her eyes sprang open, and she inched her legs away. “Does that contain any synthetic fragrance?”

“What?” He sniffed his palm. “I don’t think so.”

“What about parabens, benzos, artificial colorings, or hydrocarbons?”

“I don’t know.” He tossed the bottle to her, then brought his hands together and warmed the lotion between his palms. “I’m a pilot. I’m an ETT. I’m not a chemist.”

“Hmm.” Brow scrunched, she tried to read the ingredient list. After a moment, she picked up her glasses from the table and slipped them on.

Uh-oh. No Izzy. Not the glasses. I’m trying to be good, here.

“I guess it’s pretty clean.” She placed the bottle on the table and—thank you, God—took off the glasses and put them down beside it. “The active ingredient appears to be cannabidiol, which I don’t usually use but—”

“Izzy?”

Her attention shifted to him. “Yes?”

He placed her foot on his thigh. “Lie back and shut up.”

She huffed out a breath but did as instructed, and then let loose a long, grateful, “Mmmmmm,” as he ran his thumb along her arch, from her heel to just below her toes.

He wasn’t a fetishy person, as far as he knew, but the sight of her dainty, pampered extremity cupped in his larger, far less pampered hand went straight to his cock. Or maybe it was the moan. Jorg thought he needed Viagra? Not true. All it took to get his circuits sparking was pure, unadulterated Izzy.

Sparking? Hell, they were playing with fire. He knew it, but he wasn’t sure if she knew it, so he did his best to ignore the sparks and stick with the task at hand. He swept his other thumb along her arch and repeated the move until her ankle relaxed. Then he switched to the top of her foot, closing his hand around her instep to lightly squeeze the fine bones.

“That feels amazing,” she murmured, and extended her leg, as if her body automatically sought more contact. The move caused her foot to brush his lap, which caused him to swallow a groan as parts of his body sought more contact.

Heavy eyelids slowly opened. Dark eyes found his. Gold flecks glowed in their depths, and…yes. Now she also knew they were playing with fire. She didn’t move her foot. Didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t even blink.

Not wanting to break the spell, he left her foot where it was, leaned in, and ran his hands up the backs of her calves. Her breath hitched as he cupped the hollows behind her knees, then released in a slow exhale as he slid his hands down to the curves of her ankles. Her knees parted a little. One of her hands slipped inside her robe to rest low on her stomach. Her foot settled more firmly against his groin, her arch bracketing the ridge of his hardening cock, her toes curling into his jeans. He glanced up and found her watching him, lips slightly parted, cheeks slightly flushed. Slowly, purposefully, she rubbed her foot over him.

Seeing no reason to talk this thing to death, he leaned in and ran his palms up her calves again, hitching his hands behind her knees this time. He guided one leg so it rested along the back of the sofa, and let the other splay open, supported by the seat cushion and anchored by the foot still braced against his cock.

Resting a palm heavily along the inside of each silk-shielded knee, he inched forward and slid his hands slowly up her thighs. Slender muscles jumped and twitched under his touch. Her head tipped back, exposing the line of her throat. He’d put his lips right there, kiss that smooth, graceful column, while he touched her intimately for the first time.

His fingertips grazed the apex of her thighs, finding warm, damp silk. She arched. He groaned. A phone rang.

Not yours, a far back part of his mind declared, and immediately dismissed the sound.

Izzy, however, had a completely different reaction. Her whole body stiffened. “Shit. Shit.” Her eyes flew open and stared into his. “I’m so sorry. I have to…”

He backed off while his body endured the kind of bone-deep frustration nothing short of a hard, fast fuck would relieve. A stubborn little flame of hope flickered in his chest as he watched Izzy march to the nightstand and retrieve her charging cell phone.

“Hello, Chuck,” she said into the receiver.

And, just like that, the flame died.