270
He was sprawled in an armchair. She was on a sofa, one elbow propped on its arm roll, legs up, her stockinged feet bare of the shoes she had kicked off. It was a pose that seductively outlined the very female curve of waist, hip and thigh, and Jensen found it difficult not to let his gaze linger on it.
He expected her to leave. Lately she avoided being alone with him. Any moment now those legs would swing off the sofa, take her away to the privacy of her room, and it was probably better that they did, save him from making a fool of himself. He watched her feet, waiting for them to move. She wriggled her toes. His gaze dropped to the shoes lying beside the sofa, noting the long, narrow shape of them.
"Cramped feet?" he asked.
"They’re not used to wearing fashionable shoes," she drily admitted. "I usually wear stuff like this once in a while. My life is basically taking care of my job and Tim. I don't get to wear these a lot"
"Want me to massage them?" he asked.