That doesn’t bother me. Caleb usually picks what we watch, mostly because I like about anything. He settles on Lethal Weapon, which is actually one I enjoy. Even though it has horribly cheesy dramatic music, like all eighties action movies, I still enjoy this series. I mean, Mel Gibson and Danny Glover are amazing together.
When most of the food is gone, Brock jumps up and clears away the leftovers, taking them to the fridge. I join him, searching for a pen. Just as I find one on the counter, Brock asks, “What’re you doing?”
I write my name in capital letters across the top. “Making sure no one eats my food.” He cracks up and shakes his head. “What? It’ll make a great breakfast. Fry an egg and throw it in there, and voilà. Breakfast is served.”
He pops a hip against the counter and smiles. “Maybe I’ll join you.”
I mimic his stance and cross my arms over my chest. There’s no missing the way his eyes zero in on my bare shoulder. I’m barely able to hide the smirk that plays on my lips. “What time do you have to leave?”
“Nine.”
Turning and heading toward the doorway leading back to the living room, I glance over my shoulder and say, “Be down at eight, tight end.”
I’m not only referring to his football position.
I flop down on the couch and grab the throw blanket I was curled up with earlier. Brock returns a few minutes later and has a seat, using the coffee table as a footrest. We make it halfway through the movie before I need to stretch my legs. When I do, I accidentally kick into Brock’s side.
I quickly pull back, an apology on the tip of my tongue, but am surprised when he grabs ahold of my foot. I don’t really know what to expect, but Brock Williams digging his thumbs into the arch of my foot isn’t it. The most amazing sensations course through my veins, and I almost moan in pure euphoria. He presses hard, hitting all my nerve endings and pressure points, while wrapping his large hands around my foot.
Holy hell, his hands are big.
Long fingers glide effortlessly across my ankles as he massages and manipulates the muscles I didn’t even realize were in need of a little attention. In fact, if he went searching, I’d bet he’d find a lot of other muscles that could use his expert hands.
And maybe other parts of his body too.
I turn to look at the man who’s still an enigma to me and find him watching the movie. He appears so focused and casual, leaning back on the couch, his feet still kicked up on the table. Only I know how looks are deceiving. His attention may be on the screen, but his hands are still very busy, kneading and rubbing my foot. Apparently, Brock doesn’t have an aversion to feet.
When he finishes giving me the little orgasmic rubdown—still referring to my feet, by the way, though I wouldn’t be against… you know—he sets my foot down and slips it back beneath my blanket. I’m about to pull it back when he grabs the other foot and does the exact same thing.
Pure. Bliss.
If this were a movie I’d never seen before, I would have had no idea what happened. My mind isn’t focused on Riggs and Murtaugh as they track down a drug dealer at a Christmas tree farm. Oh, no. I’m held in complete rapture by the man opposite me on my brother’s sofa.
Brock is still a complete unknown factor to me. Sure, he’s gorgeous. I’d have to be dead not to see it. A quick Google search this morning confirmed he was traded to Kansas City from the Chicago Thunder, who were so desperate for a quarterback, they traded a two-time Pro Bowler at the top of his game to get it.
Of course, there were other things I found out while doing a little online searching. One was the fact he’s never had a serious girlfriend. At least not anyone the tabloid media could find. Apparently, he liked to party and had the reputation of a playboy back in Chicago. I can’t fault him for that. At least he’s not married while running around like a dog in heat, like my dad was.
The other thing I discovered was he’s a big donor to a children’s charity. He contributes a hefty chunk of change every year and attends their big charity gala in Chicago. There were tons of pictures online, including some on the organization’s website. Brock looked positively stunning in a tuxedo, always with some model-thin girl in a dress sized for a child draped over his arm.
After Brock massages my left foot, he sets it down on his thigh and rests his hand on my leg. Even though it’s the most comfortable position in the world, I’m hyperaware of the fact he’s touching me.
And I like it.
If Caleb notices, he doesn’t say a word.
At some point, Hermione decided to curl up with the man at the end of the couch and lies in the small space between my feet and Brock’s chest. He moves his hand, not the one resting on my leg, but the other one, and starts to pet her, making her purr in happiness.
Yeah, even my feline can appreciate the pure pleasure at being touched by Brock.
When the movie ends, I practically jump up, needing to put a little distance between myself and the man who apparently has the ability to make my brain stop working. It’s still early, but I don’t care. I need to get off this couch, or else I’m liable to say or do something I shouldn’t.
Like invite him to my bedroom.
“Well, I’m going to turn in early. Thanks for dinner,” I say to my brother, making a hasty exit.
“You’re welcome,” he says, watching me intently. “You know, we still need to have that talk,” he adds quietly.
I reply with a small smile, “I know, and we will. Promise.”
Caleb stares at me for a few long seconds before nodding. “Okay. Night.”
“Night.” I risk a quick glance to where Brock sits, and all thought goes out the window when my eyes meet his. His hands are behind his head and he’s just watching me, the slightest smirk playing on his lips, as if he knows what he does to me. I throw him a wave and practically run to my room.
The only problem is now I’m restless. I can feel his hands on my legs, on my feet. It makes me itchy, but not in a bad way. In the very nice, very sexy way. In fact, all I can think about is his big hands, and that very impressive erection he didn’t even try to hide earlier this afternoon.
I get comfy on the bed and try to read, but after a while, that proves to be fruitless. It’s another sex scene, and all I can hear is Brock’s voice as he read the excerpt earlier. My skin is flushed, my body humming with desire.
Shooting up out of bed, I pace my room, running through every excuse in the world why I should not sneak down the hall and knock on his door. This is so out of character for me. Usually I’m a third date kind of girl. Maybe a nice kiss at the end of the first date, but never any further. I don’t picture myself climbing a man and riding him like a cowgirl at the rodeo, yet here I am, imagining just that.
My walls start to close in on me. Maybe a nice little walk would do me good. I slip on my shoes and quietly leave my room, telling myself not to look down the hall. Nothing good could come from glancing toward that particular bedroom.
Except maybe a few mind-blowing orgasms.
I pass my brother’s bedroom and notice the door closed as I make my retreat downstairs. First stop is the kitchen to grab a cold drink. My blood feels like it’s boiling as it races through my veins, no doubt due to the naughty pictures parading through my head. I find myself wandering to the back room, where Caleb has his game system set up on a large television. There, I find a single bookshelf along one wall with a few trinkets, framed photographs, and books. All things I gave him.