“Hush,” he told her. “And sit. Let me look at your ankles.”
“They’re fine,” she protested again, but when he turned that stern look on her, she promptly sat back down on the gazebo steps again and smoothed her dress over her knees.
“Give me your foot,” he said, indicating the same with his hand.
Reluctantly, she lifted one long leg and extended her foot toward him. He took it in hand, tilting her leg high enough that she had to quickly stuff her skirts down around her leg to keep from flashing anything inappropriate. Rob pulled the shoe from her foot and set it down on the pavement, then proceeded to rub his hands along her foot, caressing the bones and muscles.
“How does this feel?” he asked her.
“Ticklish,” she admitted, squirming a bit when he pressed his thumb to the underside of her foot. “And it doesn’t hurt there. It’s my ankles.”
“I was getting there,” he said, his voice returning to its normal playful timbre. “Can’t blame a guy if he just likes touching a pretty woman’s feet.”
And she blushed all over again, feeling shy.
He continued to massage and manipulate her foot, his fingers eventually moving up to her ankle. As he touched her, Marjorie felt a little weird and flushed . . . and achy. It was embarrassing, especially because her nipples were responding in kind.
“Feel better?” Rob asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she said quietly.
But when she held her hand out for her shoe, he pointed at her other foot. “That one, too.” And so she had to sit there and endure more of the awkward-but-exciting touches as he massaged her other foot and ankle. She was relieved—and okay, a little disappointed, too—when he finally released her other foot and then picked up her spangly shoes, holding them out to her.
“Thank you.”
“Quit thanking me. I hate that you had to run here like you were scared.” That angry look settled on his face again.
“Let’s not think about it,” Marjorie said, getting to her feet and testing things out. Everything was good again, other than she felt a little boneless and content from the foot massage. When she stood to her full height, she was easily half a foot taller than him in the heels, and the awkward feeling returned. “You sure you want to go out with me in these?”
“You are utterly and completely gorgeous,” Rob said. “And I love the way you look in those. Don’t make me buy you a pair of stilettos for every date that I plan on taking you on.”
“I’ll return them,” she threatened, finding her voice. “You can’t make me take them.”
“I bet I could.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I bet I could find the strappiest, girliest, tallest shoes out there and you’d love them so much that you’d keep them no matter how you felt.”
“I wouldn’t!” Her protest sounded weak even to her own ears. Tall, girly shoes? Lordy, she was weak.
“What’s your favorite color? I’m guessing you like bright things despite that boring-ass dress. I think a pair of bright red fuck-me heels would look gorgeous on your feet. What do you think?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they began to walk through the gardens.
“I think they sound terrible,” she lied. Gosh, they sounded lovely. “I’d never wear them.”
“You’re a shitty liar,” he told her, amused. “It’s adorable.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling a little cornered. “Rob, seriously, I couldn’t accept shoes from you again. These are too much as it is. I bet they were easily six hundred dollars—”
“Actually I think my assistant told me they were three grand.”
Marjorie began to feel weak. “Three . . . grand?” She had to work all month for that much. “Rob—I can’t—take them back, please.” She stopped and began to take them off.
“No,” he told her, grabbing one of the shoes and forcing it back onto her foot. For an absurd moment, she thought they were going to get into a wrestling match over putting the shoe on her foot, and the thought was so ridiculous that she giggled again. “That stays on your foot and it’s yours,” he told her. “It was a gift.”
“It’s a really expensive gift,” she protested.
“Not to me.”
Oh. Oh, no. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “Um . . . I forgot to ask what you do for a living.”
“I’m in business. Why?” The look he gave her was wary.
“Are you doing business here?”
“No. I’m just here enjoying a little R&R.”
“With your assistants?”
“My assistants could probably use a little R&R, too.”
She tugged at her dress, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Rob, I don’t want you to think that I’m dating you for your money . . .” Her words trailed off as he threw his head back and laughed, and she felt a twinge of annoyance. “What’s so funny about that?”
“You,” he said, looking over at her with such a broad smile that she felt weak in the knees. “Sweetheart, I know you’re not dating me because of that.”
“Not your sweetheart,” she reminded him.
“Not yet,” he agreed cheerfully. “But the night is young.”
***
The rest of the night, Marjorie decided, was downright magical. They headed off the island again, which surprised her, but Rob said he wanted the privacy. So they took another chartered boat and headed over to a nearby resort for ice cream. They got cones, two spoons, and sat at a tiny table in the back of the cafe and talked, sharing occasional bites out of each other’s ice cream. And they talked for hours and hours, which surprised Marjorie. She’d thought that they’d sit down and find they had nothing in common . . . and while there were plenty of differences, there were also a lot of similarities. Rob was an only child, like her. Rob grew up without parents around, like her. However, though she’d been raised by loving grandparents, Rob had spent his childhood in a state home. They both shared an intense sweet tooth, a like of Johnny Cash’s music, and dogs instead of cats.