Page 143 of Revenge Puck

She is putty in my hands—but she’s not stupid.

Seated on one side of her couch now, I reach for her foot without asking and place it gently into my lap. Pull off her sock. Start rubbing the heel with my thumb.

She moans, tipping her head back against the cushions. “That feels so good.”

I smirk faintly. “You have a long day, too?”

“You have no idea.”

Oh, but I do.

I press my thumb into the arch, firm but steady. She thaws almost instantly, shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of her.

This is what we both needed.

“So, that was the infamous Blaire, hey?”

“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes are closed and her head remains tipped back. “She’s the best.”

I grunt and continue my task. “She do interrogations for a living?”

A laugh. “Shewishes.”

I smile. “She doesn’t seem to miss much.”

“Nope. She’s been waiting to meet you.”

Not surprising. “Did I pass the inspection?”

One eye cracks open. “You didn’t crash and burn, so that’s a start.”

I change my grip, working the pad of my thumb in slow circles. She makes a small involuntary sound that goes straight to my ego.

“You’re very good at that,” she murmurs.

“It’s the hands.”

She shifts, her other leg brushing my ribcage as she resettles herself deeper into the cushions.

“You look tired,” she announces softly.

“I am.”

“You could’ve gone home.”

I keep my focus on her heel, kneading away at the small knots. “Tonight sucked.”

“I gathered,” she says. “Does it have anything to do with me?”

That gives me pause.

Juliette is far more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for, including me. On the other hand, anyone with a lick of common sense would reason that this drama with Declan involves her in some way—he and I wouldn’t have tension otherwise.

I can see she’s hopeful I’ll deny it. That would sure make this easier.

Still. I’ve already told so many fucking lies; why not be honest at least once about my intentions?

“I don’t love how he was speaking to you this morning,” I admit. “I don’t know the specifics, but I’ll use my imagination.”