Page 69 of Maxwell

She studied his work with her mouth hanging open. “You’re really talented.”

“I don’t know how I feel about the way you said that. You sound surprised.”

She laughed. “Not surprised in a bad way. Surprised... Well, you journal and now I find out you make pottery. I’m having to reassess my original opinion. There’s a wonky-looking bowl on your desk at the office. Did you make that?”

“First piece I made that didn’t collapse. I consider it my good luck charm. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent at the wheel and how many pieces I went through before I ended up with that one. It taught me to be persistent, that’s for sure. Once I had completed an actual piece, I couldn’t shake the sense of satisfaction, and I knew I would have to keep doing pottery. I wanted to get better.”

“You’re pretty good,” she said, sounding immensely impressed.

“Thanks.”

They made their way back into the living room.

“Would you like something to drink?” Maxwell asked.

“I would love something to drink. Water.”

She sat on the sofa while he went into the kitchen. When he returned with two glasses, he noticed she had slipped off her heels and was massaging her foot.

He handed her one of the glasses.

“Thank you.” She drank some of the water.

He placed his glass on the table and then patted his thighs. “Put your feet here.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re hurting, and I’m going to make them feel better.” He patted his thighs again.

After a moment’s hesitation, she scooted back on the sofa and lifted her feet onto his lap.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I want to.”

His hands closed around her feet and moved with firm, unhurried motions. His thumbs pressed into the arch in a way that made her close her eyes.

“You’re really good at this,” Jasmine murmured, sinking back against the arm of the sofa.

She watched him through the slits in her eyes as he worked with quiet, intense focus. He was massaging her feet, yet the place between her thighs had grown dewy and tight with want.

“A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” she whispered.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. Being taken out for a nice dinner, enjoying an interesting conversation, having her feet rubbed, and being made love to by a gorgeous man who behaves as if there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing.”

Maxwell stopped, and the room became completely silent and still.

“We haven’t gotten to that last part.”

“I know.” Jasmine sat up. “What are you waiting for?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

There was no time to leave the sofa. Maxwell was on her too fast, gripping her thighs and dragging her toward him like a man on a mission.

His mouth covered hers in an electrifying kiss that assaulted her senses. A big, warm hand slipped beneath her dress and moved with intent over the curve of her hip. Jasmine’s slender fingers cupped the back of his head as she lifted her pelvis in a silent plea for more. But Maxwell only teased her. He tortured her with a yank on her thong and then grabbed a handful of her ass and firmly squeezed.