Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(46)

She bit her lip and picked up her plate, too. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

They settled in on the plush couches, using one of the heavy wooden coffee tables to hold their plates. The food—meat loaf and mashed potatoes—was delicious, and he devoured his quickly. She picked at her smaller portion, taking dainty bites, and seemed less enthusiastic about the meal.

“You okay?” he asked.

Holly glanced over at him, a slow smile on her face. “Just tired. For some reason it really hit me today and I’m dragging. When I’m like this, it’s hard to muster the energy to eat . . . unless it’s sweets. I always have room for sweets.” She gave him a wry smile. “Basically I have the appetite of a toddler.”

He laughed. “So go get some sweets. I’m sure you have some hanging around the house.”

“I actually made a cake yesterday. You want some?”

Adam patted his stomach. “Always.”

The cake she’d made that day turned out to be a chocolate pudding cake that was absolute decadence in his mouth. “I’m glad it came out okay. I wasn’t sure how the pudding would cook, but I’m happy with it.” Holly beamed at him, licking the last bit of frosting off her fork. “You liked it?”

Did he like it? “It’s amazing. I’m honestly surprised someone hasn’t held you hostage and forced you to bake for them. This stuff’s dangerous.”

Her face fell. “You’d think that, but I can’t seem to perform under pressure.”

Shit. Now he was thinking about that cake he’d sabotaged. His mouth glued shut and he thought about confessing, but she looked so damn sad and tired that it felt like a dick move. He could tell her some other time, when it didn’t feel like taking potshots at someone that was already heartsore. “I think that’s bullshit. You’re good. If I was a wealthy millionaire, I’d hire you to make me cake every day.”

She laughed. “I would love to do nothing but make cakes for grumpy cowboys all day long instead of standing on my feet at the restaurant.”

“Your feet hurt?”

Holly made a face. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Well now, that sounded like an opportunity. He tapped her leg and leaned back on the sofa. “Gimme your foot.”

Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a curious glance, but she did as he requested. “Is this a foot massage or a trick?”

“It is absolutely a foot massage,” Adam told her. “Why would it be a trick?”

“Because we’re enemies?”

He pulled off her sneaker and studied her sock-covered foot. It was small and dainty against his hand, and kinda cute. He wasn’t normally a foot sort of guy but he liked hers. He rubbed the arch of her foot and then pressed his thumb under her sole.

Holly’s head tilted back, her eyes fluttering closed. “Okay, in this fictional world, if I’m making cakes for cranky cowboys, I’m going to hire you to give me a foot massage every night.”

Amused, he kept rubbing. It had been a long time since he’d rubbed a woman’s feet and he was rather enjoying her reaction. “This is a very strange world you’re suggesting.”

“Mmm. That’s why I said it’s fiction.” Her lips curved in a smile. “Besides, I’m sure you’re probably good for more than just a foot rub.”

“I do a mean back rub, too.”

She put a hand to her brow. “Ooh, don’t tempt me.”

Adam kept rubbing her small foot, content to watch her face. Her eyes were closed as she sprawled on the couch, perched atop several of the throw cushions. Holly looked blissful, and when he rubbed a certain spot or two, he was rewarded with a flicker of pleasure over her face that made lust prick through him. He wasn’t massaging her feet to get into bed with her, though. He was . . . Well, shit, why was he rubbing her feet? He had to think about that one. Did he want to get into Holly’s bed? Yes, he did, he realized after a moment of self-reflection. But right now, he was more interested in just making her feel good.

She lifted her other foot and extended it his way, and he took the silent cue and switched feet, rubbing it as well. “Better?”

“Much.” She sighed deeply, opening her eyes to glance over at him. Her gaze was hooded, and damn if that wasn’t sexy. “Do I need to do you next? Is that the trick?”

For some reason, that irked him. That was the second time she’d suggested this was a trick. “Why do you keep thinking there’s some sort of trick to this?”

She shrugged. “Because we’re enemies?”

He flexed his hand over her foot, rubbing. Her lips parted and it took everything he had not to fling himself on top of Holly and just kiss the daylights out of her. “Is that what we are, then? You still think of me as your enemy?”

“Hard to think of anything during this,” Holly admitted, breathless. “But no, I’m not entirely sure what we are. What do you call enemies that kiss?”

So . . . she was thinking about that kiss, too? He set her foot down, then took her hand and pulled her until she was sitting up . . . and tucked right against his side. “You don’t call them enemies,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist.

“No?” Her gaze was soft, sliding to his mouth, and her lips parted again. “What do you call them?”