I couldn’t help giggling as I watched Brandon examining the bottle of nail polish. He held my ankle gently in one hand, the tiny brush poised over my toes with surgical precision.
“Is this how you do it?” he asked, his brow furrowed as he studied the deep red polish.
I bit my lip to stop another laugh from bubbling up. Brandon Stark, Wall Street’s most feared financial titan, was about to paint my toenails.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, catching me staring at him.
“Nothing! Just… you can follow the example of this foot,” I said, wiggling the toes of my other foot that I’d already painted. “And be careful not to get it on the skin! Are you really going to do this?”
Brandon shot me a look that was half amusement, half exasperation. “Didn’t I say I would?”
I felt my cheeks flush as he gently positioned my foot on his lap. His fingers were warm against my skin as he steadied my foot, his touch feather–light yet firm.
As he began applying the polish with surprising dexterity, I found myself studying his face. His skin was flawless up close. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks as he concentrated, and a small bead of sweat formed on his forehead.
Without thinking, I leaned forward with a tissue to dab at his forehead. The sudden movement made me wobble precariously on the edge of the armchair.
“Sit still!” Brandon commanded, his free hand instantly flying to my waist to steady me.
“I was just trying to wipe your sweat!” I protested, still clutching the tissue.
Max chose that moment to circle us, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he nudged at Brandon’s elbow.
“Quiet,” Brandon murmured, not taking his eyes off his careful work.
I glanced between the television and Brandon, noticing the intense concentration on his face. “Brandon, I can finish it myself.”
“It’s fine,” he replied, his focus unwavering. “Just sit still. Watch TV if you want.”
“Brandon, what’s wrong?” I asked, noticing his sudden pause.
“Nothing,” he said tersely. “Watch your show. Max…”
At his call, Max trotted over, circling us with his tail wagging wildly reached down to scratch behind his ears, and he immediately leaned into my touch, rubbing against my leg with obvious affection.
Brandon shot the dog a warning look that made me laugh out loud.
“Why are you scaring him?” I chided, beckoning to the German Shepherd. “Max, come here!”
Max obeyed instantly, trotting to my side. I grabbed his favorite toy from the coffee table and gave it a toss across the room, watching him bound after it with puppyish enthusiasm.
“Brandon,” I said, turning back to him with a teasing smile, “what do you think would happen if word got out that the great Brandon
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Stark spends his evenings painting his wife’s toenails? Would Wall Street ever recover from the shock?”
He didn’t look up from his task, but I caught the slight quirk of his lips. “Is there something strange about me painting your toenails? Women’s desire to look beautiful is natural.” His tone turned slightly serious. “Though these chemicals aren’t good for your health. You shouldn’t use them too often.”
“I know, I know!” I assured him. “I don’t use it much, honestly. Ruby gave me these as a gift, and I figured I might as well use them. Once in a while doesn’t hurt!”
Brandon finished one foot with surprising skill, setting it carefully on a towel he’d laid across the coffee table. I wiggled my newly painted toes admiringly,
“Brandon, you’re good at everything, aren’t you? First try and they look perfect! When I first tried painting my own toes, I got more polish on my skin than my nails. Ruby and Scarlett laughed at me for days!”
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