Chapter Twelve
Claire sat back in her favorite chair by the fireplace, a glass of brandy in her hand. Even better was her most wonderful husband, who was sitting on his chair, which he’d pulled up close to hers, massaging her feet.
“I don’t know why you insist on wearing those heeled slippers, my love. You always come home from a party with aching feet after you’ve done so,” he said, digging his thumb into the center of her foot, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her.
“I always forget. I should probably just get rid of them,” Claire agreed.
“You said that the last time you wore them, but then decided to only wear them at parties where you’d be sitting down most of the evening,” he pointed out.
“Well, this time I am going to throw them away for certain. They are much too uncomfortable
