My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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Was Chase some kind of creep? Sneaking around with my underwear when the house was empty...
Just the idea turned my stomach.
I shot him a wary glare, my voice razor-sharp. "Why the hell are you holding my stockings?"
"Don't get the wrong idea, sis," Chase stammered, shifting nervously. "It looked like rain, so I was just bringing in the laundry."
I glanced outside—the sky had darkened, thick with storm clouds.
If he was telling the truth, I'd completely misread him.
"Seriously?" Still suspicious, I snatched my lingerie from his grip.
He gave an awkward half-smile but stayed quiet.
In my rush, I didn't see the apple peel on the floor—my foot caught, twisting hard.
"Shit!"
I hit the ground hard, pain exploding through my ankle as tears welled up.
"Damn it..."
I bit my lip, trying not to whimper.
Gripping the couch, I tried to pull myself up, but my ankle buckled under the weight.
Chase bolted over, eyes wide. "You okay?"
"I'm... fine," I lied, even as tears streaked my cheeks.
He didn't call me out, just watched me struggle to keep it together.
Carefully, he helped me onto the couch. "I've got arnica oil in my room. Stay put."
As a personal trainer, Chase probably dealt with sprains all the time—it made sense he'd have supplies.
He returned fast, bottle in hand.
Kneeling in front of me, his hands circled my calf, still covered in sheer black stockings. My flats slipped off, leaving my small feet exposed in the thin nylon.
No man except my husband had ever touched my feet.
The way Chase held them made my skin prickle with unease.
"Swelling's bad. This'll help," he said softly, starting to knead the joint.
I almost suggested the ER—until I caught the heat in his stare as it lingered on my feet.
His fingers trembled slightly against my skin.
I'd heard about guys with foot fetishes.
Especially for stockings.
So that was Chase's thing.
Remembering last night's sketchy behavior, irritation flared. I shoved at his shoulder. "I should just go to the hospital."
But Chase, finally getting what he wanted, wasn't letting go.
"Just a mild sprain. I see worse at the gym every day."
His grin was too eager. "Let me fix it."
I didn't believe him, but another attempt to stand sent white-hot pain through my ankle.
"Fuck—"
I sucked in a breath. Forget walking—I couldn't even hobble to the door.
Defeated, I slumped back, letting him take over.
The hunger in his eyes unsettled me, but I was stuck.
Trapped, I clenched my teeth as he poured arnica oil into his palms, rubbing them together.
Then his warm hands pressed against my swollen ankle.
Just the idea turned my stomach.
I shot him a wary glare, my voice razor-sharp. "Why the hell are you holding my stockings?"
"Don't get the wrong idea, sis," Chase stammered, shifting nervously. "It looked like rain, so I was just bringing in the laundry."
I glanced outside—the sky had darkened, thick with storm clouds.
If he was telling the truth, I'd completely misread him.
"Seriously?" Still suspicious, I snatched my lingerie from his grip.
He gave an awkward half-smile but stayed quiet.
In my rush, I didn't see the apple peel on the floor—my foot caught, twisting hard.
"Shit!"
I hit the ground hard, pain exploding through my ankle as tears welled up.
"Damn it..."
I bit my lip, trying not to whimper.
Gripping the couch, I tried to pull myself up, but my ankle buckled under the weight.
Chase bolted over, eyes wide. "You okay?"
"I'm... fine," I lied, even as tears streaked my cheeks.
He didn't call me out, just watched me struggle to keep it together.
Carefully, he helped me onto the couch. "I've got arnica oil in my room. Stay put."
As a personal trainer, Chase probably dealt with sprains all the time—it made sense he'd have supplies.
He returned fast, bottle in hand.
Kneeling in front of me, his hands circled my calf, still covered in sheer black stockings. My flats slipped off, leaving my small feet exposed in the thin nylon.
No man except my husband had ever touched my feet.
The way Chase held them made my skin prickle with unease.
"Swelling's bad. This'll help," he said softly, starting to knead the joint.
I almost suggested the ER—until I caught the heat in his stare as it lingered on my feet.
His fingers trembled slightly against my skin.
I'd heard about guys with foot fetishes.
Especially for stockings.
So that was Chase's thing.
Remembering last night's sketchy behavior, irritation flared. I shoved at his shoulder. "I should just go to the hospital."
But Chase, finally getting what he wanted, wasn't letting go.
"Just a mild sprain. I see worse at the gym every day."
His grin was too eager. "Let me fix it."
I didn't believe him, but another attempt to stand sent white-hot pain through my ankle.
"Fuck—"
I sucked in a breath. Forget walking—I couldn't even hobble to the door.
Defeated, I slumped back, letting him take over.
The hunger in his eyes unsettled me, but I was stuck.
Trapped, I clenched my teeth as he poured arnica oil into his palms, rubbing them together.
Then his warm hands pressed against my swollen ankle.
End of My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door book page.