The Boss and His Cowgirl(26)

“Come inside for a nightcap.” He didn’t ask, but it wasn’t quite an order, either.

Georgie offered him a lopsided smile and limped beside him. He chuckled—not at her discomfort but at the twists and turns their conversation had taken. How did they get from her feet hurting to his position in the senate? He glanced back over his shoulder and dismissed Hunt with a short nod. Georgie would be staying the night.

Inside, he settled her on the couch—a piece of furniture chosen for comfort far more than design. Deep, long and covered in aged “bomber-jacket” leather, it was a couch a man could nap on during a football game or could sit on and read countless bills, feet propped on the overstuffed ottoman.

“Wine?”

“I’d prefer decaf coffee. Or a Diet Coke?”

“I can handle that.” He checked the fridge. No Cokes. Time for Plan B. Microwaves heated water, right? And somewhere in the pantry was a jar of coffee. Hopefully. Rummaging, he got lucky—a box of Starbucks single-serve tube things. Vanilla latte flavor. Georgie must have left them after one of their marathon strategy sessions. He emptied one in a coffee mug, added water and stuck it in the microwave for four minutes.

While he waited, he tugged on the ends of his black tie, unraveling the bow, and popped the first two buttons on the stiff white shirt. The microwave dinged and the water was boiling when he reached in. Maybe four minutes was a little long. He found a bigger mug, poured the boiling water in and added a splash of cold water from the tap. He stopped dead. Did Georgie use cream or sugar? Did vanilla latte need extra? He had milk, if it wasn’t sour. And sugar, if he could find the sugar bowl.

“Georgie? I fixed one of your Starbucks vanilla latte things. Do you need milk or sugar?”

“Thanks, but no. It’s good just the way it is, Clay.”

Her voice wafted in from the living room and he breathed in relief but made a note to restock his fridge and pantry. He carried the mug out and handed it to her with a caution. “It’s hot.”

Dropping to the ottoman, Clay reached for Georgie’s feet.

“Wait! What are you—”

He slipped off one shoe and started massaging the ball of her foot, effectively cutting her off as she let out a whimpering moan that went straight to his groin. “Want me to stop?” She whimpered again, and he chuckled. “Drink your coffee, Georgie. You did me the favor of coming to the dinner tonight at the last minute. The least I can do is rub your sore feet.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Her eyes closed as she relaxed against the back of the couch.

Divesting her other foot of its shoe, he rubbed them both simultaneously, using his thumbs to massage the balls of her feet. He had to stop when she almost dropped her cup. Clay snagged it and set it aside then went back to work. In moments, she was all but purring. He continued for a few minutes, stopping only when she struggled to sit up.

“Keep doing that and I’ll be asleep in moments.”

“Can’t have that happening.” He shifted, lightning-fast, from ottoman to couch, gathering her onto his lap. He teased his finger around the neckline of her dress, from one shoulder across the swells of her breasts to the other shoulder, and back again.

“Clay—”

“Georgie.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Maybe.” He buried his nose behind her ear and nibbled the soft skin he found. “Want me to stop?”

He continued to kiss her, nuzzling along her jaw to her mouth. Full lips. Soft. Sweet. Just like the woman. He deepened the kiss, waiting for her to open for him.

“Georgie?” He murmured her name against her lips.

She leaned back and stared at him, looking helpless and unsure.

“Sweet pea? What is it?”

“I’ve wanted this...you... I’ve dreamed about it...but...”

“Shhh, darlin’. This is good. We’re good.” And it shocked him to realize he spoke the truth. This wasn’t a simple seduction. He liked Georgie. As a person. And was just now discovering how truly sexy she was. Coming into a relationship from this direction was a revelation. “We’re more than good, Georgie.”

He recognized her surrender in the way her eyes softened and went unfocused, in the way her arms crept around his neck, in the way her lips sought his and her body pressed against him. “Will you stay with me tonight, Georgie? In my bed?”

At her sighing yes, he gathered her into his arms and stood up. She gasped and her arms clutched around his shoulders and neck. “I promise not to drop you.”

Her green eyes flared with something he’d never seen there before—desire. And trust. “I never thought you would.”