The Boss and His Cowgirl(27)

A soft light came on as he pushed the bedroom door open. He should thank Hunt for installing the motion sensor. Clay gently lowered Georgie to her feet. Cupping her cheeks in his palms, he kissed her. He wanted to strip her and take her right there, but his practical side poked him. Once he started making love to her, he wanted no interruptions, no distractions.

“Contacts?”

She blinked up at him, bemused and dreamy. “Oh. Um...”

“Your bag?”

“Oh. Yes.” She seemed to give herself a mental shake and smiled. “Yes. Case and drops.”

“If you need to...ah...” He waved toward the set of French doors on one wall. “The bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Clay?”

Something in the tone of Georgie’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Yeah?”

“Can you...uh, will you...unzip me?”

He turned around and schooled his features. Even in the low light, her face flamed. He wanted to be the one to strip her out of that gorgeous gown, but he could see the impracticality of that. And bless Georgie, she was always practical. “I can do that.” Damn. Was that gravelly rumble his voice? He swallowed hard and returned to her.

She turned her back to him and he futzed with the hook at the top then pulled the zipper to reveal some sort of... His brain drew a blank. Red satin and lace did that to a man. Bustier. That was the word for what she wore. Oh, yeah. He could strip her out of that. It looked like a hellava lot more fun than her dress.

“Um... Clay?”

“Mmmm?”

“I...need to...uh...you know...go?”

Embarrassed, he released her. When had his hand curled around her waist? When had his mouth dropped to kiss the nape of her neck as his other hand cupped her breast? “Yeah. Me, too.” He needed to go somewhere. He did his best to focus. To the living room. That was it. To get her bag. So she could take her contacts out. He pivoted and trotted out because if he stayed, he would have watched her step out of the dress, would have followed her into the bathroom like a stray dog begging for a kind word.

When he returned, she was still in the bathroom. He knocked on the door, passed her purse through when it opened a crack and retreated to his bed. Damn but he felt awkward, like a pimple-faced kid in the backseat of his daddy’s Oldsmobile. Only he’d never been that kid. Ever. Not his first time, or any of the times after. Not until now.

And that was when it hit. Tonight—Georgie. This was something more, something special. She was definitely something special and he’d been an absolute idiot and blind to boot. He stripped out of his jacket, resisted the urge to rip his shirt open, scattering the studs. Instead, he studiously removed each one. Took off his cuff links. Kicked off his boots and sat to strip off his socks. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed when Georgie stepped out.

Her legs were long and muscular, with thighs rounding into her very lovely butt. Nipped-in waist, full breasts, and... Clay dragged his gaze to her eyes—blinking owlishly at him sans glasses—and hoped to hell he wasn’t drooling. He stood up, suddenly needing the extra room in his slacks. He held out a hand in silent invitation.

When she arrived, stumbling a little as she walked with one hand extended as if she was afraid of bumping into something, he gathered her against him. His hands traced up her sides, smoothed down her back. Over and over. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop touching her. Her forehead connected with the bare skin of his chest and he forced air into his lungs. Breathing had suddenly become overrated. Her fingers clutched his shirt plackets and he felt the shiver that slid through her.

He pulled the pins and clips from her hair and tunneled his fingers through it until it framed her face. The bustier she wore was unhooked and gone with nimble flicks of his fingers, and her red panties followed with the whisper of silk against skin.

“I want you, Georgie,” he murmured against her hair. She nodded, her silken hair rubbing across his lips. He twitched when she kissed his chest. “Ahhh, baby,” he sighed. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and settled her toward the center. “I’ve wanted this since Arizona.”

She blushed and looked down, almost coy in her reaction. Then her gaze met his and Clay’s pulse rate tripled. The need and want on her face were as naked as she was. He climbed on the bed, still wearing his shirt and slacks, wanting only to touch and pleasure her.

* * *

Running her hands down the hard, muscular plane of his back, Georgie found the hem of his crisply starched shirt and snuck her fingers beneath. His skin felt warm, smooth, but for the feathering of hair sprinkled across his chest, which was now gently abrading hers. His muscles flexed under her touch.