The Boss and His Cowgirl(52)

His hand snagged hers where it lay on his abdomen, and he entwined their fingers. He brought their joined fists to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand before clutching it tight to his chest.

“It doesn’t matter I’m a US senator. It doesn’t matter how freaking much money I have. I can’t make this go away with power or wealth. All I can do is hold you when you get scared. Sit beside you when you get sick.”

Georgie embraced his words, wrapping them around her like her favorite childhood blanket. He cared, but he didn’t love her. It would be enough. It had to be. She tilted her face up to his. “Make love to me, Clay.”

He did. He touched her with hands so gentle they were almost reverent. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. He fed on her like a man starved, peppering kisses along her jaw, under her chin. He nibbled along her collarbone, one hand cupping her breast with fingers both caressing and teasing. His glorious mouth paused at her other breast to nuzzle and suck until her back arched off the bed.

Clay continued his explorations, with mouth and hands trailing down her ribs, across her tummy, dipping low to the juncture of her thighs where he worked his magic. She squirmed, but he held her still. She moaned and he pressed closer to her, his tongue swirling, his fingers teasing. She cried his name as her whole body shuddered and a climax tore through her as hot and bright as a 4th of July skyrocket.

A breath later he was inside her, buried deep. Her thighs cushioned his hips, her heels hooked across the backs of his legs. He filled her, completed her. He pumped slowly, a gliding slide in and out that set her nerves on fire. This was a slow burn, hot embers growing in her middle.

“Faster,” she breathed into his neck. “Harder.”

“No,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

He loved her slow and easy, and then changed the rhythm so that she, at last, got what she craved. When he finally came, she came with him, and he inhaled her moans through his mouth as he kissed her. Still entwined, they settled softly back on earth from the high of their climaxes. “Sleep, sweet pea. Tomorrow will be what it is.”





Seventeen

Wednesday morning, just after dawn, she awoke in Clay’s arms, head snuggled on his shoulder. His arm was around her back, hand cupping her hip as her knee rested across his thighs. She wanted to wake up this way every morning. Life would be hectic for the next year. Hectic and scary, but she felt safe here with Clay. Strong. As though she could take on the world and win—emotions both unfamiliar and appreciated. He was right. Today would be whatever it was.

After a shared shower full of kisses and touches, they dressed and drank coffee in the kitchen, sitting close to each other. She was too keyed up to eat, knowing she’d likely toss whatever was in her stomach. Clay seemed to realize this instinctively and didn’t push food on her. Instead, he suggested she do her job.

“You’re still my communications director, sweet pea.” He winked when he said it.

As usual, Clay was right. She threw herself into work, answering emails, returning phone calls and doing what she did best—communicating. At nine Clay came into his study and closed her laptop. “Hunt’s here.”

Her stomach dropped to her toes. Hunt was driving them to the University of Oklahoma medical complex to meet her oncologist, Dr. Nassad. “Hey!” she groused. “I wasn’t finished with that email.”

“You can finish it when we get back. C’mon, sweet pea.” Clay was gentle as he pulled her from the chair.

The drive didn’t take nearly long enough. Filling out the paperwork in Dr. Nassad’s office should have taken days. She was done in ten minutes. Clay sat next to her in the waiting room, holding her hand. He looked calm, collected, in control. She wanted to scream and run from the room. She didn’t. She sat quietly, absorbing strength from the amazing man at her side.

A nurse appeared, gave instructions. Georgie was to come with her, Clay could come back to Dr. Nassad’s office to wait and the doctor would meet with both of them after the exam. They parted in the hallway as the door marked Private closed behind them.

Georgie changed into a paper gown, happy she could keep her slacks on. She only removed her blouse and bra. The nurse tapped on the door, poked her head in, nodded with a small smile and disappeared. What felt like five days later—though it was probably only five minutes—Dr. Nassad knocked and entered.

He was in his late fifties, balding and fit, with a contained energy about him that filled the atmosphere with static electricity. His handshake was no-nonsense, his words blunt. Georgie liked him immediately.

After the exam he opened her files on a rolling metal stand and studied them for a long moment. When he looked up and met her gaze, she reminded herself to breathe.