That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (20 page)

Resolute, he went home, showered, and waited for Georgina to show up.

She rang downstairs exactly on time. Steeling himself, he buzzed her in.

He shouldn't have asked her to wear that dress—or the shoes. Dancing with her was one thing; seeing her in all her glory was going to break him.

Her knock sounded loudly on the front door. He took a deep breath and went to open it.

Standing in the threshold, her hands were shoved in the pockets of her jacket, and she glared at him like she didn't want to be there, either.

She wasn't wearing the dress—or the shoes.

He frowned. He should have been grateful, but he felt perversely annoyed. "You don't have your shoes."

She held up a bag and then pushed her way in. "Let's just get this over with."

As she swept by him, he took her arm. "You aren't wearing the dress."

"I was cold," she said, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Liar."

"I'm many things"—she sauntered over to him until he was pressed close to the wall and she was a breath away—"but a liar isn't one of them."

He glanced down at her lips. Maybe if he kissed her, he'd prove to himself once and for all that she wasn't as inspiring as Giselle. "What are you doing?"

She cupped a hand around his neck. "You told me you'd show me what you do to girls who make passes."

A thick surge of desire jolted him. "We aren't meant to be together," he assured himself out loud.

"No kidding." She lifted her chin, but he thought he saw a bit of hurt.

Damn it
. He hated the thought that he hurt her feelings.

Kiss her and make up for it
, an ethereal voice prompted.

But before he could decide what to do, she rose on her toes and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and open in a way he hadn't expected. He sank into them, all thoughts lost. He tested them, tasted them, sinking deeper into her with every nibble. His hands reached for her almost of their own volition, and he held her to him.

She moaned and leaned into him, her leg hooking on his hip. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pressed herself closer. He could feel the hard tips of her breasts against his chest. He lowered his hands to cup her bottom, hitching her up to fit better against him.

Remy shuddered. It'd been so long. He'd had women since Giselle—a shameful number of women. But none of them had felt like this. He hadn't craved them in his arms, and he hadn't wanted them back a second time.

He already wanted her again, more, and he hadn't even had her yet. She just fit so perfectly against him. Giselle had been so tiny . . .

He lifted his head, cold water thrown on his ardor, almost shocked to see Georgina before him. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen and wet. Her body arched into him, wanting him even though her lips might have said otherwise.

Before he could say anything, Georgina lifted her lust-glazed eyes and said, "This is just sex, okay? Nothing more."

He blinked. "What?"

"I hope you have condoms," she said, pulling him close again. "Because I shaved my legs for you."

Her shaving her legs was
not
something he needed to picture right now. He held a hand out to keep her off him, although it nearly killed him to do it. "Wait. Are you sure? Because I can't offer more than sex, ever. I love my wife."

She recoiled. "
You're married again?
"

He winced. "She died a few years ago."

"Oh. I know that." Georgina wilted a little, obviously relieved. "I thought you meant you were married now."

"No, but I may as well be. I'll never love anyone like her again. She was special." He looked Georgina in the eye so she'd get it. "So you wouldn't be able to expect anything more than this moment."

She paused, obviously thinking about it. Then she shrugged. "I'm good with that."

Before he could process any of that, or why it made him disgruntled, she launched herself at him again.

He caught her, hiking her into his arms. Without dwelling—he didn't want to think about what he was doing—he carried her to the couch.

"Now we're talking," she muttered. She pushed him back so he sat on the other end. "Clothes off. Condom?"

Cursing under his breath, he got up to get them. By the time he came back, she was sprawled naked on the couch. Her long limbs draped over the cushions, delicately curved. Her hair was a fiery cascade over the armrest, and in her eyes, there was a blatant invitation to come play.

Magnificent. He stopped and took a mental picture of her. His fingers twitched with the need to paint her.

But it was dwarfed by the need to touch her.

She splayed her arms out.

He tossed the condoms on the coffee table, stripped out of his clothes, and started toward her.

She held her hand up. "Wait."

"What?" he said, oddly afraid she was going to tell him she didn't want to do this.

"What's that?"

He looked down at where she pointed. His tattoo. "A pineapple," he said cautiously.

"That's what I thought." She frowned at it. "I just want to point out that at least I didn't get Popeye tattooed on my body."

"Thank God for that."

She nodded and waved him over. "Okay, now."

Finally. Not pausing to examine the relief he felt, he covered her.

"About time," she said the second before she kissed him.

There was nothing soft about this kiss. This time, it was all hunger and need.

It sparked the same in him. Everything fell away except the desire to have her, to sink into her and lose him in her heat.

She lifted her mouth to make enough space to say, "Condom. Now."

He blindly reached for one, tearing the wrapper and somehow managing to put it on.

"In me," she ordered, raising her knees to grip his waist.

He wasn't going to argue—he didn't have the words. He held himself and eased his way into her.

They both groaned. Her head fell back and her body arched, gripping him tight. He watched her, mesmerized by the sight.

Until her hand lifted and slapped his chest.

He shook his head. "What?"

"Move." She wiggled her hips. "I'm not getting any younger here. You know how long it's been since I've had sex?"

"How long?" he murmured, not really caring, because she was here with him and her neck was much more enticing to focus on.

"Too long." She moaned, her head falling back to offer her neck to him more fully. "But I'm hoping I won't have to wait as long for the next time."

He hoped so, too. "I should have brought more condoms out."

"Live and learn." She lifted her hips suddenly, causing him to topple off the couch with her rolling over on top of him.

"
Oof
," he exhaled when he hit the floor.

But then she took him in her hand and he forgot about any discomfort. Holding him firmly, she eased herself on top of him, straddling his hips. He reached for her waist, not to guide her but to anchor himself.

Moving up and down on him, she let her head fall back, her hands braced behind her on his thighs. "Good. Really good," she muttered.

She looked like a goddess, arching above him, lost in her own sensuality. He wasn't sure he could hold on long enough to bring her pleasure first. Just watching her was enough to make him come.

Her body tightened suddenly, and her fingers gripped him. "Yes. Yes.
Yes
."

Feeling her close to orgasm was the strongest aphrodisiac he'd ever experienced. He went from thinking he could hold out to being on the verge of coming in two seconds.

"Now, please," she moaned, and just like that he shot off.

He lost track of where he ended and where she began. All he knew was the silken feel of her in his arms and her heat when she collapsed on top of him.

He lay there, cataloging the way her weight felt on him and the silken caress of her hair against his skin. Without thinking, he cradled her close. He hadn't expected this.

Georgina had told him that this was just sex for her, but she lay spread on him, completely open and soft. How could this just be sex?

How could he have done this? He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he shouldn't have let it go this far, despite her assurances. Because she was the type of girl who should stay for breakfast instead of skulking back to her place in the middle of the night.

He just wasn't that type of guy.

Dana called WL&W and asked for Scott Cleary. While she waited on hold, she brought her feet to the seat of the chair and examined her toes. If she wasn't worried about making her money stretch, she'd have gone to get a pedicure. She'd just have to do her toes herself.

She hated that.

"Scott Cleary," a masculine voice said over the line.

She startled, dropping her feet to the floor and sitting up. "The real Scott Cleary, or a recording?"

There was a pause. "The real one is more entertaining, or so my mother says."

She wrinkled her nose. "I wouldn't have figured you for a mama's boy."

"I'm not," he said with all the authority of a grown-up wizard who knew he was hot stuff. "What can I help you with, Dana?"

Closing her eyes, she groaned. "What if it's not me?"

"Then I'd be disappointed, but I think I'm safe today."

"Let's just start this conversation over, okay?"

"If you want, but I was happy with the original version."

She cleared her throat. "I'm calling to make an appointment to see you."

"Excellent. How about in an hour?"

"An hour?" She blinked, looking at the time. "I, uh—"

"I have some thoughts about your bonus that we can discuss, too."

"Is there a development?" she asked skeptically.

"No, but maybe there's a compromise. Meet me at Comstock."

Would she have time to get Kevin there, too? She didn't want to miss the opportunity to come to a resolution on her bonus. "I'll see you in an hour."

"Great."

She disconnected the call and hopped off the floor, going into her closet as she dialed Kevin. His cell went directly to voicemail. She left a message for him, telling him what was going on as she rifled through her clothes.

What did she wear?

She pulled out a colorful dress that was low on top and high at the bottom. She always felt sexy in it. Too sexy for an afternoon meeting? She pictured Scott's eyes roving over her before he leaned in to whisper that he wanted to strip her out of it.

"Reel it back, Olsen," she muttered, putting the dress back and getting out a pair of dark jeans, a red top, and a pair of boots. She stuffed herself into the clothes, hurried to the bathroom to spruce up, and headed out to catch the bus downtown.

She saw him, perusing a menu at the bar, the moment she walked into Comstock. He was wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it all day, but his glasses sat perfectly straight on his handsome nose.