A chorus of the cutest goat bleats echoed through the barn as a little herd of half a dozen baby goats followed the woman into a small gated area.
“Look at them, Jordan! This is perfect. We get to do yoga outside, harness our chi, and all while surrounded by baby goats!” she cooed.
He bristled.
Stupid Jordan! If anyone could ruin something as awesome as this, it would be him.
She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. “I know it’s not lifting a gazillion pound weight or doing a thousand pull-ups, but it’s just yoga.”
“It’s not the yoga,” he sputtered.
She dropped her hands to her sides. “Then, what is it?”
He released a slow breath. “I’m scared of goats.”
Her jaw dropped. Who the hell was scared of goats?
She glanced into the fenced-off little goat haven. “Jordan, those are baby goats.”
His throat constricted with another hard swallow. “Those freak me out even more.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’re like twenty-nine times bigger than a baby goat. You could probably eat one of them in a single bite.”
He shook his head. “I do not want to go in there, Georgie.”
She schooled her features. It was time for some tough love. “You’re going in there. You’re the one who said we had to crush it.”
He continued shaking his head. “I can’t. One of my earliest memories is of being chased by a baby goat.”
“Did you grow up on a farm?”
“No, I was little, like three or four, and my mom took me to a petting zoo. There was one asshole baby goat that knocked me down and tried to eat my shirt.” He bristled. “I can still feel the damn thing tugging on the sleeve.”
She had to turn this around. Crazy phobia or not, she needed him to complete this challenge. She glanced at the goats and pretended to study them carefully. “Listen, these do not look like asshole baby goats.”
“How do you know?” he asked, eyeing them.
Total honesty, she didn’t know the first thing about goats, asshole goats, or otherwise.
“We need to do this, Jordan. We need to beat the Dannies. I’ll be right next to you. And if any of those baby goats try to eat your shirt, it’s grilled goat chops for dinner. Any goat that messes with you will be toast or whatever goat food is called.”
She crossed her fingers behind her back like a six-year-old who knew she was telling a lie. There was no way she’d hurt a baby goat, and she hated lying, but she hadn’t gotten up that morning expecting to help a grown giant gladiator of a man overcome a goat fear. Whatever it was worth, this was the best she could come up with under the circumstances.
“Goat toast,” he said and nodded to himself.
“Yes, goat toast. Just remember, the sooner we start, the sooner it will be over.”
A baby goat bleated, and Jordan startled, then forced himself to take a slow breath.
“Okay, let’s do this, but Georgie?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you promise to stay by my side?”
She smiled up at this hulk of a man who was terrified of baby goats. “Yes, I’ll be by your side the entire time.”
He reached out and took her hand into his. “Thanks, Georgiana. I mean it. I know this is kind of weird.”
Kind of weird? Her trifecta covered their imaginary mouths, trying to hold back their laughter, but she no longer felt the urge to laugh.
She squeezed his hand and held his gaze. “You’re going to crush it. I just know it.”
He gave her the hint of a smile, and that little Brice Casey dimple on his cheek looked a lot less Brice Casey-ish.
“Do you guys mind if we get started?” the producer called, breaking into their goat pep talk.
The instructor waved them over to the gated area and directed them toward a pair of mats resting in the grass, while the producer took a few pictures of the animals.
“Let’s begin in a seated position and settle into our surroundings,” the yogi prompted.
Jordan sat down, crossed his long, muscled legs, and scanned the enclosure like a Navy Seal assessing a hostile target.
“Georgie,” he whisper-shouted. “That one’s looking at me.”
She glanced over to see the sweetest baby goat who was, in fact, looking at him.
“Just close your eyes, breathe, and ignore them,” she said, praying this man would not have a complete goat meltdown on camera.
But that baby goat was not going anywhere. It ambled over and sniffed Jordan’s knee.
“What’s it doing?” he whisper-shouted.
“Relax. It’s just sniffing,” she answered in an exaggerated singsong tone.
“Looks like Trixie has taken a shine to you, Jordan,” the instructor said.
“The goat has a name?” he whispered with his eyes squeezed shut and panic lacing his raspy words.
“Trixie is a sweet name for a gentle goat,” she said, begging the universe to make her statement true.
Georgie watched in horror as Trixie did a cute little goat hop and landed square in Jordan’s lap.
“Okay, try not to panic, but the goat is kind of on your lap,” she said and rested her hand on his knee.
He’d gone completely rigid. “I know. I can feel her little goat body.”
“Time out,” the instructor called, coming to her feet. “Looks like somebody is ready for lunch.”
The woman walked over to a cooler and pulled out a bottle. “Here, Jordan. Trixie wants you to feed her.”
His eyes popped open. “I have to feed the goat?”
Georgie gave him a plastered grin, hoping he’d play along and not freak out because the CityBeat producer had just switched from taking photos to filming.
“It’s better than it eating your shirt, right?” she whispered back.
“I’ll take that bottle,” he said with renewed vigor.
Luckily, Trixie knew what to do. Extending her neck and resting it squarely in Jordan’s palm, she latched on to the nipple and started sucking away. Jordan watched as the black and white goat went to town on the bottle.
“I’m doing it,” he said with a wide punch-drunk grin, the fear in his voice replaced with wonder.
“You’re doing great,” she replied and scratched between Trixie’s ears.
The producer knelt on the ground next to Jordan and Trixie. “I’d like to get some footage for the website. People are going to gobble this up.”
“Just like Trixie’s gobbling up her bottle,” Jordan cooed.
He actually cooed!
He glanced over as Trixie neared the end of her lunch. “I’m crushing it, Georgiana.”
With those four words, the Emperor of Asshattery disappeared. His green eyes sparkled with pride and relief. And when he looked at her, when he thanked her and patted the goat’s little body, all she could see was his…eight-ness.
Yes, to her trifecta’s disappointment, she’d decided to make this non-word a real word.
She parted her lips to say, say what? You may not be the douche nugget I’d pegged you to be when another precious black and white baby goat with a cute black ring around its eye hopped onto her lap.
“Oh!” she gasped as the tiny animal nuzzled up to her.
The yoga instructor handed her a bottle. “Looks like you’re on lunch duty, too.”
She shared a look with Jordan just as Trixie jumped off his lap, and another baby goat took its place.
“How are you doing?” she asked as the yogi handed Jordan another bottle and he went to work feeding baby goat number two like he was Farmer Fred.
He cradled the goat. “I’m good. I don’t know if I’ve ever been better.”
She nodded with the hint of a smile because the truth was, she’d never been better either.
* * *
“Four goats, Georgie! I fed four baby goats!”
Georgie sat back against the smooth leather seat and chuckled as they left the animal sanctuary an
d the scene of Jordan’s great goat breakthrough. They hadn’t done any yoga. Instead, they fed every goat, including the adult goats, all with the CityBeat producer documenting the event.
After two hours, the tally was in. Jordan had fed four baby goats, three adult goats, and hugged a lamb. A standard day for a six-year-old visiting a petting zoo, but a life-changing experience for a man with a farm animal phobia.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. The word handsome didn’t even do him justice, and when he wasn’t acting like a cocky bastard with that air of asshattery, he was absolutely lovely.
“I need to pull over,” he said, all smiles and frantic energy.
She stared out at miles upon miles of farm country. “Here? In the middle of nowhere?”
“Yeah, I just need to—”
He cut off his sentence, hit the brakes, and pulled the Beamer onto the side of the road with a cloud of dust billowing behind them. He sprang from the car with the enthusiasm of a well-fed baby goat and took off toward a pond next to an abandoned-looking barn.
“Wait!” she called, running after him.
She found him at the edge of the water, staring out as the first drops of a gentle summer rain pebbled the surface.
He raised his hands like a Norse god. “You don’t own me, goats! I’m not afraid of you.”
If he weren’t so earnest, this would be hilarious.
He spun around, and again, for the second time that day, took her hands into his. “This is huge for me.”
She pushed aside the memory of those strong hands gripping her ass. “You should call your mom and let her know. I’m sure she’d be very proud of you.”
His gaze darkened. “She would, but I can’t call her.”
“Why not?”
“She passed away when I was eleven,” he said with the saddest smile that made her want to wrap her arms around him and never let go.
Tears pricked her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jordan. I didn’t mean to…”
He shook his head. “It’s okay. You’re right. She’d be really happy for me.”
Georgie felt a drop on her cheek, but it wasn’t the rain.
“Are you crying?” he asked, releasing her hands and cupping her face.
She sniffled. “It’s just very touching that you’ve overcome your fear of goats.”
His expression softened. “And all thanks to you, Georgiana.”
There it was. The low, sexy rumble of those four syllables that sent the butterflies in her belly into flight whenever he said her full name.
He stroked her cheek. “I probably reek of goat, but I really want to kiss you.”
He could have been marinating in skunk spray. It didn’t matter. She wanted it, too.
“I like the smell of baby goats,” she answered and pushed up onto her tiptoes.
Their lips met, but this time, it wasn’t the anger-infused Kama Sutra-inspired sexual melee that had erupted on her couch. This kiss was raw and honest. It spoke of weekends spent making love in a tangle of rumpled sheets and feather-soft pillows.
He pulled back and held her gaze. “Why does everything seem so possible when I look into those damn beautiful eyes of yours?”
Speechless. The girl who’d read thousands of books couldn’t find the words to respond. Luckily, nature had a plan. The wind shifted as the sky darkened, and with a crack of lightning and the far-off rumble of thunder, the gentle sprinkling turned into a downpour. With rain trailing down his chiseled cheekbones like something out of a Hallmark movie, he led her into the old barn.
“Wait here,” he said with a wide grin, then jogged back to his car.
What was happening? She trembled, and it wasn’t from the cool breeze that had blown in with the storm. Stress. It had to be stress. She craned her neck and watched as he opened the hatch on the SUV, pulled out a blanket, then sprinted back to her.
“I’ve got—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Emergency supplies in your car just in case you get into an accident or are left stranded?”
He nodded.
She felt her cheeks heat. “Me too. It’s just the kind of smart planning an eight would do.”
“Or a ten, who has to be ready for anything,” he countered.
“What are you ready for now?” she asked, her cheeks growing hotter.
He shook the blanket out and laid it on the ground. “You,” he replied and guided her down next to him on the faded plaid quilt.
As gently as he held the goats, he removed her clothing. His touch left hot, tingling trails on her body where his fingertips brushed against her bare skin. Naked, and strangely, not at all embarrassed to be laid out in her birthday suit, Jordan pulled his shirt off, folded it carefully into a neat square, then lifted her head and slid the makeshift pillow beneath it.
His gaze ravaged her body. “Fuck me,” he whispered, awe peppering the words.
She bit her lip. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m about to do.”
He kissed a line from her chin to her navel. “I hate to tell you this, Georgiana, but you’ve got the body of a ten.”
She released a breathy giggle. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not good at dirty talk.”
“Eights like dirty talk?” he purred against her skin.
She closed her eyes as he worked his way lower and kissed her inner thigh. “This eight likes it when you say her name.”
Had she said that out loud? She was prepared for him to give her crap about her admission, but he didn’t.
He hummed a little laugh against her thigh. “Georgiana Jensen, you’ve been hiding one killer body under those hideous cardigans.”
She threaded her fingers into his hair. She really should defend her love of cardigans, but it was hard to concentrate with the hottest guy on the planet planted between her legs.
“All I hear is blah, blah, blah, cardigan,” she said in a breathy sigh.
“I think I’m about to hear you say my name,” he growled before pressing a kiss to her sweet bundle of nerves.
“Oh, Jordan,” she moaned as her ten went to work.
Did she like that he was right?
No.
But the man had a magic mouth that had her teetering on the edge, and that had to count for something.
She rocked against him, and he gripped her hips, setting a Marks Perfect Ten pace that had her crying out his stupid sexy name over and over again as she met her release.
He pushed up onto his elbows with a cocky grin. “You taste like…”
She tried to catch her breath, still bathing in orgasmic bliss. “If you say baby goats, I’m going to kill you.”
He prowled the length of her body. “You taste like the last rays of sunshine at the end of a long summer day.”
Oh damn! He could turn a phrase. Her traitorous trifecta swooned.
She ran her fingertips along his shoulders, feeling each taut, smooth muscle. “Do you have a…”
“Condom?” he asked with a naughty grin.
“Yes.”
He shrugged out of his mesh shorts and pulled a foil packet from the pocket. “I’m a ten, Georgiana. I’m always prepared.”
“Like a ripped boy scout,” she said, watching this glorious man roll on a condom.
She was really about to own the eights—and then some.
He positioned his hard length at her entrance, then stilled, his body trembling.
“Are you cold?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, it’s you. You’re…”
“An eight?” she teased.
Intensity burned in his gaze. “You’re beautiful, Georgiana. Every part of you.”
She wasn’t expecting that, not from this ten, and could only answer by wrapping her arms around him. Their lips collided in a heated kiss as he thrust inside her, and the heat between them ignited. His sharp angles met her soft curves as if they were made for one another. They moved like lovers who’d been together for eons. He gripped her ass and changed the angl
e of penetration, and it was as if he knew what she needed before she even knew it herself.
“I could fuck you all day and all night and still not get enough,” he panted in tight hot breaths against her lips as he doubled his pace.
Dammit! He was good at dirty talk, too.
“Oh yeah,” she breathed, the coil inside her tightening on the precipice of release.
“You smell so fucking good, like hippie vanilla bliss, and you’re always so wet for me.”
Crap! He had her there, too. It was like Kegel City the moment she laid eyes on him—that cavewoman part of her brain, ready to get down and dirty. Grinding his pelvis into hers, his ripped body never faltered from its pace. God help her, the shape this man was in, he could probably make good on that dirty talk promise and screw her brains out for hours on end.
But she wasn’t going to make it that long. Unable to hold out a moment longer, her release tore through her body, spiraling, leaving her suspended between this world and the next.
“Fuck, yes!” he whispered in her ear as his pace ratcheted up a notch, and he joined her, flying over the edge.
In smooth, fluid strokes, he lengthened their pleasure. She rocked her hips against him as he held her close and their bodies wound down, slowly coming back from the crash of ecstasy.
He pressed up onto an elbow. “That was…”
Amazing. Mind-blowing. The best sex of her life. They’d totally be initiated into the Orgasm Hall of Fame. If that were a thing.
“Yeah, it was…,” she answered, not sure why she couldn’t say the words when their phones chimed.
He held her gaze with a torn look in his eyes. Did whatever they were doing feel like more to him? And holy crap, was it more to her? She couldn’t go there.
“We should look,” she said, trying to sound all business, which wasn’t all that easy with his hard length buried deep inside her.
He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “We should.”
The phones pinged again, and he drew his fingertips down her jawline. Tender and so sweet, she wanted to surrender to his touch and close her eyes and forget anything besides the two of them existed. But she couldn’t, and it wasn’t her literary trifecta holding her back. This was something else. A needling in the back of her mind.
Own the Eights: Own the Eights: Book One Page 11