She swallowed down a growl as he dealt her three more cards and himself one. Another litany of curses she was certain would make the man sitting across from her chortle with delight ricocheted through her mind as she managed to scrape together exactly two cards that matched. Fours. Dammit.
“Whatcha got there, Gigi?”
Her lids narrowed into slits for a brief second, and his answering laugh was proof enough that her poker face sucked. She lifted her chin at him. “You first.”
An exaggerated, and clearly fake, frown accompanied a shake of his head. “Ladies first. My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”
Both of her brows lifted. “And would your mama be proud of her darling little boy to know he was up at midnight playing strip poker in his barn?” If she was destined to lose, she could at least stall a little.
Wyatt chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t distract me that easily, Angel. Show me what you’ve got.” He leaned in, eyes simmering with lust. “And if you bring up my mama one more time, this night might not end the way I’ve been planning.”
Him? The pulsating need that ached between her legs was begging her to forfeit the game, rip the small patch of fabric that still remained on his body, and satiate her overwhelming desire. Although history had taught her that would last for approximately fifteen minutes before she’d be drowning in need again. Nothing was ever enough. Not with Wyatt.
She laid her pathetic hand on the barrel. “Pair of fours.”
He tossed his cards down as he stood, thumbs beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers. “I think this means you win, Angel.”
Georgia rose, rounded the barrel, and stood in front of him, one hand on his bare chest. Right over the tattoo she’d never admit meant the world to her. “You’re going to let me help you?”
His grin faded and face sobered. “I came back for you. I planned all of this in Asheville instead of Texas or Colorado for us and for our future.” He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, her hips bumping against his. “Dammit, I know I screwed up, but I’m back for good, forever, and I’ll do whatever you need to fix this. I wanted to do this on my own, but if there is anyone I’d let help me, it would damn sure be my Dark Angel. She’s kinda been bailing my sorry ass out since I was seventeen.”
She pushed lightly against his chest, stepped out of his embrace, and peeled her shirt over her head. “Pretty sure this means we both win, Cowboy.” She motioned to the cotton barely containing his rapidly growing length. “Lose the boxers and tell me you’ve got a condom close by.”
He fished a foil packet out of the pocket of his discarded jeans and dropped his underwear in the space of a heartbeat. With more confidence than any man should possess, he turned back to her and stole any oxygen that remained in her lungs.
Georgia flattened her palm on his abdomen and pressed lightly. “If I win, that means I’m in charge, Cowboy.”
He fell back onto the couch and sucked in a breath as she removed the two remaining pieces of clothes separating them. “I’d never argue with a lady.”
Too many days had passed with no contact. After a dozen years apart, seeing him on a damn near daily basis, touching him, tasting him, they were things that had become needs rather than wants. And she didn’t have the self-control to draw this out.
She straddled his lap, grinding against him and reveling in his answering groan. His mouth moved to her neck and made a path down the front of her as she leaned over to grab the condom. Her teeth ripped the foil packet open as he landed one of the hardened nubs, his lips wrapping around it, and sucked lightly. His thumbs made circles on her hip bones as she rocked against him.
The brim of his hat bumped her shoulder. Just as he reached up to remove it, she planted a hand on top of it. “Don’t you dare, Cowboy.”
Her hand dove between them, and she wrapped it around his shaft, stroking up and down a few times until a frustrated growl erupted from his chest. Georgia pressed her mouth against his as she slid the condom on him. She lifted up on her knees slightly before lowering herself onto him.
“I love you, Angel.”
All of her intentions to go slow flew right out the window as he filled every part of her. Her lips met his again, and every ounce of desperation bled into the kiss. Desperation for his body. Desperation for relief. And desperation to not confess just how much she still loved him too.
She raced up the mountain of desire and paused at the pinnacle, dangling on the edge of climax. His fingers snaked between their sweat-slickened bodies, and he teased the tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb, making her lose every ounce of control. She moved her hips three more times before he screamed his own release. Their cries mixed, mingled, and filled the small room, echoing off the walls.
Georgia laid her damp forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. “Listen, Cowboy,” she panted the words between gasps, “spending the night on this thing is a non-negotiable point.” She sat back up, resting against his slightly trembling thighs. “Hotel? We can get a decent night’s sleep and have a mediocre continental breakfast in the morning.”
The damned grin curled his lips as his fingertips stroked up and down her spine. “A decent night’s sleep and…round two?”
She climbed off his lap, snatched her shirt off the floor, and tossed him his boxers. “I’ll flip ya for it, Cowboy. Clearly poker doesn’t work out for you.”
A light smack collided with her ass when she bent down to retrieve her panties, and she spun on her heel to find herself greeted with an unabashedly grinning cowboy. “I’d say it works out pretty damn well.”
Chapter Twenty
Georgia
Twelve Years Earlier
F.
A big, red, glaring F and the retreating back of her boyfriend summoned the well of tears to escape and track down Georgia’s cheeks as she trudged home. The chilly air biting her face barely registered compared to the roiling of her stomach and the ache in her heart.
He’d never once said he was struggling. Never hinted that anything was even slightly off, much less this bad. Never asked for help or advice.
Wyatt had simply taken the role of her caregiver in her life. He’d been the one person who focused their attention on her, making her rest, forcing her to relax, and giving her a reason to smile when everything else in her world overwhelmed her.
She hung a left at the end of the road rather than the right that would lead to her house. Her feet headed to the bench in the back of the park on instinct without any input from her brain. In her mind’s eye, she could still see all of the decorations Wyatt had set out for her Christmas gift.
He was special. Her stupid freaking cowboy was special. Georgia put her feet onto the bench, pulled her knees up, and rested her forehead on them with a groan. Yeah, calling him that would stop immediately. He was special and smarter than he gave himself credit for.
She bounced her head against her legging-clad kneecaps a few times, begging her brain to offer the right solution. Everything Wyatt did for her was so right from being the ridiculous rhinestone cowboy that made her laugh to taking her mind off the inevitable for a few hours a couple of times a week by going to his training with him.
Even if her heart stopped for several beats with each throw until he hopped to his feet with a cocky grin and wink shot right in her direction.
Georgia lifted her head and stared at the paper in her hand for the tenth time. This time, unlike all the others, she moved her focus from the damning grade to his answers. Her legs fell to the side, and she studied a little closer.
If she were in a cartoon, she was certain a lightbulb would have popped over her at that moment. A grin spread across her face. She folded the crumpled paper with more care than Wyatt had and placed it in her backpack, zipping it closed.
Her heart still ached a little at the memory of his hasty exit. More than his pride was wounded by the confession of his shortcoming. But she could fix this. For a change, she’d solve his
problems for him.
Excitement accelerated her feet as she raced home. Her breath was coming in short pants, and she held up a hand, gripping the table where her grandparents sat with the other, as a silent plea for a moment to suck enough oxygen in her lungs to speak. “Can…can I borrow your car?”
Her grandfather’s gray brows drew tightly together. “What’s wrong, Georgia?”
She paused for a moment, debating on how much she could and should divulge. Wyatt trusted her, and she’d never violate that. But he held the literal key to getting to her cowboy. Vague half-truth seemed like the best option. “I need to head over to Wyatt’s and check on him. I just found out he’s so sick he can’t go to his training, and I’m worried.”
It could be technically considered the whole truth because she was pretty sure that Wyatt was probably beyond nauseated by the loss of even one training session.
Dropping Wyatt’s name was probably enough in and of itself, but the speed at which her grandfather plopped the keys in her outstretched palm made her eyes roll to the ceiling. She couldn’t blame them for their adoration, even if it drove her slightly crazy.
She spent the twelve minute drive fighting against the increasing pressure her right foot insisted on placing on the gas pedal. Getting a ticket or wrapping the car around a telephone pole would both severely impair her ability to fix her broken cowboy. Well, fix him right after she yelled at him for being such a stubborn jerk and not talking to her sooner. Because that was absolutely happening first.
Her shaking finger pushed the button beside the front door of the big, brick house. She’d been to his home countless times, but this was the first time her stomach quaked, uncertain of the reception she’d receive.
Wyatt’s mother answered the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel before slinging it over her shoulder. The smile that curved her lips settled a fraction of Georgia’s nerves. “Hey, Georgia, this is a surprise.”
She nodded and swallowed. “Yes, I-I, well, Wyatt left before I could finish talking to him, and I was hoping I could see him.”
The older woman’s mouth transitioned to a frown. “I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know if Wyatt told you, but he’s grounded right now.”
She’d prepared for that. “I know, and I know why, and…I think I can help. Please, I don’t want to be disrespectful but…” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. “Mrs. Carlisle, your son has done so much for me, and I finally have a chance to help him. Please let me.”
Tracy Carlisle hesitated for a moment before pursing her lips and offering a curt nod. “He’s in the barn.”
Georgia gripped the older woman’s hand for a moment. “Thank you.” She skipped down the steps, jumped back in her car, and slowly rounded the house, following the path to the buildings a few yards away. No surprise she found Wyatt methodically brushing Lemondrop’s coat with a focused intensity.
“What the hell am I gonna do, girl?” The soft plea to his horse barely reached her ears but hit her heart with the impact of gale force winds to a palm tree in a hurricane.
She leaned one shoulder against the roughened wood of the doorframe. “Step one is to never walk away from your girlfriend like that without talking.”
***
Wyatt
He wanted to race over to her and let her fix every part of him that was hurting. What the hell was that kind of thinking? He was Wyatt freaking Carlisle. He might screw up and he might fail, but he damn sure didn’t let anyone else share in that. Not his parents, not his brother, and sure as hell not his girlfriend.
Or maybe ex-girlfriend if she gave him the treatment he deserved.
“What are you doing here?” Adding a gruff tone to his voice was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
She snorted and pushed off the wall, her clunky black boots creating clouds of dust as she walked over to him. “With that kind of attitude, I’m wondering myself, but I’ll give you a pass. This time.”
“Listen, Georgia, I’m gonna wind up in even more trouble if my parents catch you out here with me. And I have two younger brothers who would be more than happy to rat me out, so just go before I have to deal with any of that, okay?” The forced edge to his voice was like a dull, rusty blade to his heart. Pushing Gigi away hurt like hell, and calling her Georgia was even worse.
That single change may have done more damage than any pissy attitude or tone. The paling of her cheeks twisted his gut into a knot. One that only tightened when the white of her complexion became a mottled red.
She stalked forward until the toes of her boots touched his. Gigi jammed her index finger in his left pec, bruising the skin covering his equally battered heart. “You don’t get to do this, Wyatt. You don’t get to play the role of the lonesome cowboy who has to face his troubled life all on his own. You have parents who would do almost anything for you and a brother who would probably drive home from college every week to help.”
Every sentence was punctuated with a forceful poke in his chest. The tears collecting in the corners of her eyes shredded the last of his will power, more than her words. “And you have a ridiculous girlfriend who, for some unknown reason, thinks you’re pretty damn special and isn’t going to let you sabotage yourself and your future by hiding behind your ridiculous pride. Even when you try to push her away. Even when you call her by her real name.”
When she swiped under her eyes with her thumbs, the final brick in the pathetic excuse for a wall he’d tried to erect crumbled. He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her close, drawing from the strength she never knew she gave him. “Dammit all to hell, Angel, I’m sorry.”
After several beats, she reached up to link her hands behind his neck. “We take stuff on as a team, Wyatt.”
Friends only liked him for his manufactured rodeo star persona. His family carefully veiled their disappointment in Wyatt’s life plan to get tossed around by a thousand-pound beast instead of following in Tanner’s path of college and preparations to take over the company. His brother had been bred for that role since birth and loved it. For Wyatt, it sounded like a fifty-year sentence in a prison worse than Alcatraz.
Only Gigi had seen through the façade and accepted him completely. She was the first person he believed loved him exactly as he was…and the last one he’d ever want to disappoint.
“Ask me what my GPA is.”
Her muffled voice against the front of his shirt compelled him to loosen his hold slightly and lean back to regard her with a frown. “What?”
Gigi’s black lips curled into a smirk. “I said, ask me what my GPA is.”
His brows drew together and his hands moved from her waist to grip her hips. “Okay, what’s your GPA?”
“Three point nine.” Her palms slid over his shoulders and down the front of his shirt, patting his chest. “And calculus happens to be one of my best subjects.”
A measure of the heavy mantle that had been hanging around his neck lightened. “With a score like that I think it is probably easier to just tell me which subject you aren’t a complete star in.” He pulled her closer, the planes of their bodies lining up in a way that never ceased to cement the fact in his mind that they were meant to be. “And by not a complete star, I’m assuming you lowered yourself to getting a plain old A in one subject instead of an A plus?”
“I don’t think I can tell you that without a promise of total secrecy. You aren’t allowed to breathe a word of this to anyone.”
Wyatt released one of her hips and stuck out his pinky in the small space between them. “I promise I will never repeat a word of my Angel’s shortcoming to another human soul.”
Her brows shot up. “Or horse.” She leaned around him to look at the mare standing in the stall behind them. “No offense, Lemondrop.”
For the first time in over a week since he’d been forced to confess his grades to his parents and accept the punishment they doled out, Wyatt laughed. “I promise not to tell any man, woman, child, or beast anything you say.”
S
he linked her pinky with his and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Gym.” She winced at the single word.
He tried to mask the chuckle that escaped with a cough. “Gym? You mean like climb the rope, run some laps, and pretend to learn a new sport kind of gym?”
Gigi released his finger and lightly slapped his bicep. “Yes. So much joining and team building and,” she shuddered, “socializing. And there are so many perky, perfect cheerleaders, I want nothing more than to puke.”
Wyatt captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth hovering a breath above hers. “I love that you hate school spirit.” A soft kiss punctuated his words. “I love that you make fun of team sports.” Another swipe of his lips. “And I really love that you have a brilliant mind and a three point freaking nine GPA.”
This time when their mouths met, they clung, moving softly against each other at first before his tongue snaked between her teeth and began running along the length of hers. Her muted moan drove him to deepen the kiss and pull her tight to him.
Seconds then minutes ticked by unnoticed and unconcerned, but oxygen deprivation finally forced them apart. “So,” he panted out the single syllable and slipped his cocky grin into place, “does this mean you’re gonna be my tutor?”
Chapter
Twenty-One
Wyatt
Present Day
The intrusive ringing of Wyatt’s cell phone startled him out of the deep sleep he’d fallen into, settled and centered despite the chaos swirling in his world. All thanks to the auburn-haired girl curled against his side groaning her protestation at being disturbed. He fumbled with the phone on the bedside stand and muttered an epithet when his younger brother’s name flashed across the screen. “Connor, what the hell do you want at,” he squinted at the digital display before putting the phone back to his ear, “two-thirteen in the morning?”
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