Easing the car into reverse, he attempted to turn the vehicle around, but the wheels did nothing but spin. With each press of the gas, they sank deeper into the muck. “Bloody hell!”
“Oh, no. No. This is every bad horror movie, I’ve ever seen.”
Sam clenched his fists on the steering wheel. “This isn’t a horror movie. This is a disaster film of epic proportion.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved his cell phone. One glance at the screen confirmed that they were still far out of range of any cell towers. Glancing up at the small alarm button on the console, he considered contacting roadside assistance via satellite, but with the bridge submerged and in full darkness, there would be little they could do.
“We’ll just have to walk back to the house.” Reaching across the seat, he opened the glove box and retrieved the torch he kept in there for emergencies. “Can you walk in those shoes?”
“I’ll survive it, but I doubt they will.”
Her crestfallen tone only exacerbated his rapidly declining mood. “Let’s go then. The break in the rain won’t last forever.”
With a flashlight, a basket of a gourmet food he didn’t even like and a woman he couldn’t touch, Sam headed back up the muddy lane toward the house, which he already regretted purchasing.
They’d covered half the distance when the first fat drop of rain splashed on his cheek. Another soon followed.
“Should we go back to the car?”
“No. Just keep heading for the house,” he shouted over the wind that had suddenly picked up again.
Half walking, half running, they made for the house, but by the time they reached it, the heavy rain drenched them both to the skin. Unlocking the ancient door with hands numb from the cold, took far too long. Once they finally stumbled inside, he could see their breath frosting in the chilled air. “Upstairs,” he ordered, all but pushing his near frozen assistant toward the staircase.
He knew the fireplace in the master suite worked; he also knew there would be extra linens they could wrap up in. As cold as he felt, Ms. Wright in her skirt and simple blouse had even less protection from the chill. The fact she wasn’t protesting, asking questions, or mumbling smart remarks under her breath told him she wasn’t not faring well.
Once in the master suite, he placed logs in the hearth. He had no idea how long they’d been there, but they were coated in a heavy layer of dust. The tinderbox from mantle yielded a match and from the desk, he collected some yellowed stationary to get the fire going. Within minutes, the smell of burning dust and ancient wood filled the room, but thankfully, the smoke appeared to be heading up the chimney instead of into the room.
Turning back to his personal assistant, any thoughts of how cold he felt fled.
The rain had plastered her clothing to her skin, rendering the pale, ivory blouse and lace bra beneath it nearly transparent.
Almost in a panic at how much he needed to cover her up and escape the temptation her appearance provided, he opened the large wardrobe and began rifling through it. There were extra linens inside, so he grabbed a dusty sheet and tossed it to her. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”
CHAPTER THREE
How many times, Georgie wondered, had she imagined having him ask her to strip? None of them ever involved the threat of death. The threat of spanking, yes. Death…no.
“I’ll do that,” Georgie agreed, but he made no move to leave. Did he really expect her to strip with him in the room? Holding onto the sheet, she stared pointedly at the door.
“Oh. Of course. I’ll just be outside.”
Watching him go, actually flee, Georgie attacked the buttons of her blouse. Gazing down, she could see just how sheer the fabric had become and mortification filled her. She’d been flashing the high beams at him, completely unaware and he’d run like a scalded dog. Yeah, very good for the ego.
Shaking off morose thoughts about just how unattractive he might have possibly found her to be, she managed to ditch the rest of her clothing and fashion a reasonably modest toga from the sheet he’d provided. Needing some way to secure it, she loosened her damp hair from its once neat chignon and used her hair tie to help keep the makeshift garment in place. She’d just draped her clothing over the back of a chair, hiding her underwear as discreetly as she did at the gynecologist’s office, when he knocked lightly on the door.
“Come in,” she called softly. Somehow, in the sheet, she felt more exposed. Her clothes had revealed much more, especially once they’d gotten wet. Perhaps it was the absence of underwear, she reflected. The garments provided a false sense of modesty that was now stripped away.
When he stepped inside, she saw he’d removed his jacket again, along with the white dress shirt he’d worn beneath it. She’d known his body would be amazing. Anyone seeing him in his perfectly tailored suits couldn’t miss that fact, but knowing it and seeing it were entirely different.
Broad shoulders and impressive pecs tapered to lean and perfectly defined abs, bisected by a thin line of dark hair that disappeared behind the waistband of his pants.
When he turned to place his shirt on a chair next to the one bearing her clothes, she could see how perfectly his pants cupped firm buttocks that literally had her digging her nails into her palms. So what, if the crazy storm meant spending a night alone with him? She was a big girl. They were both adults who seemed to have a basic understanding of propriety. Besides, she wasn’t his type anyway. There was far too much of her for him to be interested. She doubted he’d ever looked twice at a woman whose dress size was in the double digits.
There’d been other times when they’d been in close quarters. This was no different, she told herself. She’d spent hours and shared meals with him in his hotel suite in London, while they’d been working on a particularly difficult deal. If she could survive all that, without molesting him and vice versa…they could get through this. “Pull it together, Georgie!”
“Are you talking to me, Ms. Wright, or are you talking to yourself again?”
Cursing her errant tongue and her errant brain, Georgie replied, “Just giving myself a little pep talk.”
His voice sounded heavy with regret when he spoke, “I am sorry about this. I didn’t realize the tide would leave the house cut off. I apologize if I’ve ruined any plans you might’ve had.”
Georgie paused. Of course, it was Friday night. He would have a date, and it was very egalitarian of him to assume that she might have as well. The truth is, Georgie hadn’t been on a date in months. Six months to be exact, not since the fiasco of a Valentine’s Day blind date where the charming man she’d been set up with informed her that he hadn’t expected her to be quite so large.
The experience had been so humiliating that it effectively capped her search for romance since. Rather than confess how her pallid social life consisted of a smutty novel and rechargeable batteries, Georgie just smiled. “No plans. Nothing that won’t wait.”
“Nonetheless, I’m aware that it’s an inconvenience for you and I do apologize.”
His manners were so perfect. Just like everything else about him, she thought. Sam Kirkland was a gentleman. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from having fantasies about him, shoving her up against a wall and tugging her skirt up to her waist, or at the present moment, her sheet. Oh, she tried to keep those fantasies at bay, but her dirty little mind rarely cooperated. “Thank you, Mr. Kirkland, but it’s fine really. This is an adventure.”
“About that, Ms. Wright...No one can know about this. When I said this house belonged to my family, I should’ve been more clear. It belonged to my grandmother, whom I never met. She wanted no part of me, and frankly, I was hoping that something in this house would tell me why. That’s why I bought it. If the press were to discover this place—I just don’t want anyone else digging into this story before I find what I need.”
Georgie felt stunned, first because it was a personal admission and second because she couldn’t imagine anyone being
anything but proud of the man in front of her and all that he’d accomplished. His investment firm was one of the most successful in the world. His understanding of the trends in finance and his ability to predict the market were uncanny. “Of course, Mr. Kirkland. I’ll be completely discreet.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Wright.”
Georgie didn’t reply, but in an effort to diffuse the tension, she opened the gift basket and began perusing the items. It turned out to be a fairly effective change of subject. “Caviar, smoked salmon, truffles, crostini and aged, smoked gouda.”
“So, in other words, we’ll be hungry again in an hour?”
Georgie chuckled. He sounded so fantastically disgruntled. “More than likely, we’ll be asleep in an hour.” She regretted saying it immediately. Voicing it aloud, drew their collective attention to the large but singular bed in the room. A small squeak of alarm escaped her.
Crouched before the fireplace, muscles flexing and rippling, he glanced over his perfectly formed shoulder at her. “Is something the matter?”
“Cat. I thought I saw the ‘cat’ again.” She’d told more lies in the last hour…than in the last year.
~~****~~
Sam watched her for a moment, noting how nervously she tugged at the sheet she wore. Her dark hair was down, hanging over her shoulders in damp waves. It dawned on him how she never wore her hair down to work—probably a good thing for him. He wanted nothing more at that moment, than to sink his fingers into those dark strands.
Stoking the fire, he tried to put those thoughts from his mind. They were stuck for the night. They would make the best of it and absolutely nothing would happen that would alter their professional relationship.
Rising from his crouched position, with his libido in check for the moment, at least, he noted that she’d created a small spread for them from the gift basket. It wasn’t the steak he would have preferred, but it still looked inviting.
“There isn’t a corkscrew for the wine,” she said, a slight pout making her lips look even more inviting.
It was the bed, he decided. It seemed impossible to be in a room with a woman and a bed, then not have it spark fantasies. That the woman in question was one he’d been fighting an attraction to for months, only made it worse. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the small knife he always carried. One of its many attachments was a makeshift corkscrew.
Holding his other hand out, he accepted the bottle of wine and went to work on getting it opened. At the very least, the task gave him something to focus on, besides the woman in front of him. It wasn’t working. He could smell her, the faint scent of her perfume, or maybe her shampoo, and something else that was just her. With the bottle open, he placed it on the table. “No glasses.”
“I guess we’ll have to share,” she urged, and took a healthy swig from the bottle.
As if having to stand there and see her in nothing but a sheet wasn’t enough torment for his senses, he’d be touching his lips to the same bottle that graced hers. He could feel the blood rushing in his veins, pooling heavily, anticipating an event that simply could not happen. Was he being punished?
To add insult to injury, she picked up one of the chocolate dipped strawberries the basket had yielded, biting into the succulent treat.
Watching her lips close over the sweet, her eyes closing with sheer delight at the burst of flavor, he clenched his fists at his side. Every muscle tensed, every instinct he possessed urged him to pounce, to take what she obliviously offered.
“Oh, that is so good,” she cooed. Her voice sounded breathless, husky. She sounded like sex. Hot, sweaty, rough, mind-blowing sex.
“Stop.” The word escaped him, his own voice sounding barely recognizable to him. She was driving him mad, or maybe he was driving himself mad. Had he really thought he could hire a woman he felt attracted to, spend hours with her day in and day out, and never give in to that attraction?
Her eyes widened and she stared at him, puzzled. “What?”
For a long moment, Sam went silent, watching the expressions play across her face in rapid fire succession.
Her confusion looked genuine. She truly had no idea that he wanted her.
He should leave it alone, and her, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Whether it was the isolation, the unforgettable vision of her in that wet shirt with her pebbled nipples beckoning to him. Or now, with the soft, sensual sounds she made as she enjoyed a decadent strawberry—he’d been pushed beyond the limits of what he could endure. Stepping closer, he grabbed her upper arms, hauling her against him until the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, until she could feel the unmistakable proof of what she was doing to him.
“Mr. Kirkland?”
“My name is Sam.” With the tips of his fingers, he touched her face, turning it up to his so their lips were only inches apart. Tracing the lush curve of her lower lip with his thumb, he needed it to be clear before things went any further. “Say it.”
“Sam?”
Her confused and questioning tone made him smile. “Say it’s alright...that you want this too. Tell me, Georgie.”
“I’m not exactly sure what ‘this’ is.”
“I want you, Georgie. I’ve wanted you for months. Ignoring it hasn’t made it go away, and being in such close quarters with you has only made it more intense—but if you don’t want me, it stops right here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Georgie stared up at his gorgeous face, chiseled and perfect, and then into the icy blue eyes that no longer looked right through her. Now, they were reflecting back to her, the same desire she felt for him. She didn’t speak because she simply couldn’t. Instead, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, savoring the rasp of his whiskers against her skin.
The firmness of his lips against hers, the heat of his skin had her sinking against him. His arms closed around her, pulling her even closer and Georgie couldn’t stop the satisfied hum that escaped her. It felt so good to be touched by him. “This is probably a big mistake.” She had to say it, to acknowledge it, but the admonition was softened by the press of her lips against the strong line of his jaw.
“Probably,” he agreed, his hands coasting over her back, to the flare of her hips.
Georgie sighed with pleasure, savoring the hardness of his body against hers. “I don’t think I care.”
“Not a bit,” he agreed, his lips following the arc of her collarbone.
Georgie allowed him to lead her, guiding her towards the bed. Like everything else in the house, it was covered with dust, but she was beyond caring. She shivered, both from the cold and from anticipation.
She watched as he pulled off the dust covers that shrouded the bed, revealing the burgundy damask coverlet. It seemed so strange to her that the house had simply been closed up as is. No personal items had been claimed or retrieved by relatives. It seemed rather sad and made her wonder if the woman who’d lived there had been lonely.
Turning back to Sam, she saw him shedding his trousers, revealing parts of himself that defied even her naughtiest of fantasies. “Oh my,” she breathed, staring at the thick length of his cock. It was perfect in every way.
He moved towards her then, every muscle rippling in the light of the fire—a beautiful sight to behold. “I don’t like being the only naked person in the room.”
Georgie felt a moment’s hesitation then… panic and self-doubt rearing their ugly head. She wasn’t thin, her thighs and her tummy would never be firm. Cellulite, stretch marks and about every other imperfection she could think of were all there in abundance. Would he be repulsed by her? Would he change his mind? Or worse, was the attraction a lie and he was only using her because it seemed convenient?
Looking at him again, Georgie decided it simply didn’t matter. She’d wanted him from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him, and if this was her only chance to have him, so be it. Reaching for the makeshift fastening of her toga, she allowed the fabric to fall, baring her to him comp
letely.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her. The urge to cover herself, to retreat nudged at her, but she ignored it. It’d taken her a long time to learn to love her body, to embrace her curves, and maybe there were times when she still struggled, but she wasn’t going to let this be one of them.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about having you naked.” His admission sounded gruff, his voice deepened with desire.
“Well you’re not imagining it now.” Her reply came out as flippant, though she felt anything but.
“No. My imagination failed to do you justice. You’re utterly perfect, Georgie.”
The words flowed through her, making her feel powerful and sexy. “Don’t tell me. Show me.” Georgie lay back on the bed, reclining against the pillows. Watching as he moved closer to her, the fire cast intimate shadows on his perfect body and made her ache with wanting him. She wanted to touch him, to feel the firmness of his flesh and she wanted to taste him. Then, he was there beside her, his hands gliding over her skin, his lips on hers and all thought fled.
The man could kiss. As his teeth nipped at her lower lip and his tongue gently soothed the sting, she wanted more. The taste of him felt addictive. Wrapping her arms around him, Georgie dug her nails into the warm skin of his back, urging him closer, inviting him to take them both to the edge.
“You’re rushing.” The words, filled with both accusation and amusement, were punctuated by the glide of his tongue over the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Haven’t we wasted enough time?”
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