“Take me with you,” she said as she followed closely behind.
“No.” He shook his head. There wasn’t a chance that he was going to be seen with Georgeanne Howard. Not a chance in hell.
Warm water ran over Georgeanne’s chilled flesh as she slowly worked shampoo into her hair. Before she’d entered the shower fifteen minutes ago, John had asked her to keep it short because he wanted to shower before he went out for the evening. Georgeanne had other plans.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back to rinse the suds away and cringed to think of what the cheap shampoo was doing to the ends of her spiral perm. She thought of the Paul Mitchell packed in her suitcase in the back of Virgil’s Rolls-Royce, and she felt like crying as she ripped open a sample packet of conditioner she’d found beneath the bathroom sink. A pleasant floral scent filled the steam of the shower as her thoughts turned from shampoo and conditioner to the bigger problem at hand.
Ernie had left for the evening, and John planned to follow him. Georgeanne couldn’t very well persuade John to let her stay for a few days if he wasn’t even in the house. When he’d announced that they could be friends, she’d felt a moment of relief, only to have it dashed by his second announcement that he was going out.
Georgeanne took great care to work the conditioner into her hair before she stepped back into the stream of warm water. For a brief moment she thought about using sex to entice John into remaining home for the night, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Not so much because she found the idea morally distasteful, but because she didn’t like sex. The few times she’d allowed men to become that intimate with her, she’d felt acutely self-conscious. So self-conscious that she couldn’t enjoy herself.
By the time she emerged from the shower, the water had turned cold and she greatly feared that she smelled like manly soap. She quickly dried herself, then dressed in a pair of emerald lace underwear and a matching bra. She’d bought the fancy underwear in anticipation of her honeymoon, but she couldn’t say she was real sorry that Virgil would never see her in it.
The ceiling fan pulled the steam from the room, but the silk robe she’d borrowed from John clung to her moist skin as she tied the belt around her waist. Despite the soft texture of the material, the robe was very masculine and smelled of cologne. The pitch black silk hit her just below the knees, while a big red and white Japanese symbol had been embroidered on the back.
She ran the big teeth of her comb through her hair and pushed away the memory of her Estee Lauder lotion and powder locked in Virgil’s car. Pulling open cabinet drawers, she looked for anything she might use in her beauty regime. She found a few toothbrushes, a tube of Crest, a bottle of foot powder, a can of shave cream, and two razors.
“That’s it?” With a frown marring her forehead, she turned and rummaged through her overnight case. She pushed aside the plastic container of prescription birth control pills she’d started to take three days prior and pulled out her cosmetics. She found it extremely unjust that John could look so handsome with such a paltry effort while she had to spend hundreds of dollars and a good amount of time on her appearance.
Lifting a towel, she dried a spot on the mirror and peered at herself. Through the circle she’d wiped on the glass, she brushed her teeth, then applied mascara to her lashes and blusher to her cheeks.
A knock on the bathroom door startled her so bad she almost streaked her face with a tube of Luscious Peach lipstick.
“Georgie?”
“Yes, John?”
“I need in there, remember?”
She remembered, all right. “Oh, I forgot.” She fluffed the hair around her face with her fingers and critically viewed her appearance. She smelled like a man and looked less than her best.
“Are you coming out anytime tonight?”
“Give me a second,” she said, and tossed her cosmetics into the overnight case sitting on the closed toilet seat lid. “Should I put the wet clothes over the towel rack?” she asked as she gathered them from the white and black linoleum floor.
“Yeah. Sure,” he answered through the door. “Are you going to be much longer?”
Georgeanne carefully laid her wet bra and underwear over the aluminum rod, then covered them with the green shorts and T-shirt. “All done,” she said as she opened the door.
“What happened to keeping it short?” He held up his hands as if he were catching rain in his palms.
“Wasn’t that short? I thought that was short.”
His hands fell to his sides. “You were in there so long, I’m surprised your skin isn’t wrinkled like a California raisin.” Then he did what she’d expected the moment she’d opened the door. He let his gaze wander down her body, then climb back up again. A spark of interest flashed behind his eyes, and she relaxed. He liked her. “Did you use all the hot water?” he asked as a deep scowl darkened his features.
Georgeanne’s eyes widened. “I guess I did.”
“It doesn’t matter now anyway, damn it,” he cursed as he turned his wrist over and looked at his watch. “Even if I left now, the bar will run out of oysters before I can get there.” He turned and walked down the hall toward the living room. “I guess I’ll eat beer nuts and stale popcorn.”
“If you’re hungry, I could cook something for you.” Georgeanne followed close behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I don’t think so.”
She wasn’t about to let this opportunity to impress him pass her by. “I’m a wonderful cook. I could make you a beautiful dinner before you go out.”
John stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to face her. “No.”
“But I’m hungry also,” she said, which wasn’t precisely the truth.
“You didn’t get enough to eat earlier?” He buried his hands up to his knuckles in the front pocket of his jeans and shifted his weight to one foot. “Ernie sometimes forgets that not everyone eats as little as he does. You should have said something.”
“Well, I didn’t want to impose any more than I already have,” she said, and smiled sweetly at him. She could see his hesitation and pressed a little further. “And I didn’t want to hurt your grandfather’s feelings, but I hadn’t eaten all day and was starving. But I know how older people are. They eat soup or salad and call it a meal while the rest of us call it first course.”
His lips curved slightly.
Georgeanne took the slight smile as a sign of acquiescence and walked past him into the kitchen. For a jock who admitted he didn’t like to cook, the room was surprisingly modern. She opened the almond-colored refrigerator and mentally inventoried its contents. Ernie had mentioned that the kitchen was well stocked, and he hadn’t been kidding.
“Can you really make gravy with tuna fish?” he asked from the doorway.
Recipes flipped through her head like a Rolodex as she opened a cupboard filled with a variety of pasta and spices. She glanced at John, who stood with one shoulder propped against the frame. “Don’t tell me you want creamed tuna? Some people like it, but if I never have to see or smell it again, I could live quite happy.”
“Can you make a big breakfast?”
Georgeanne shut the cupboard and turned to face him. The silky black belt at her waist came loose. “Of course,” she said as she tightly retied it into a bow. “But why would you want breakfast when you have all that wonderful seafood in your refrigerator?”
“I can have seafood anytime,” he answered with a shrug.
She’d accumulated a variety of culinary skills from years of cooking classes and was eager to impress him. “Are you sure you want breakfast? I make a killer pesto and my linguine with clam sauce is to die for.”
“How about biscuits and gravy?”
Disappointed she asked, “You’re kidding, right?” Georgeanne couldn’t remember being taught how to make biscuits and gravy, it was just something she’d always known how to do. She supposed it had been bred into her. “I thought you wanted oysters.”
He
shrugged again. “I’d rather have a big, greasy breakfast. A real southern artery clogger.”
Georgeanne shook her head and opened the refrigerator again. “We’ll fry up all the pork we can find.”
“We?”
“Yep.” She placed a summer ham on the counter, then opened the freezer. “I need you to slice the ham while I make biscuits.”
His dimple creased his tan cheek as he smiled, and he pushed himself away from the doorframe. “I can do that.”
The pleasure of his smile sent a flutter to the pit of Georgeanne’s stomach. As she placed a package of sausage links in the sink and ran hot water over them, she imagined that with a smile like his, he’d have no problem getting women to do anything he wanted anytime he wanted it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, as she turned off the water and began pulling flour and other ingredients out of cupboards.
“How much of this do I slice?” he asked instead of answering her question.
Georgeanne glanced across her shoulder at him. He held the ham in one hand and a wicked-looking knife in the other. “As much as you think you’ll eat,” she responded. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” She dumped flour, salt, and baking powder into a bowl without measuring.
“Because,” he began, and hacked off a hunk of ham, “it’s none of your business.”
“We’re friends, remember,” she reminded him, dying to know details of his personal life. She spooned Crisco into the flour and added, “Friends tell each other things.”
The hacking stopped and he looked up at her with his blue eyes. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
“Okay,” she said, figuring she could always tell a little white lie if she had to.
“No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
For some reason his confession made her stomach flutter a little more.
“Now it’s your turn.” He tossed a piece of ham in his mouth, then asked, “How long have you known Virgil?”
Georgeanne pondered the question as she moved past John and took milk from the refrigerator. Should she lie, tell the truth, or perhaps reveal a bit of both? “A little over a month,” she answered truthfully, and added several splashes of milk to the bowl.
“Ahh,” he said through a flat smile. “Love at first sight.”
Hearing his bland, patronizing voice, she wanted to clobber him with her wooden spoon. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” She settled the bowl on her left hip and stirred as she’d seen her grandmother do a thousand times, as she herself had done too many times to count.
“No.” He shook his head and began to slice the ham once more. “Especially not between a woman like you and a man as old as Virgil.”
“A woman like me? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” she said, even though she had a pretty good idea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on.” He frowned and looked at her. “You’re young and attractive and built like a bri-like aaa…” He paused and pointed the knife at her. “There’s only one reason a girl like you marries a man who parts his hair by his left ear and combs it over the top of his head.”
“I was fond of Virgil,” she defended herself, and stirred the dough into a dense ball.
He lifted a skeptical brow. “Fond of his money, you mean.”
“That’s not true. He can be real charming.”
“He can also be a real son of a bitch, but being that you’ve only known him a month, you might not know that.”
Careful not to lose her temper and throw something at him again, and in turn damage her chances of receiving an invitation to stay for a few more days, Georgeanne prudently placed the bowl on the counter.
“What made you run out on your wedding?”
She certainly wasn’t about to confess her reasons to him. “I just changed my mind is all.”
“Or did it finally dawn on you that you were going to have to have sex with a man old enough to be your grandfather for the rest of his life?”
Georgeanne folded her arms beneath her breasts and scowled at him. “This is the second time you’ve brought up the subject. Why are you so fascinated by my relationship with Virgil?”
“Not fascinated. Just curious,” he corrected, and continued to cut a few more slices of ham, before setting down the knife.
“Has it occurred to you that I might not have had sex with Virgil?”
“No.”
“Well, I haven’t.”
“Bullshit.”
Her hands fell to her sides and curled into fists. “You have a dirty mind and a filthy mouth.”
Nonchalant, John shrugged and leaned one hip into the edge of the counter. “Virgil Duffy didn’t make his millions by leaving anything to chance. He wouldn’t have paid for a sweet young bed partner without testing the springs.”
Georgeanne wanted to yell in his face that Virgil hadn’t paid for her, but he had. He just hadn’t received a return on his investment. If she’d gone through with the wedding, he would have. “I didn’t sleep with him,” she insisted while her emotions pitched from anger to hurt. Anger that he should judge her at all and hurt that he should judge her so trashy.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly and a lock of his thick hair brushed his brow as he shook his head. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t care if you slept with Virgil.”
“Then why do you keep talking about it?” she asked, and reminded herself that no matter how aggravating he was, she couldn’t lose her temper again.
“Because I don’t think you realize what you’ve done. Virgil is a very rich and powerful man. And you humiliated him today.”
“I know.” She lowered her gaze to the front of his white tank top. “I thought I might call him tomorrow and apologize.”
“Bad idea.”
She looked back up into his eyes. “Too soon?”
“Oh, yeah. Next year might be too soon. If I were you, I’d get the hell out of this state altogether. And as soon as possible.”
Georgeanne took a step forward, stopping several inches from John’s chest, and looked up at him as if she were on the edge of scared when, in truth, Virgil Duffy didn’t frighten her one bit. She felt bad for what she’d done to him today, but she knew he’d get over it. He didn’t love her. He only wanted her, and she didn’t intend to dwell on him tonight. Especially not when she had a more pressing concern, like finagling an until-you-can-get-your-life-together invitation out of John. “What’s he gonna do?” she drawled. “Hire someone to kill me?”
“I doubt he’ll go that far.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “But he could make you one miserable little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl,” she whispered, and inched closer. “Or maybe you haven’t noticed.”
John pushed away from the counter and looked down into her face. “I’m neither blind nor retarded. I noticed,” he said, and slid his hand around her waist to the small of her back. “I’ve noticed a lot about you, and if you drop that robe, I’m sure you could keep me happy and smiling for hours.” His fingers drifted up her spine and brushed between her shoulders.
Even though John stood close, Georgeanne didn’t feel threatened. His broad chest and big arms reminded her of his strength, but without a doubt, she instinctively knew she could walk away at any time. “Sugar buns, if I dropped this robe, your smile would have to be surgically removed from your face,” she teased, her voice oozing southern seduction.
He lowered his hand to her bottom and cupped her right cheek in his palm. His eyes dared her to stop him. He was testing her, seeing just how far she’d let him go. “Hell, you might be worth a little surgery,” he said, and eased her close.
Georgeanne froze for an instant, testing the sensation of his touch. Even though his hand caressed her behind, and the tips of her breasts touched his chest, she didn’t feel pawed and pulled like a piece of t
affy. She relaxed a little and slipped her palms up his chest.
Beneath her hands she felt the definition of muscle.
“But you’re not worth my career,” he said as his fingers smoothed the silk material back and forth across her behind.
“Your career?” Georgeanne rose onto the balls of her feet and placed soft kisses at the corner of his mouth. “What are you talking about?” she asked, prepared to carefully free herself from his grasp if he did something she didn’t care for.
“You,” he answered against her lips. “You’re a real good-time baby, but you’re bad for a man like me.”
“Like you?”
“I have a hard time saying no to anything excessive, shiny, or sinful.”
Georgeanne smiled. “Which am I?”
John laughed silently against her mouth. “Georgie girl, I do believe you are all three, and I’d love to find out just how bad you get, but it isn’t going to happen.”
“What isn’t?” she asked cautiously.
He pulled back far enough to look into her face. “The wild thing.”
“What?”
“Sex.”
Enormous relief washed through her. “I guess this just isn’t my lucky day,” she drawled through a big smile she tried but failed to suppress.
Chapter Four
John glanced at the folded napkin by his fork and shook his head. He couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a hat, a boat, or some sort of lid. But since Georgeanne had informed him that she’d set the table with a North-meets-South theme, he guessed it was supposed to be a hat. Two empty beer bottles sprouted yellow and white wildflowers out the long necks. Down the middle of the table, a thin line of sand and broken shells had been woven through the four lucky horseshoes that used to hang on the stone fireplace. John didn’t think Ernie would mind the use of the horseshoes, but why Georgeanne would drag all that crap to the table was beyond him.
“Would you like some butter?”
He looked across the table into her seductive green eyes and shoved a bite of warm biscuit and sausage gravy in his mouth. Georgeanne Howard was a tease, but she was also one hell of a good cook. “No.”
Simply Irresistible Page 6