Spontaneously, she decided to surprise him. She popped into her favorite patisserie and grabbed some indulgent salted chocolate tarts. It could be their reward for going outside, assuming she could convince Lennon to walk with her. It was a very date-like thing to do and the thought made her grin. She got off the elevator at his floor, slipped her coat off, and knocked on his door.
Maybe she should have put on some fresh lip gloss, but he didn’t seem to care whether she wore makeup or not.
The chain rattled as Lennon unlocked the door, and then he pulled it wide open. The first thing that hit her was an overwhelming smell of alcohol.
* * *
“Gee-orr-gia!” Lennon slurred as he opened the door. “God, you are so fucking pretty. Come on in.”
He gestured into the room and lost his balance. Quickly, he reached for the doorframe and held on tight to remain upright. Fuck, he was hammered. Waves of nausea sloshed in his stomach. His head spun as he tried to think of something else to say, but he was beyond drunk and he knew it.
So did she. The wrinkle of her nose was quickly replaced by a look of disappointment he could feel all the way to his toes.
He shouldn’t have answered the door. Shouldn’t have let her in when he knew his guard was down, his filter nonexistent. But she had been standing outside in the hall biting on her lower lip. Those beautiful plump lips he’d seen wrapped around his cock, her cheeks all hollowed out as she’d pleasured him. She turned to look down the hallway, and he saw the perfection that was her ass in that tight pencil skirt, and suddenly all he could think of was playing secretary, which included her taking notes while bent over the dining room table.
“Lennon,” she said primly as she walked past him, her black stilettos clicking on the floor. Every tap of her heels etched a rhythm onto his heart. She didn’t kiss him. And even through the numb blanket of alcohol, embarrassment flooded in. He’d disappointed her. He’d disappointed himself. Again.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her until she was flush against his chest. “Don’t I get a kiss hello?”
He pressed his lips to hers, savoring the way her breasts were pressed against his chest, how good they looked in her white fitted shirt. Business attire had never turned him on especially, but now all bets were off. Plus, there were two of her as he struggled to focus. Four perfect tits to admire. He snorted at the thought.
Her hands pressed on his chest. Shit, she wasn’t smiling. Those bottomless eyes of hers were as guarded as he’d felt at the clinic he’d attended early that morning. “You smell like a bottle of Jack, and it’s not even nine o’clock.”
The words weren’t in jest. She actually meant them. He pulled his T-shirt away from his chest and sniffed it. “I smell ocean fresh, just like the fabric softener said.” He laughed because it was fucking funny.
He caught Georgia’s eyes then and hated the disappointment he saw there. Fuck it. She had no idea what he’d been through today.
“Bonus points for doing your laundry,” she said dryly. Her eyes flitted around his apartment, and he was relieved he’d taken the time to tidy it that morning before he’d left for the hospital. Now he had a new compression sock. Now he knew what his prosthetic options were. Now he’d sat down with the occupational therapist and knew what “desensitizing” meant and why he needed to do it. Now they would all get off his fucking case and leave him alone. At least for a little while.
“Knock knock,” he said. There’d been a little kid at the prosthetic clinic who was nonstop with the knock-knocks and had needed a leg. Lennon thought of an X-rated spin he could put on one of those jokes.
Georgia eyed him carefully. “Who’s there?”
“Genoa.”
“Genoa who?”
“Geno-I really want to slide that skirt up your thighs?” Lennon started to laugh, but Georgia remained stone-faced.
Maybe it wasn’t the best knock-knock joke, but she needed to lighten up.
“I should go. We can talk in the morning,” she said, turning toward the door. “Here. I bought us cake, but you eat both pieces to sober up.” The bottom dropped out of his world as she reached for the handle. He didn’t want her to leave.
“Wait,” he said, stumbling toward her. Damn, the room was spinning and he could barely keep himself upright. He placed the bag she’d given him down on the table.
Metallica’s “Sad but True” blasted through the apartment, hardly conducive to whatever Georgia had stopped by for. He reached for his phone and changed it to classic Zeppelin, dropping the sound down by half.
“I missed you today,” he said, meaning every word. After the time they’d spent together over the weekend, his apartment and life had felt quite empty. Never had he hung out with a woman like Georgia. Smart, witty, but so contained. There was an air about her that made her seem like she was wrapped in some kind of . . . damn, shield. Like if he managed to unwrap her she would just explode into herself. And it would be fucking beautiful.
She was composed now as she looked around. Knowing her, she’d worked twelve hours before landing on his doorstep. She’d probably seen clients around the world and written a medical article before lunch, and yet she still looked as beautiful as she had when she’d come apart in his arms . . . arm. Fuck. Why couldn’t he get his thoughts together to say something that would lead them both back there?
Why couldn’t he just say something to at least make her stay?
He was suddenly embarrassed by his physical state, even though he’d needed a drink, something to take the edge off the fact his prosthetic appointment had been the splash of cold water to the face he’d been expecting.
Needing a moment, he walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Placing it between his knees, he cracked the lid open, a little spilling over and wetting his jeans.
Nervously, he took a few sips. “I’m sorry, Gia,” he said quietly.
“For what?”
“For being drunk. Again.” He offered her the water and she took it from him only to put it straight onto the kitchen counter.
The stiffness went out of her shoulders. “Lennon,” she said, taking hold of his hand. Her fingers felt small in his, fragile even. Surgeon’s hands. Like the ones that had removed his arm. Someone just like her had made the decision as he’d lain on an operating able that his arm wasn’t worth saving. What if they’d rushed the decision to get home, to go to the golf course? Lennon shook his head. Fuck.
“I want to see where this goes,” she said. “I wish I had super-sexy words and big gestures to explain it, but I don’t. But this,” she said, gesturing between the two of them, “this can’t happen if you keep drinking like this. I don’t want to spend time with someone who is drunk. I like you sober.”
I don’t want to be this person.
I want to be the person you have in mind.
I want your hands on me.
But I don’t know how.
Lead me, Georgia, please.
Show me how to navigate this . . . this . . . fuck.
Show me how to be in a relationship.
With you.
Show me how to do this.
“I like me sober. I like me with two arms too,” he added quietly.
Georgia stepped into him and placed her arms around his waist. “It doesn’t matter to me how many you have.” She pressed her head into his chest.
Fuck. How did he stop his head from spinning? He’d drunk the last third of the bottle just before she’d arrived. Instead of sobering up, he was feeling worse. Diving into a bottle had seemed like a good idea, but now he realized that if it was a choice between escaping his problems with alcohol or with the woman in his arms, he’d pick her every day.
“Take care of me,” he whispered against her neck. “I’m lost, Gia.”
“I know you are,” she replied quietly. “But this isn’t the answer.”
He nodded against her shoulder. He’d never been a sloppy drunk, but for some reason, tears threatened to fall
. It wasn’t the alcohol that was opening him up to crying. It was the sum of everything. It was the beauty of having someone to hold onto, to have someone hold on to him while it all crashed over him in a wave.
“I’m tired,” he admitted.
“And I’m here for you,” she said, her hands running up and down his back. “Let’s take care of you,” she said.
He let her lead him to his bedroom. Quietly, she lifted his T-shirt over his head, then nudged him onto the bed. He tumbled onto the mattress with no grace whatsoever and began to laugh, the sound frantic to even him. Lord knew what Georgia must be thinking. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes. But she gripped his chin and made him face her.
“I’m not going to say it’s going to be okay, because that’s glib. I have no idea how things are going to turn out. But I’m here for you, and I’ll pick you up a thousand times over if that’s what is required to get you through this. Whether you and I are still together at the end of all this is on you, Lennon. Do you understand that?”
I need you to get through this.
I need a reason to try.
My music isn’t enough.
Give me a reason, Gia.
Love me for who I am.
See beneath this. Pick me. Choose me.
Just don’t leave me.
Lennon nodded.
Georgia stood and left the room, and he fought the tears that burned in his eyes. He’d wanted to do nothing more than hold her through the night because the feel of her reminded him that he was still here, that his heart still beat in his chest. And she’d left.
Alone, he wriggled out of his shorts. Drunk, naked, and . . . fuck, he hated the word “vulnerable.” It was such a pussy word. If he had half a brain cell more, he’d probably know what the exact definition was, but he knew how it felt. To be alone. To be exposed. To not be worth anything to anyone.
He flopped back onto the bed and laid his head back against the pillow. The ceiling spun when he closed his eyes so he opened them. Shit, it spun with them open too.
Footsteps in the hallway made his heart race. Georgia stepped back into the bedroom with a glass of water and a couple of pills. “I’m not an advocate for pain medication abuse, but you’re going to need these in the night,” she said, offering him two painkillers.
Speechless that she was still here taking care of him, he took what she offered, swallowing the pills.
His eyes followed her as she wandered to the window and closed the curtains. When she finished, she removed the pins that were keeping her hair in place. He couldn’t stop staring at the way her hair fell in soft waves onto her shoulders. It was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes.
CHAPTER TEN
“Hey.”
The voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a really long tunnel. Georgia could only just make out the words but decided to ignore it by pulling the sheets further over her head.
Somebody laughed, at least she thought so. But she couldn’t be sure.
The voice went away. Left alone, she snuggled further into the cocoon of soft blankets.
Except they lifted, and somebody with very cold limbs got in next to her.
“Ah!” she squealed, half-panicked, half-pissed. She rolled over and threw back the covers at the same time only to see Lennon—a very naked Lennon—lying next to her.
He’d been drunk, and she hadn’t wanted to leave him. “You’re cold,” she said, flopping back on to the bed.
He lay on his back, something he did, she’d realized, because the pain was worse when he lay on his side. “And you are wearing my favorite T-shirt, so I guess we’re even.”
She doubted that made them even, because he was naked, and aroused, but she looked down at the T-shirt anyway. “Metallica?” she asked, touching the name on the buttery soft cotton.
“All the way, baby. That’s a vintage T-shirt from the Black Album tour, 1991.” He tugged her over to him, and she fell against his chest.
“Why aren’t you still asleep, or hungover?” she said, fully aware she sounded grumpy. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t had coffee yet. She laid her head over his heart; felt it beat slow and steady.
His gruff laugh resonated through his chest. “I don’t sleep.”
Georgia opened her eyes and looked at him. “Because of your injury. I’m sure you can get some help with that if you speak to your doctor.” There were always options—increased therapy, different meds, until the right combination brought relief.
“I’ve never slept. I’ve been an insomniac for decades,” he said casually.
There had been periods in med school when she had gone for days without a proper night’s sleep. And somewhere along the line, she learned to sleep in a method similar to the way a camel stored food. She could go for days with minimal rest as long as eventually she could sleep like the dead for a weekend and catch it back up. Like a car, she could run with her fuel tank close to empty, as long as there was a gas station in sight.
Georgia lifted onto one elbow, aware that her hair was likely a mess and that the light mascara she had worn for work the previous day had probably progressed into raccoon-type circles around her eyes. “That isn’t healthy,” she said.
“Probably not, but it’s how it has always been.”
There was a sadness to his tone, and a flicker of worry fluttered through her. He said it in the same weary tone he’d used when he’d told her to let him go. Michael, one of her med school friends, led a sleep clinic in Jersey. She wondered if he’d agree to a consult if Lennon were willing.
Gently, she slid back down against him. His skin was soft, and it was now warm to the touch. While she wasn’t certain how she knew, it was crystal clear that he needed physical contact right now, and she wanted to be the one to give it to him.
“Can we talk about last night, Lennon?” She pressed her lips to his chest. His fingertips trailed along her arm and he brushed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Do we have to?” he asked, sadly.
“You don’t want to talk about it?” Her own fingers traced circles around his hip bone.
“Not really,” he said, rolling onto his side with only a slight wince. “But I owe you an apology. I’m sorry you got to see me like that.”
“Are you sorry because I saw you, or sorry because of your behavior, or sorry that you are relying on alcohol rather than dealing with problems?”
Lennon looked to his fingertips, which were slowly creeping over her hip, along her ribs, until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, causing her to shiver. “All of the above.”
Georgia faced him. “Talk to me.” She shivered as he pushed the T-shirt up her thigh. “Or did you have something else in mind?”
His eyes met hers, and the lust and determination she saw there was a heady combination. “I will talk to you, I promise. This morning.” He cupped her breast in his hand and massaged it gently. “But first, I need you, Georgia. I need to know we’re okay.”
Were they? The more time she spent with him, the less it felt like a fling. There was no way she could do something as intimate as have sex with him and not develop deeper feelings for him than she already had. Yet she’d been mad when she’d realized he was drunk again. But there were so many more moments when he wasn’t like that. When he was baking cookies with her, and making her laugh, and encouraging her to take a breather. And when he looked at her like he was doing now, like he could devour her in three easy bites, it was impossible to say no, impossible to put the brakes on or to change direction. “We’re on the same page,” she said. “I want this, too.”
“Thank fuck for that because last night, when you lay sleeping in that sexy-ass T-shirt of mine, I lay right here and watched you, thinking of all the different things I wanted to do with you.” His hand moved from her breast and slid underneath the covers to grip himself firmly. “You’ve had me hard most of the night and didn’t even know it. And all I can think of right
now is proving just how good my imagination can be.”
The gruffness of his voice and the way she could see his hand moving up and down his erection had her pressing her knees together. “I think that should be my job,” she said, sliding her hand under the covers to join his.
Lennon was smiling when he pressed his lips to hers and murmured, “I think so too.” He slid his hand from beneath hers and she gripped him tightly, just as she had four days earlier in her apartment. It would be wrong of her to pretend that she hadn’t thought about what it would feel like to have sex with him. She’d thought about it several times a day, in fact, and even more at night when she’d slept in her apartment alone.
She opened her lips for him and groaned as his tongue slid inside. At some point this morning he’d brushed his teeth, and while she hadn’t, she didn’t have it in her to care. Not when his hand was firmly gripping the cheek of her butt. He tugged her more closely to him, her arm trapped between the two of them while his dick twitched in her hand.
Suddenly, he gripped her wrist. “I’ve been on edge all night. Too much more of that and this is going to be over before it even really started.”
He was studying her, his eyes dark and hooded, his expression loaded. And he didn’t blink away like he often did. He held her gaze as he brought his palm to her cheek, cupping her face gently. If it weren’t so damn silent in the room, she could’ve sworn there was a conversation going on. The gestures were so small that had she not been so close, close enough that she could feel his breath on the side of her face, she would never have seen them. An imperceptible nod of the head, the tiniest shrug of the shoulders, a whisper, a sigh. His pupils dilated, his fingers tightened on her skin to hold her close. If she had to guess, he was arguing with himself.
Suddenly all that mattered was soothing him. Helping him calm himself from whatever was churning him up inside. So she copied his action. She brought her hand to his cheek and allowed her thumb to stroke his stubble. “Make love to me, Lennon,” she said quietly, before pressing her lips to his.
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