“You haven’t seen me go Mama Bear yet.” Georgia considered her and thought about giving her another piece of her mind, but decided to give it a rest, surprising herself for getting so protective. But she felt a deep-seated need to defend his honor, which was so wrong on many levels, because Harlan wasn’t her mate. Harlan was the no-strings man she spent one night with. What the hell was wrong with her?
Her mind drifted to the conversation they had at the breakfast table when Harlan asked if she’d be willing to come back and interview him after his album was released. Harlan obviously didn’t need protecting. Maybe she was getting in his way? He had a full life there in Lonesome, taking care of everybody—and their grandparents.
A loud knock on the door made them both jump. Max ran to the door and opened it with Georgia hurrying behind.
“We found him. He’s fine,” Harlan announced, coming into the house, taking over the foyer with his size, and looking like the ruggedly handsome hero he was, making her heart flutter.
“Oh, thank God!” Max exclaimed, thankfully not hugging him. Although when it came down to it, Georgia wouldn’t have blamed Max if she had, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see her do it. She still wanted to smack her for dragging his name in the mud.
How was she going to manage to say goodbye to him herself? How many times did she have to remind herself—Harlan wasn’t hers?
Harlan removed his hat, placing it on a console by the door, his hand on Georgia’s shoulder, sending heated sparks ripping down her spine.
“Do you save the day often?”
Harlan laughed, flashing his dimples. “Only when I need to.”
* * *
After the reunion, Harlan drove her straight back to his ranch. “Poor Jeb,” Georgia commented, admiring the pretty terrain out the passenger window. “It’s a good thing he has Max to keep an eye on him.”
Harlan ran a hand along her leg. “I’m glad he’s safe and wish him the best, but now it’s back to you and me, Peach,” he said, the huskiness lingering in his tone. “We made a pretty good team back there, didn’t we?”
“How do you mean?”
“When Max wanted to come with me to look for Jeb, you picked up on what I needed without me saying a word and brought her into the house for tea.”
Georgia brightened. She hadn’t realized how much the small gesture meant to him. “Yeah, I guess we do make a good team.”
“And I couldn’t wait to get back to you.”
“I missed you too,” she admitted, running her fingers down his arm and holding his hand.
“We’re running out of time.” He sighed. “Do you have everything you need from Boone for his story?”
“Pretty much, other than his show tonight.” Her heart sank. “We made arrangements to talk again when I get home. I might still have some questions, and Boone gave me Colt’s number. I can call you too, right?”
“Ha.” He laughed, tossing his head back. “You’ve definitely got my number.” He hesitated, side-eyeing her. “It isn’t going to be easy, saying goodbye to you.”
“I know.” Georgia shuddered inwardly at the thought.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. Why did they have to talk about it? They were just getting started.
They pulled into the driveaway and he shut off the ignition.
“Enough of the interview and sad talk.” Harlan shifted, leaning over the console. Cupping her cheeks between his large hands, a place where Georgia felt sure she could happily live out her days, Harlan kissed her upper lip, and then her lower, parting her lips with his tongue. She let out a moan against his mouth, feeling her nipples harden.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he asked, his voice edgy with restraint. “Let’s get out of this damn truck.”
They made it as far as the living room before they had their shirts off and Harlan was lying on top of her on the couch. With the late afternoon sun streaming into the living room window illuminating his face, it was almost as if the universe was trying to tell her Harlan was real and this wasn’t a dream.
This was the Harlan she wanted scorched into her memory. Harlan raw and wild, holding her face in his big hands, tunneling his fingers through her hair. “Baby, baby, baby,” he rasped, devouring her with every kiss as he crept down from her lips to kiss her neck, her collarbone, to her breasts, while he effortlessly reached around and unhooked her bra.
After three hours of lovemaking, they pried themselves away from each other.
Harlan kissed her belly, inching up between her breasts. "It’s time for me to show you off,” he whispered, planting a kiss in the notch at the base of her throat.
Georgia propped herself up on the armrest and gazed down at his beautiful face and slow, lazy grin. “I'm not sure I can move.”
He rested his head against her chest. “If you feel like barbeque, The Owl makes the best chicken in town.”
“That could be fun,” she cooed, lazily playing with his hair. She shifted, lifting herself up on her elbows and straightening. “And thanks to you, I have just the thing to wear.”
Harlan chuckled with a little gleam in his eyes. “The cowboy hat, for sure.”
20
Harlan felt Georgia’s pace slowing. With her small hand tucked in his, she came to a full stop when they reached the building. She raised her eyebrows, peeking up at him from under the brim of her hat, as if to ask are you sure this is the right place?
“The Owl isn’t much to look at on the outside,” Harlan explained, pointing to the sign above the door. Locals enjoyed the fact that their favorite bar looked like a cross between a massage parlor and a dive. The scuffed metal door and the black tinted windows offered no clues about its interior, and kept the tourists away.
He grinned, opening the heavy door. Georgia tossed him a pretty smile before cautiously stepping inside the building to a dark room with heavily paneled walls.
The Owl had been Harlan's home away from home when he first started to take his music seriously. With the massive dark cherry bar on the left, permanent stale beer smell, and small stage in the back, it felt welcoming. To Harlan, the scuffed floors covered with bits of popcorn and peanut shells were just part of the charm.
By midnight the tiny dance floor in front of the stage and the few scattered tables around the room would be packed—the whole space would become a dance floor with standing room only.
Before his first album, Harlan tested his songs there, having an open invitation to play whenever and whatever he wanted. Linda was generous that way, and had been running the bar since her father passed.
Linda caught his eye while wiping down the bar. She threw the rag over her shoulder and shot her hand up.
Harlan slipped his hand around Georgia's waist and snuck down next to her ear, inhaling the delicious fragrances of her skin. “C’mon I want you to meet someone." He ushered her over to Linda.
“Hey, Harlan." Linda greeted him with her never-ending, effervescent lilt. She grinned at Georgia, threw an approving smirk at Harlan before extending her hand. "Hey, honey. I’m Linda."
She shook her hand. “Georgia.”
“Peach.” Linda giggled, brushing an errant strand of blonde hair away from her face. Harlan shook his head, impressed with Linda’s consistent ability to peg someone in thirty seconds flat. She pointed to two stools. “Have a seat. What can I get you?”
"What's Peyton cooking tonight?"
“Meat off the bone ribs or barbeque chicken.”
“Looks like we’re in luck. Should we make it two chickens?” he asked Georgia.
“Absolutely.” She settled on the stool beside him.
“And two drafts?”
Georgia nodded in approval, relaxed, all smiles. Harlan soaked up her cheerfulness, loving the chance to watch her enjoy one of his favorite places on the planet. Was it too soon to take her on a trip? He didn’t stop himself from ogling her curves and couldn’t imagine not seeing her again soon. Maybe he’d take her somewhere warm, where she could show off that body of h
ers. Maybe the tropics?
“Two beers. You got it,” Linda said, quickly grabbing a couple of glasses as Harlan got comfortable watching Linda pour. She served them, carefully placing the glasses on coasters. “Enjoy!” She smiled. “Dinner’s coming right up.” Linda started to leave and then turned back with a grin. “It's good to see you out and about, Harlan.” She winked before taking off through the back door leading to the kitchen.
Harlan swiveled to Georgia. “You ready?” he asked, raising his glass for a toast.
“I’m way ahead of you,” she teased, coming in and kissing his cheek before clinking her glass against his. “To the story.”
“Page one,” Harlan said under his breath. They sipped, gazing at each other over the rims.
“Hey, Harlan." A light, breezy voice called out, and he caught a glimmer of something blonde and busty in his peripheral vision. He knew in a second who it was, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d get away with ignoring her. He wasn’t that type of man anyway.
“Small town,” Harlan whispered to Georgia before he turned to find Kelly Sanders strutting confidently toward him. He set his beer down and wrapped his arm around Georgia, giving his old fling a fair and solid signal.
He could hardly be called a man-slut, but Harlan wasn't a saint, either. Before his self-imposed exile, Harlan had two women in town he'd call to keep him warm, and Kelly was one of them. Pretty, divorced with a young daughter, but he'd put the brakes on the relationship when Kelly wanted to introduce him to her little girl.
Not that he didn’t like children. Harlan just didn't want to give Kelly the wrong impression or make it difficult for her family. He cared for her, but after several dates knew Kelly wouldn't be the woman he’d settle down with.
“Kelly,” he said, rising, giving her a her a friendly hug.
“How’ve you been?” Kelly’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement he knew too well. “I know you’re not touring these days, so how come I never see you around?”
Not about to get into a discussion, Harlan smiled magnanimously and let the question sail to the rafters. He had a perfectly clear conscience, knowing he clearly and carefully did not lead Kelly on.
He ran his hand up Georgia’s back and kept it there. “Kelly, this is Georgia.”
“Oh...” Her left eyebrow rose a fraction. Kelly teetered back in her high-heeled boots as if she hadn’t seen her. “Georgia,” she stated, like it was a foreign word. She fiddled with her hands, eyes roaming to Harlan and then to Georgia.
“Nice to meet you, Kelly.” Georgia cut through the crap with a friendly smile.
The gesture seemed to knock Kelly out of her funk, because her mouth curved into a gracious smile. “And what brings you to Lonesome?” Kelly zeroed in, inching closer to Peach.
“Boone,” Harlan interjected. “We're here to see Boone.” He gestured to the stage.
Kelly followed his gaze and then leveled it back on Georgia, and Harlan had had enough.
“Enjoy the show, Kelly. Good to see you again."
She nodded, without any obvious signs of hurt. “You too.” Kelly fluttered her eyelashes. “It's always a good time with Boone,” she commented, scanning the bar, and left.
With an inward sigh of relief, Harlan resumed his place at the bar and grabbed his beer.
“Popular man.” Georgia bumped him with her shoulder. He detected a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but thankfully she didn't appear to be the jealous type. Which was a good thing, because The Owl was the only place for music in town, and when Boone played, a typical slow weeknight out turned into a major event. Harlan was sure to run into friends and might see his other acquaintance before the night was over.
“And here you go,” Linda said, depositing their plates. She handed them their silverware bundled up in napkins.
“Do you smell that?” Georgia asked, waving the scent of garlic, cayenne, and spices up to her nose. She unrolled the napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “This is gonna be to die for.” She gathered a forkful of chicken.
“What did I tell you?” he asked with a grin as soon as she finished her first mouthful.
“Best. Ever.” She said, giving him a thumbs-up, looking like she belonged there.
“Hey, you never told me where you’re originally from.” He chuckled, watching her take another big bite.
She waved her hand in front of her mouth and finished swallowing. “Florida. And then we moved when I was in high school. When my grandparents sold their place in Lennox and moved to the Berkshires, my mom and dad—they were still together then—moved to the Berkshires to be closer to them. They still live there. I’m a three-hour drive away.”
“Now it makes sense.” He took hold of his napkin. “I didn’t think someone from New York would eat barbeque like that,” he teased, wiping a smudge of sauce off the corner of her mouth. Zeroing in on her sexy lips, he kissed the spot where the sauce had been, wanting to skip the damn show and drag her off somewhere private. “Have I told you I’m into you?”
She gave him a secretive smile and ran her hand up his thigh. “The feeling is mutual,” she said in a silky voice, just as the houselights flickered. “I guess they’re about to start.” Georgia leaned over so she could see around him, while Harlan turned to watch Boone and his band getting into position. His brother gave him a wave while he moved the mic stand to the center of the stage.
21
There was no way Georgia could possibly miss dark-haired, devilishly mischievous Boone, even if he wasn't waving, but the man sitting beside her had stolen her heart. She was in deep trouble. The kind of trouble people cried themselves to sleep over after they got home to New York.
She didn’t have any claims on Harlan. Logically she knew this. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a niggling of jealousy every time a beautiful woman practically broke her neck catching a look at him. Even if folks didn’t wave, or come over and say hi, Georgia could feel the hum surrounding Harlan like bees swarming honey.
He and his brothers were probably the most exciting thing to ever exist in Lonesome, Montana.
His hand brushed against her bare arm, making tingles of excitement skip up to her neck as he shifted in his stool. Harlan was, after all, her date. He wasn’t spending time with anyone else, and she was determined to make the most out of every second they had left.
“Are you having fun?” Harlan asked in a husky whisper before ducking the brim of his hat under hers and leaning in. She held her breath as she felt the stubble on his cheek graze her skin. His yummy scent filled her senses.
Harlan kissed her cheek, slowly, softly, and carrying a punch, taking her back to their private, sexy moments. A feeling of warmth and longing ran through her, as if his smell and touch had awakened a kind of muscle memory deep within.
Georgia already knew what his kisses tasted like, and it only made her desire him more. Another kiss and they would be skin-on-skin back at the ranch, on the couch, in bed—all the places she’d heard him moan and call out her name. He gave her another peck before pulling back.
“I’m having so much fun,” she whispered.
Eyes dark and full of unspoken heat locked on hers, letting her know he felt the sparks too. That he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Feeling everyone in the bar watching, she tried to contain her giddiness, but her mouth won and curved up in a full smile.
Lonesome was his town, and now that Harlan was finally feeling comfortable enough to be out in public, Georgia wasn’t about to embarrass him by throwing herself at him, climbing on his lap, reaching around his broad shoulders and pulling him in for a deep kiss, but that’s what she wanted to do. “I can't remember the last time I was out on a date.”
His fiery gaze locked on her. “Oh…” He grinned, tilting his head, licking his lips. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
The volume of chatter lowered as customers found a wall to lean against or a place to set down their beers.
When th
e lights dimmed and a few amber spotlights flicked on, lighting the stage, she and Harlan clutched their beers and swiveled to face the band.
In a dark blue button-down shirt, dark jeans, and black hat, Boone swaggered onto the stage with a guitar slung across his chest. He stepped up to the microphone while the drummer took a seat behind the cans, and Boone’s friend Bobby and another tall guitarist moved into position behind him.
Boone waited, looking out over the small crowd. And after a few moments of shuffling, and chairs dragging across the wooden floor, the room quieted. There wasn’t a sound until the microphone made a muffled bang when Boone took it out of the stand and held it.
“Thank you for coming out tonight,” Boone’s deep, luxurious voice cut across the room, making her heart jump because it sounded so much like Harlan’s. The depth and richness were unmistakably Beckett, and Georgia could only imagine how the two brothers sounded singing together.
She bet their harmonies were perfect in the way only siblings could sound. Georgia took another swig of her beer and adjusted her legs so the heels of her boots wedged over the low metal bar on the stool.
“I’d like to play a few new songs I’ve been working on,” Boone explained with a half laugh. It was obvious by his jovial, conversational tone that he was among friends and had done this before. “Hey, Linda,” he shouted, waving to the bar. Georgia pivoted to watch Linda behind her waving back. “Thanks for letting us play tonight.”
“Any time, Boone. Any time.” Linda grinned before getting back to her customers on the other end of the bar.
The first tune was a slow ballad, and it was then that she clearly heard the difference between Harlan and Boone’s voices. They were similar, for sure, but Boone had a little more of a twang and a higher range. Murmurs and shuffling followed as couples moved out onto the dance floor.
Linda took their dinner plates away, and Harlan ordered two more beers, inching his stool closer to hers so their thighs were touching.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 161