“He stayed.” She said it out loud so she could taste the words, know their truth. Because of course Will had stayed, Georgia thought, struggling with the emotions trying to strangle her. Will would never leave someone behind like that. It wasn’t in him, wasn’t who he was. Except that he had, hadn’t he? In choosing to stay, he’d also chosen to leave her. Permanently.
“He stayed,” Parker agreed. “Waited for the all clear, then detonated the explosives.”
“He was killed in the blast,” she said, anger, grief, and something like pride tumbling around until she wasn’t at all sure how to feel. “I’d always assumed something like that had happened.” She glanced at Parker. “Closed casket,” she said, watching as understanding dawned. “Just sort of added to the sense I never got to say goodbye, you know?”
He nodded, and for a long time, he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know if it helps, but those kids? They went home because of your brother. So did four adults—one of whom had been missing for almost eighteen months.” Carefully, as though he wondered if his touch would be welcome, Parker pressed his leg to hers. Leaned in until his warmth bled through the cold.
“It helps,” she said, more for lack of any other reply. Of course it helped. Will had always been larger than life in Georgia’s eyes. Her touchstone, her home. It was an absence she’d felt so keenly in the first months, a loss that had pushed her to the brink. Even in her darkest moments as a child, she’d had the surety and safety of her big brother. Of knowing Will was there—it hadn’t mattered if he’d been in the room next to hers or thousands of miles away. Will’s unconditional love, his complete trust and devotion—it had been her home.
She’d tried so hard—maybe too hard—to have that with Isaac. Oh, she’d loved him, she was certain of that. But it had been . . . thin. Two-dimensional. Born of a desperation she hadn’t recognized at the time, and one that saddened her in hindsight. She’d never considered herself the sort of woman to need a man in her life. The realization should have scared her—she’d always thought herself so damn self-aware. The idea that there was this needy, clingy desperation within her, that she’d all but thrown herself at a man who didn’t want her, should scare the crap out of her.
But the truth was, her feelings for Isaac paled in comparison to the way she felt about Parker. And that terrified her.
“Thanks for telling me.” Georgia turned so she could study him. Parker was so . . . so unlike anything she’d ever expected or wanted. There was a softness about him, a gentle heart he took no care to protect. Maybe it was that openness, that vulnerability she was only beginning to understand might actually be strength, that drew her to him in a way she didn’t understand—and couldn’t bring herself to resist. No matter how much it scared her.
“Does knowing help?” he asked, staring up at her as she stood and brushed cold slush and fallen leaves from her pants.
It was a good question. One she wasn’t sure how to answer. Having the details didn’t lessen the pain of the reality, didn’t change the fact that she’d never see her brother again. Never hear him laugh or yell at him for stealing the last of her beer. In every way that mattered, Will was still gone from her life.
Except . . .
Except that wasn’t entirely true.
Georgia still had her memories of him, and now, finally, she had that last missing piece. The part of the story that confirmed what she’d long believed—Will had died in the same way he’d lived. He’d put others first, always had. And in that, Georgia was able to take some comfort.
“Yeah,” she said, realizing she meant it, “it helps.” She extended a hand, pulled Parker to his feet, running a hand down his arm, squeezing his fingers before pulling away. “I know it probably doesn’t make sense, but I feel better knowing.”
“I get it,” he said, his face an odd mix of shadows cast by the pale glow of the porch light. “And I promise you, I’m going to figure out what changed.” His expression grew hard, his voice tight and controlled. “If two men died so someone else could get rich, I promise you, they are not going to get away with it.”
All at once his strength fled and his face crumpled. “I’d do anything to bring him back to you. I’m so sor—”
She couldn’t stand it—the pain, the guilt, the absolute knowledge that when Parker said “anything,” he meant it. There was no price he wouldn’t pay to bring Will back. For her. So she swallowed her fear, went up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.
If Parker were a better man, he’d step back, chalk up Georgia’s gentle press of lips to the emotions of the moment.
Instead, he hauled her close, slanting his mouth until hers opened and their combined heat chased away the chill.
Parker kicked the door shut as he followed Georgia into the trailer, his mouth still sealed against hers. Hands dove beneath his jacket, pulling his shirt from his pants. He danced away from the icy skate of her fingers across his abs. Her mouth quirked into a grin when he arched and gasped—one part desperate to avoid her torment, one part eager for more. Panting, Parker took a step back, fighting for breath and trying to calm his racing heart. “We should . . . We should . . .” He exhaled and forced his lust-laden muscles to uncoil. “We should probably close those windows I cracked.”
“What?” Georgia asked, licking swollen lips and running a hand through her hair.
“The smell’s gone, more or less. And I’m about ready to give my left nut to be warm.” He walked into the living room, going to the small window he’d opened a few inches before following Georgia outside.
“Parker.” Her tone said stop. Turn around. Drown in everything we both want so badly.
Instead, he moved toward the kitchenette and the little window above the sink he’d opened.
“Parker.” Desperation this time. A need he understood but didn’t want to take advantage of. For Georgia, he didn’t just want to be a better man. He wanted to be the only man she’d ever need. The one she told her secrets to, the one she let comfort her, challenge her. The one she let hold her—against a wall or against his chest. Both, if he had his way. And that meant he had to be stronger than the bone-deep urge pressing him to take her, strip her, inspect her while she stood before him cold and pale and shivering with want. Everything from his mouth to points south tightened, bracing him to leap, pounce, tackle, and take. God, but he wanted to. Between them, it would be so easy to chase away all the fear, loneliness, and uncertainty with something fast and hard and exhausting.
But Parker wanted more. Releasing the pressure, taking the edge off—they’d never be enough. Not where Georgia was concerned. Not ever again. He had a piece of her now, a bit that belonged to no one else, a part she’d never shared. Until now. Until him. It made him possessive as hell. And lent him control he’d never known before.
But when she called his name again in a tiny whisper that puffed across the back of his neck, raising his hair and stoking his desire, he turned and braced himself to resist. He wanted more than she could give, and he had no right to ask for anything else. Not tonight. Not when she’d already given so much. “We should . . .”
“Just . . .” She shook her head. Whatever she’d seen on his face bolstered her confidence and chased away the insecurity he’d heard in her voice. Her full pink lips twitched. “Just shut up.” She stepped into him, nimble fingers working the buttons of his coat.
He grabbed her hands as she moved to slide the wool from his shoulders. “I . . . We’ve had a rough day,” he mumbled, forcing himself to ignore the way her hands warmed in his and reminding himself not to imagine how they’d feel against cool skin. “A harder night. I don’t want . . .” He shook his head, searching for words to explain but not offend.
“Livingston—”
He shivered. His last name should have been off-putting. Should have felt stern and bossy and all wrong falling from her lips.
“I bared my soul to you tonight. The least you can do is drop your pants.”
&
nbsp; He barked out a laugh. Only Georgia.
“Oh yeah? I should just drop trou and take it?”
He stepped back as she moved toward him.
“Might make you feel better.”
“I feel fine.” Or he would if he ignored the way his jeans grew tighter by the second.
“Might make me feel better.” She grinned and pressed herself against him, tilting her chin up, part request, part challenge.
He stepped away, right into the sink. She pinned him there, hands braced on either side of him as she gripped the stainless-steel basin. She brushed her hips against his, swaying just enough to tease at his control.
“Tell me you don’t want me, Parker.”
“I want you,” he admitted roughly, allowing himself the pleasure of pulling her hair from the ponytail she’d captured it in. “Too much. Way too much.” Every time he touched her, he worried he’d never be able to stop. That she’d become as natural and necessary as breathing. More integral than coffee. “I just don’t want to take advantage. Don’t want you to regret—”
“I’m not ever going to regret this, Parker.” The way she said it, as if the idea were so alien, so outlandish, she couldn’t even contemplate it . . .
“I’m not asking for commitment—I’m not even asking for tomorrow. Neither of us should be making promises.” She sighed and took a half step back. “Everything is . . . heightened. This situation, it’s forced us together, amplified everything. Maybe it will last and maybe it won’t. But right now?” She curled her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer. “I don’t fucking care.”
On a sigh, Parker gave in to the desire to touch. He drew the pad of a thumb along the curve of her cheek. Watched as her eyes fluttered shut.
To taste. He dipped his head, letting his mouth brush against the corner of hers before he settled over warm, soft lips that immediately opened, inviting him to savor, delve, explore.
To feel. He trailed his hands along her back until he found her denim-covered ass. He slid his hands into the back pockets of her jeans and pulled her toward him, massaging her cheeks as she thrust her hips against his. A tease. A promise. A dance he wanted to end only to start over again and again.
Releasing the sink, Georgia went to work on pushing the coat from his shoulders, then began flicking open the top several buttons on the cotton Henley he wore. “Up,” she demanded, motioning for him to raise his arms as she tugged at the hem of his shirt. In seconds she had him bare, taking the Henley and undershirt in one smooth pull over his head.
Parker had been scrutinized his entire life. Studied. Judged. And always, always, he found the weight of a stare uncomfortable and restrictive. But when Georgia stepped back to blatantly take in his chest, when she let a finger trail across his abs, when that finger dipped and danced and trembled just a bit as it came to rest against the button of his jeans? Power, exhilaration, anticipation. And the life-changing realization that he didn’t believe he’d ever feel like less than the best version of himself under Georgia’s stare.
“Seriously,” she said. “Where did these come from? You mainline sugar, drown in caffeine, and you don’t strike me as the gym-rat type. So spill.” She smiled up at him, her mouth the worst sort of tease. “Zumba? Water aerobics? Chasing squirrels in the park?”
“Yoga.”
“Yoga?” she repeated, her tone skeptical.
“Hot yoga.” He ground his hips against hers. “Wanna practice a few moves? A little downward dog, perhaps?”
“You want that?” she asked, pulling his jeans and underwear down around his ankles. “Want me on my knees, ass in the air, panting for it? Begging for it?”
He swallowed, clenching his eyes shut as she circled thumb and forefinger around the very tip of him. Not fair. “Y-yes.”
She waited until he opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I can do that. If”—her grin turned wicked—“you beat me to the bedroom.” Lightning quick, she turned and dashed for the door, her laugh ringing out, loud and clear, as Parker tripped over his own feet, still tangled in the loose fabric of his jeans and briefs, before finally shoving out of his shoes and kicking off the remainder of his clothes as he gave chase. He caught her in the hallway, her hand on the doorknob to what he assumed was the bedroom. They slammed across the threshold together, his chest to her back, his momentum carrying them straight to the bed. He drew up short, staying on his feet as she fell, catching herself on the mattress in front of her. Parker stepped back, hand searching for the switch along the wall. Warm yellow light bathed the room. Oak covered everything. The paneling, the bed, the headboard, and the built-in shelves on either side of a huge mirror. Even the floor was done in a linoleum to match. Well, at least it wasn’t shag carpeting. As fascinating as the room was—it felt like entering a long-buried time capsule—Parker couldn’t focus on anything beyond Georgia. Stretched out against a garishly floral comforter, she faced him, ankles crossed, weight propped up on her elbows.
“Beat you.”
“Pretty sure it was a tie.”
“Which is just another way of saying you didn’t win,” she shot back.
“Neither did you. Not to mention, you cheated.”
“Which is just another way of saying I was smarter.” She swung her legs back and forth, a sly grin curling her lips.
Parker nudged her feet apart with his legs, slipping into the space her open knees created. He watched, transfixed, as she flicked open one button after another on her shirt, revealing just enough cleavage to send his mind reeling with images of what it would be like to bury himself between them, to thrust and slide and come as she held them up for him.
“Do I get a consolation prize?” he asked, desperate for her to flick open another button, to take the fantasy one step closer to reality.
She leaned forward until her breath ghosted over him, eliciting a shiver, a groan, an unbearable desire to have her mouth on him. By sheer force of will, he didn’t move. Just stood above her, looking down as she peered up at him, her mouth inches from where he wanted it most. Never had he found himself in such a position, fully nude while his partner sat before him, still dressed from head to toe, teasing him with images and fantasies of all the things they weren’t doing.
“I’m no one’s consolation prize,” she said, then slid her mouth over him, watching him as she did. She licked, tasted, dragged just the tip of her teeth across sensitive skin. Never staying in one place, never increasing the pressure, the pleasure . . . No, she didn’t play fair at all.
“Georgia.”
She drew back. “And you thought I’d be the one to beg,” she whispered, her full, wet lips mocking him. She knew he would, too. Beg. Plead. Promise damn near anything within his power to give and a few other things besides. All to have one more moment of her mouth.
She slid a hand up the back of his thigh, using the blunt tips of her fingernails to bring him closer. When he trembled, she smiled and took him into her mouth, wrenching a strangled gasp from his throat. He raised his hands, then dropped them to his sides, unsure what to do or where to touch. Never had sex been so one-sided for him or so entirely focused on his pleasure. Georgia dipped her head, pulling him further toward the edge, then grabbed his hands, drawing them up until her hair slipped through his fingers. Her hands slid up his forearms, then around to his back, her message clear and her trust implicit. Everything in Parker screamed at him to fist the hair beneath his fingers, angle her face the way he wanted, and plunder her mouth until she’d tasted every part of him. To snap his hips, driving himself closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. He wanted that and more. Endless hours and countless orgasms as he stood above a fully clothed Georgia and played out every delicious thought his imagination could come up with.
Instead, he cupped the back of her neck, reveling in the way her silk-soft hair slid between his fingers, and in strong, languid strokes, pumped his hips. Watching in rapt fascination as she took him, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed, her mouth a warm,
wet haven he never wanted to leave. He scratched against the base of her skull, encouraging her to tip back, to take and give even more. Her moan rippled through him, forcing him to his toes as he tried desperately to forestall the orgasm that wanted to tear through him, stealing the experience in one red-hot moment he was certain would kill him. But no, he wanted something hotter, tighter, wetter. He wanted her, naked and spread beneath him, trembling with every plunge, begging with every clenched finger and curled toe. Though he barely believed himself capable, Parker stepped back and out of reach.
Georgia opened heavy, lust-laden eyes. He groaned. At some point she’d opened her own jeans, dipped a hand beneath the waistband to seek her own pleasure.
Someday, Parker assured himself, they’d replay this moment, and he’d let her finish them both.
“I want to be inside you. I want to touch you. I want to feel you as you come apart when I do.”
It took Georgia a few moments to force enough blood to her brain to process Parker’s words. A little stunned, she leaned back and considered him. She’d fully expected him to take the control she’d given him, to use her mouth ruthlessly as he sought his own release. She hadn’t expected to enjoy it, though. Not really. In her experience, oral always ended in a landslide of pleasure for one person—and if she were lucky, a trickle of arousal for her. But with Parker . . . Well, as usual with Parker, he didn’t bother to exceed her expectations, he blew right through them as if they were utterly beneath him. In the moment he’d stood before her, naked and trembling at the barest breath across sensitive flesh, Georgia’s expectations had collapsed in a cloud of heated arousal.
Parker had stood there, utterly at her mercy. Undemanding. Just ready to drown in whatever Georgia would give him. She’d never had that before with a lover. Everything had always been rush, take, conquer, then do it all again. Not that she was complaining; she’d gotten what she needed from those encounters. But Parker . . . Whether he intended to or not, he forced her to acknowledge what she’d always suspected—that there was more to sex than a quick, dirty tumble designed exclusively for maximum reward in the shortest amount of time. And more, that such a thing might be in the cards for her. With Parker, Georgia found she wasn’t as focused on the outcome—though she knew from experience just how good it could be. Instead, as cliché as it sounded, she found herself looking forward to the journey as much as the destination. And even more surprising, she trusted Parker to ensure the experience was memorable for both of them.
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 18