The Dirty Girls Book Club

by Savanna Fox

  Her gaze shifted away from the bartender and fixed on him. Her eyes widened. She didn’t beam. She didn’t immediately rush to him. But she did, after a long pause, walk slowly toward him.

  When they met, she said, in that horrible polite, impersonal tone she’d been using with him, “You look very nice. Viv chose well.”

  “You look gorgeous, Georgia.” Though, now that he was close to her, he saw that her face looked strained and the glow on her cheeks might be due to makeup. Gorgeous, yes, but not happy. Not the way she’d looked when they were together. That gave him hope. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” she said dismissively. Then, almost as if she couldn’t stop herself: “Nervous. I’m not used to formal events like this.”

  “Same for me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “But you’re prepared? You have the speech?”

  He touched his breast pocket. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Let’s go over the agenda one more time.”

  “No. I know the agenda.” He caught her hand and tried to tug her toward a corner of the room. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  She resisted. “About the event? You couldn’t have thought of it earlier?”

  “Not about the event. And I know this isn’t the best time, but I have to tell you something.” He tugged again, and this time she went, pulling back slightly against his hand to let him know she was dragging her heels.

  He stood her in the corner, released her hand, and stepped in front of her so that his body blocked any view of her. Anyone looking across the room would see only the anonymous back of a big man in a tux. It was the most privacy he could give them.

  “I’m a total idiot,” he said.

  A corner of her mouth flicked, but her eyes remained cool. “True.”

  “I acted like a shit and I hurt you, and I hate that I did that.” Her eyes lost their guardedness and he saw the real Georgia.

  “You didn’t trust me, Woody. Yes, that hurt. A lot. I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I did. I do.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t about you; it was about me. I don’t trust easily.”

  “Go on.” She wasn’t making this easy, but she hadn’t shut him down.

  “It goes back a long way. Couldn’t trust my dad. Couldn’t trust my mom to look out for herself. Or for me.”

  “I know, but you can’t let your childhood rule your life.”

  “No. And there’s people I do trust, like the coaches and my teammates. But that’s, you know, when it comes to the game. Not when it comes to”—he swallowed—“my emotions.”

  Something sparked in her eyes, a small glow of gold amid the amber. “Your emotions?”

  “I had this bad experience recently. It’s pretty much the only thing I didn’t tell you about. But I couldn’t because, well, it’s someone else’s secret too.” Woody frowned. He’d promised Martin he’d keep the secret of his gambling and his fraud.

  But this was important. And yes, he did trust Georgia. “I told you about when I was a kid, how my friend’s father helped me out so I could play hockey.”

  Georgia hugged her arms around her body. Was there a problem with the climate control in this room? Since she’d seen Woody, she’d been alternating between chills and hot flashes.

  Or maybe her body was echoing the roller-coaster ride of her emotions.

  He looked so wonderful, despite the shadows around his eyes and lines of tiredness and stress on his face. The playoffs were taking their toll, and she hoped he wasn’t in too much pain. She knew that, when he’d agreed to attend the Boys & Girls Club fund-raiser, he’d hoped the Beavers would’ve already taken home the Stanley Cup. Now, with the final game of a very tough playoffs tomorrow night, he should be home resting.

  But here he was, honoring the commitments he’d made: to the Club and to VitalSport.

  And here he was, apologizing again.

  Last time, her wounds had been fresh and raw, and she’d heeded her brain and thrown up defensive barriers. Tonight, she found herself softening. He seemed truly upset and repentant, and the least she could do was hear him out.

  People had their issues, their hot buttons. For Georgia, the biggie was to not be man-centered and needy like her mom. If trust was Woody’s big issue, maybe she could understand that he’d overreacted and accused her, and now regretted it.

  The fact that he had come to her and was revealing things that were painful for him confirmed that, whether or not he was ready to admit it to himself, he cared about her. Maybe she was foolish, but hope blossomed inside her.

  “Yes,” she said, “you told me how Martin took you to practices and games, and paid for equipment and coaching.” Things his own father hadn’t done. “He sounds like a wonderful man. You said you owe it to him that you got away from home and have your career.”

  “I do owe it to him. And more. He became my agent when I was fourteen. Coaches and players often suggested I sign with one of the big sports agents, but Martin did a good job for me. He got me, you know? He understood I hated doing media stuff and endorsements, and he didn’t push, even though there’d have been more money in it for him.” He grimaced, as if he was in pain.

  Instinctively, she touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

  He gazed down at her hand, then put his own over it, holding it there. “If you’re touching me, I’m all right.”

  It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to her, and it almost brought tears to her eyes. She realized that something more than hope was growing inside her: a deep sense of certainty that Woody truly cared.

  His big body blocked her view of the room, but the increasing noise level told her the guests were beginning to arrive. They should be mingling, but this was more important. A few weeks ago, all she’d cared about was making a success of the VitalSport campaign, but her priorities had changed. “Go on,” she urged.

  “I trusted Martin. He was like a father and a business partner wrapped up in one. I trusted him to handle my career, and to handle my finances.”

  She nodded.

  “Last month”—his voice grated—“he confessed he has a gambling problem. It got so bad that … that he used my money. My investments. He lost everything I’d made in my whole career. I’m even in debt on back taxes.”

  “Oh my God!” She gaped up at him. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah,” he said grimly. “I was betrayed by the person I trusted the most.”

  Now she understood why Woody’d been so quick to leap to the conclusion that another person he’d trusted had betrayed him. “You said this is a secret? But surely you told the police.” Why hadn’t the papers and sports gossip sites jumped on it?

  When Woody didn’t reply, she studied his sad face. “No, you didn’t. You couldn’t. Despite the bad things he’d done to you, he’d done so many good ones too.”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed her hand under his, and she felt the warm, reassuring solidity of his arm under his tux jacket and shirt. “And there’s Sam to think of,” he said. “His son. My best friend. It’d shatter him to know what his dad did.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, realizing something else. Woody, who hated doing endorsements, had signed with VitalSport so he could pay for his mom’s treatments.

  “Besides,” Woody said, “gambling’s an addiction.”

  “Yes, but …” Should she say this? “Your father was an alcoholic.” He sighed. “I know. I guess it’s easier to … not forgive, but maybe understand Martin. He was good to me for a long time, before he got into gambling. And even then, it was just money he lost.”

  “Addiction isn’t an excuse, though. Being an alcoholic didn’t excuse your dad’s abuse, and being addicted to gambling doesn’t excuse your agent’s fraud.”

  He shook his head. “Martin said it was a compulsion and he couldn’t make himself stop. So I said he has to go to Gamblers Anonymous. If he sticks with the program and doesn’t gamble, I won’t turn him in.”

  �
��Oh, Woody.” This time the tears didn’t just threaten; they glazed her eyes. “You’re a good man.”

  His brows lifted in apparent surprise. “Yeah?”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “Yeah. The way you look after the people you care about.”

  His throat rippled as he swallowed. “I didn’t look after you, Georgia. And I do care about you.”

  Her heart lifted. “You do?”

  A slight smile touched his lips. “If feeling like there’s a hole in my chest when you’re not around is caring, then yeah, I do. A hell of a lot.”

  Her own heart filled with warmth. “You feel that way?” she asked tremulously.

  “Yeah. For the first time in my life.” He freed the hand he’d trapped, but only to catch both of her hands in his. “I think I’m in love with you.”

  Laughter and tears spilled in the same instant. All the defenses she’d erected crumbled and she knew the truth. She loved him too.

  Doggedly, he went on. “So I need you to forgive me. To give me a second chance to prove that I—”

  “Yes!” Rising on her toes, she cut him off with a quick, hard kiss. “Oh, yes. Because there’s only one explanation for how rotten I’ve been feeling since we broke up. I’m in love with you too.”

  All the tiredness and stress left his face, to be replaced by pure joy. Then his arms circled her and his lips met hers in a kiss that, this time, was slow and tender. Loving.

  Maybe she should have felt excited, but instead the sensation that flooded through her was peace. Like she’d come home, and all was right with the world.

  Finally, she eased back in the circle of his arms.

  He smiled at her, and to her astonishment pulled out a white hankie. “You have tear streaks in your makeup.” Tenderly, he wiped her face, the fine cotton soft against her skin. “This’ll get you through until you can make it to the ladies’ room.”

  “I wish we could leave and be alone together.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said in a heartfelt tone. “But we’ve got a job to do here.” Blue eyes gleaming, he added, “Besides, I want to dance with you.”

  “You really know how to dance?”

  He winked. “Sure. You put your arms around each other tight and you shuffle and sway. Right?”

  “Exactly right.”

  Thirty-four

  After lots of schmoozing, a delicious but far too long dinner, and a speech by Woody that made her cry yet again, they finally got that shuffle-and-sway dance. It was pure heaven to be in his arms and know he loved her, but it was agony too. They were in public, no longer hidden in a corner with his back blocking everyone’s view of them, so they couldn’t kiss. She couldn’t press against him, twine around him, untie his bow tie, and press her lips to his warm throat.

  She wanted this—the slow, romantic dance—but she wanted it in private.

  Easing back in the circle of his arms, she gazed into his gorgeous blue eyes. “You have a game tomorrow.”

  His lips twitched. “Yeah, I kind of remember that.”

  “Everyone will understand if you leave early. They want you rested and in top form.”

  The lip twitch turned into a wicked grin. “And what do you want?”

  She met the grin with one of her own. “Oh, I want you in top form too. Come on, you’ve put in your time and done a wonderful job. Let’s make our excuses and go.”

  As she’d predicted, the hosts of the event sent Woody on his way with best wishes and a hearty round of fist pumps.

  It was a two-minute cab ride to his place, where the elevator took just as long, but that was okay because Georgia and Woody spent the ride plastered together, kissing.

  When they were inside his apartment, he shrugged out of the tux jacket and was reaching up to undo his bow tie when she caught his hand, stopping him. “Oh no, you don’t. Let’s dance some more.”

  “You want to dance?”

  Of course she wanted to make love, but he’d done such a good job of her sexual education that she had an idea or two of her own. “Mm-hmm.” She put on the Sax for Lovers music, and held out her hand to him.

  Head cocked, he studied her. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

  She studied him, elegant yet 100 percent male in the white shirt that set off his tanned skin and the buttoned vest that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. “Shut up and dance, my love.” Oh my, it felt good to call him that.

  Laughing, he pulled her tight, arms hugging her to him. “Can I say one thing first?”

  “If it’s nice.” She wrapped her arms around him. Her man. So different from Anthony, and yet so wonderful.

  “When I first saw you tonight, you looked beautiful, but the glow on your cheeks was makeup, not happiness.”

  She nodded, smiling up at him. “Perceptive guy. And now?” Her smile widened, showing him all the love in her heart. “Do I look happy?”

  “Very happy.” Slowly, he began to move. “Same as me.”

  If he never learned to dance any step other than the shuffle-and-sway, she wouldn’t complain. Especially when they could do it alone, so she could cling as tightly as she wanted and feel the hard strength of his body underneath those classy clothes.

  “Last week,” he said, “when you were reaming me out, you said you had everything to give to a man, but that man wasn’t me.”

  She nodded. “I knew what it was like to love and be loved, and I wouldn’t settle for less.”

  “It’s what you deserve. It’s what I want to give you.”

  “Tell me again,” she wheedled.

  “I love you, Georgia Malone.”

  “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

  “Me too. But you’re going to have to teach me about love. You’ve been there before, but it’s new to me.”

  It dawned on her that, while he’d taught her about her own femininity and sexuality, she’d taught him how to love. She’d taught this incredible man, this man so many women lusted after, to love. “We’ll work it out together,” she promised.

  “If I start acting like a jerk again, just, oh—”

  “Whack you with a hockey stick?” she teased.

  “Yeah, that’d be good.”

  Both chuckling softly, they swayed together. It was romantic and sweet, but the hard press of his body was arousing, reminding her that she’d had a plan. An excellent plan. She tilted her hips, serving notice.

  There was already a bulge behind his fly, and now it grew.

  When they’d danced at the Four Seasons, it had been torture not being able to squeeze his taut butt or cup her hand over the erection pressing against the fly of those beautifully styled tux pants. Now, as they shuffled in place in his living room, the lights of sky and city through those huge windows the only illumination, she could do everything she wanted.

  She started by reaching up and tugging on his bow tie. “Viv has great taste. She picks clothes that suit the person.”

  “I could lose the tie.”

  “You could.” She worked the knot free, but rather than pull the strip of silk off, she left it hanging loose at his neck and admired her handiwork. “Rakish.” She smiled a private smile because the word reminded her of Lady Emma’s rake. Georgia had compared Woody to him, but Woody had so much more depth. The Comte had indeed been stuck, whereas Woody was willing to change, to mature. He would always be interesting, stimulating.

  Stimulating, in every way. Right now, the slow stroke of his hand down her semi-bare back, while not blatantly erotic, was so sensual it made her quiver. His touch was like the physical embodiment of that sultry sax music.

  She unbuttoned his vest, leaving it to hang loose. From there, she moved to the studs of his tuxedo shirt, starting at the collar and working down, letting her nails scrape gently. The hard, hot flesh of his chest burned her fingertips and sent arousal tingling through her. When she reached his waist, she tugged the shirttails free of his tuxedo pants and unbuttoned his shirt down to the bottom. Then she parted the sides of his
shirt and vest, revealing a strip of brown skin.

  She peeled the left side back and put her lips to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath her kiss. He smelled of herbal soap and tasted slightly salty. She sucked his nipple until he groaned and thrust his hips against her.

  Oh, that felt good, the hard thrust of his erection against her belly. She wanted him so badly, but tonight she wanted to go slow and savor every moment.

  “Do I get to undo your clothes?” he asked.

  “Not yet. I’m teaching you patience.” And learning it herself.

  He laughed. “Good luck with that. Didn’t you learn that first day, I’m not so good with patience when it comes to you?”

  “Yes, but I know you’re trainable. Still, if you’re really in a rush …” Her hands moved to the waist of his pants. She knew he expected her to undo the button and unzip the fly, and she was sorely tempted. Instead, she tracked her finger down the front of his fly, pressing against the insistent bulge beneath the fine fabric.

  Her sex pulsed with need, and the ache between her thighs made it hard to keep shuffling in place.

  She slid her hand into his pocket, intending to grasp him through the even thinner fabric. Her fingers encountered something else, though. Something she well recognized. A condom package. She drew it out and held it up. “You came prepared. You were so sure you’d win me over?” Should she be flattered or insulted?

  He shook his head. “No, it’s habit.” A pause. “Look, I need to confess.”

  “Okay,” she said warily.

  “I hoped that when I saw you tonight, I’d realize I didn’t have special feelings for you.”

  Her mouth opened. That definitely wasn’t flattering.

  “But when I saw you, it hit. Like lightning. Illumination and shock all at once.”

  Okay, that was better. “Sounds painful,” she teased.

  “Yeah, and especially when I thought you didn’t feel the same way. But I decided I just had to win you.”

  “You do like to win, don’t you? I’m afraid I made it too easy. What’s the fun in that?”

  “This. This is the fun.” He dropped his hands to her butt, cupped it, and squeezed.