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 taffy. 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.”
“How was your shower?” she asked, and gave him a smile as soft as her biscuits.
Since he’d sat down at the table ten minutes ago, she’d tried her hardest to engage him in conversation, but he wasn’t in an obliging mood. “Fine,” he answered.
“Do your parents live in Seattle?”
“No.”
“Canada?”
“Just my mother.”
“Are your parents divorced?”
“Nope.” Her deep cleavage drew his gaze to the front of the black robe.
“Where’s your father?” she asked as she reached for her orange juice. The front of the robe gaped, exposing the scalloped edge of green lace and the swell of smooth white skin.
“Died when I was five.”
“I’m sorry. I know how it feels to lose a parent. I lost both of mine when I was quite young myself.”
John glanced back up into her face, unmoved. She was gorgeous. Curvy and soft in an overblown, breathy sort of way. Her long legs were beautifully shaped, and she was exactly the type of woman he preferred naked and in bed. Earlier today he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t have Georgeanne. That didn’t bother him all that much, but it bugged the hell out of him that she only pretended she couldn’t wait to get her hot little hands all over his body. When he’d told her they couldn’t make love, her pouty little mouth had ooohed and cooed her disappointment, but her eyes had sparked with utter relief. In fact, he’d never seen such relief on a woman’s face.
“It was a boating accident,” she informed him as if he’d asked. She took a sip of orange juice, then added, “Off the coast of Florida.”
John stabbed a bite of ham, then reached for his coffee. Women liked him. Women shoved their phone numbers and underwear in his pockets. Women didn’t look at John as if sex with him were tantamount to root canal.
“It was a miracle that I wasn’t with them. My parents hated to leave me, of course, but I’d contracted the chicken pox. So reluctantly they’d left me with my grandmother, Clarissa June. I remember…”
Tuning out her words, John lowered his gaze to the soft hollow of her throat. He wasn’t a conceited man, or at least he didn’t think he was. But the fact that Georgeanne found him so totally resistible irritated him more than he liked to admit. He set his coffee mug on the table and folded his arms across his chest. After his shower, he’d changed into a clean pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He still planned to go out. All he had to do was grab his shoes and go.