The Boss and His Cowgirl (8 page)

He pressed on the soft curve of her belly, and she waited for embarrassed heat to flush her cheeks. She'd never had a flat, trim stomach, not like the women Clay normally dated. The feeling didn't come. How could it when he watched her, his desire so evident she could read it without her glasses. Deep appreciation shone in his eyes, and she relaxed a moment before growing bold enough to push her hips against his hand, begging for his attention.

Clay obliged, caressing from one hip to the other. His fingers curled around her curves and he squeezed gently. She closed her eyes, picturing him gripping her with both hands, thrusting into her. Where did these ideas come from? Sex before Clay had been awkward fumblings in the dark. Her mind conjured images of him spreading her legs wider, his fingers sliding into that aching space between them. Her eyes flew open as his hand did just that.

Fingertips teased her, accompanied by a low hum of male appreciation. As his fingers continued their explorations, she tensed, bracing for the moment when he reached the burning need inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut as her hips tilted upward without any prompting from her. As time, in sync with her erratic breaths, skipped to a stop, she waited for...something, the moment one of exquisite torture.

It didn't come. Instead of his sliding fingers sinking into her, they were replaced by his breath blowing across her core. Something warm and slick brushed across her, the touch unexpected but welcome. His breath came again, stirring gently against her skin before he descended to taste her with his mouth, soft and wet and hot and sending her wits scattering.

He was going to kill her. She fisted her hands in his hair—his perfectly trimmed and styled hair—and arched against him, crying out, unable to bite back the sound. She felt his smile, her moans of pleasure urging him on. He teased her, tormenting and tasting, lapping, stroking, nibbling as if she was a feast laid out for his pleasure. She was ready to beg, plead for him to finish, to push her over the edge into the storm of pleasure he'd created deep within her. Clay had no mercy. He used his mouth shamelessly, and finally his fingers—one, followed by another—curled inside her relentlessly until she shuddered, bowing her back, feet and shoulders pressing against the bed, as she went blind from the enormity of the emotions crashing over her.

As she fell back against the soft mattress, her throat burned, raw from what? Screams?

Clay didn't wait for her to recover. He crawled up her body, a predator capturing his prey. He blocked out everything as he hovered over her, braced on his hands. He lowered his head, caught her lips with his, kissed her. Her fists released the comforter and rubbed along his lean flanks, circled his back. Her fingers dug into the taut muscles and he groaned into her mouth.

She tugged him closer, wanting his weight settled on her, wanting him buried inside her, stroking in and out. She would have crawled inside his skin if she could have, but even that wouldn't have been enough. She wanted to be part of him. Needed him to be a part of her. Then his hips lifted and he grasped her hand in his.

“Touch me, Georgie. Take me in your hand and guide me inside you.”

She did as he asked, savoring the hard feel of him, a tiny part of her noticing he wore a condom. He sank inside her and her breath hitched. She'd gone a long time without a lover and never had she felt so complete, so alive, as when his body joined with hers. Clay stilled, watching her, both of them savoring the power of the moment. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't, knowing he was sinking inside her soul as easily as he had her body, stretching and filling her.

She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how good this felt, how sexy and thrilling, how completely perfect she found this moment, but she had no ability to form the words. Instead, she just whimpered and moaned and clutched at his shoulders, lifting herself up to him.

Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, fisted in his thick, black hair. She tugged to bring his head down to hers. She wanted to taste him, fill her mouth with the flavor of him. She whimpered and Clay took mercy, claiming her mouth in a desperate kiss.

Desperate—yes, that defined how she felt. Desperation colored everything, every look, every touch, every kiss. Their bodies moved to a primitive rhythm as she reached for something less physical, something more spiritual than just a climax.

His breath, moist and heated, teased against her cheek. How was he not panting, gulping in great lungfuls of air the way she was? Tension wound tighter, then Clay shifted, changed angles, and light burst in her brain. She shattered into stardust, watching as tiny sparkles of Georgie rained down on them both.

She felt as though she needed to sweep up all that shiny glitter to save in a jar so maybe—just maybe—she could put herself back together. She felt infinite, a part of the universe, transcendent and powerful. Her vision cleared and she focused on Clay's face. His features were etched with his pleasure and she clung to him as he tensed and poured himself into her. They'd each taken and then gave back to the other pleasure a thousand times more intense.

He collapsed over her, rolling to the side and wrapping his arms around her. His sweat-sheened skin pressed against the length of her body, and the lazy strokes of his hand up and down her back made her want to arch and purr like a well-satisfied house cat. Basking in the afterglow, she concentrated on the one thing she could manage without thought—breathing. As her heart slowed, the stardust that was the essence of her settled back into the bottle made up by her skin until she once again became the woman named Georgie Dreyfus.

Her brain, like her heart, slowed its madly whirling attempt to make sense of things. A thought, not even fully formed, tapped against her consciousness. Words. She should say something, but that would mean stringing syllables together to form a coherent thought. She was too tired, too incoherent for that. Words could wait.

Everything could wait. Her world may have just gone topsy-turvy, but it would still be there in the morning, waiting to be dealt with.

At least she thought it would. With her last shred of coherence, she noted that Clay kissed her forehead and murmured something that sounded like, “Sweet dreams, love.”

Nine

G
eorgie lay very still when she remembered where she was. Beyond the windows, the city was coming awake. Traffic. Voices. The noise of life in DC, but much closer than the sounds she normally heard from her third-floor apartment. Clay's house. Clay's room. Clay's...bed. With Clay asleep beside her.

She wanted to flail. To hyperventilate. To totally freak out as warmth at her back reminded her that she'd plunged headfirst into waters way over her head. Memories of the previous night flooded through her and she fought the temptation to get up and flee. Not just run for the hills, but escape to the farthest place on earth. Totally not practical. Plus, she'd never been a quitter. Smoothing out her breathing, she cautiously turned her head.

Clay had ended up on his back, his right arm flung above his head. She lay curled on her side, her back to him, using his biceps for a pillow. His chest—his very masculine and muscular chest with its fine feathering of dark hair—rose and fell in time with his measured breaths.

She squeezed her eyes shut.
Breathe. Just breathe
, she reminded herself. Last night had been a hundred times more wonderful than anything she'd ever dreamed. And here she was, still in Clay's bed. This had to be a good thing, right? She'd overheard Hunt and other members of the security team grousing about predawn pickup and deliveries. Georgie couldn't remember Clay spending the night with anyone but Giselle. Which meant she shouldn't make more out of this than it was. A one-night stand. An anomaly. An error in judgment... No. She refused to think that. The things they'd done last night had
not
been a mistake.

“You're thinking too loudly.”

Georgie startled and flipped over to stare at Clay. His warm brown eyes appeared sleepy and amused. And there was something she couldn't quite identify lurking in his gaze—something that flushed her skin and made her want to snuggle up with him under the covers.

“I didn't mean to wake you.”

His mouth quirked into a smile and she really wanted to lean up to kiss his lips. Before she could act on the urge, Clay cupped her cheek and tugged her closer. Their lips met, his nibbling hers before he swiped his tongue over them, teasing until she opened her mouth. His tongue dipped between her lips to taste her and Georgie almost choked. Mortified, she pulled away and put her hand over her mouth.

Clay stared at her, clearly confused. “Sweet pea?”

“Um...mrmingbrth.”

“What?”

She ducked her head and tried not to exhale when she spoke. “Morning breath.”

His eyes widened slightly and then he guffawed. “Honey, I haven't exactly brushed my teeth, either.” Still laughing, Clay rolled over, pinning her to the bed and kissing her soundly. Breathless, and far more aroused than she should be, Georgie pushed against his chest—ineffectually. He held her close until her arms crept around his neck and she arched closer.

Long minutes later he raised his head. “I think we need a shower. And a toothbrush.” He winked and laughed at her outraged expression before kissing her again. “C'mon. Then I'll buy you coffee.”

Georgie groaned. Coffee. Up until now she hadn't necessarily believed there could be life before coffee. Clay had definitely disproved that theory. “Yes. Caffeine. I needs it, my preciousssss.”

Clay insisted his shower was big enough for two, and darn if it wasn't. That built-in bench had uses Georgie had never considered. Leaving her almost too boneless to wash her hair after making love to her, Clay stepped out while she finished. It wasn't until she was out of the shower and wearing an oversize terry-cloth robe that Georgie panicked. She peeked out the door.

“Clay?”

“Mmm?”

“I don't have any clothes here. Well...except for my formal.”

He flashed a grin so wicked her knees threatened to buckle. “Damn. That's too bad, sweet pea. Guess we need to head back to bed then.”

“Clay!”

“Mmm?”

She threw up her hands. “Argh!”

Laughing, he disappeared into his walk-in closet. A few moments later he reappeared wearing jeans slung low on his hips and carrying something. “You'll probably have to roll up the sweatpants, but they should fit well enough. The shirt will swamp you but with one of my jackets over it, no one will notice.”

“Um, can't we just go to my place so I can change?”

He waggled his brows. “You gonna wear my robe?”

“Oh. Yeah. No.”

“Get dressed, Georgie.”

“Yes, boss.”

She snagged her panties off the floor and ducked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Sinking onto the toilet, she fought the urge to put her head between her knees. No panicking. Yes, he was her boss. Bosses dated employees all the time. But he was a
senator
. And she was a senior member of his staff and...and...

Georgie gave up when she stopped breathing. Dropping her head, she forced air into her lungs. She didn't hear the door open and didn't realize Clay was there until he was kneeling in front of her.

“Sweet pea, what's wrong?”

“I...we...can't...”

“Shhh. Yes, we can. Trust me. I've had this argument for months now. We're both adults. We're both professional.” He took one of her hands in his big one and cupped her cheek with his other. “I'm going to be honest here, Georgie. I don't do commitment.”

Her heart sank.

“Giselle was...convenient.”

Georgie pressed her lips together so Clay couldn't see them tremble and buried her free hand in the fluffy robe for the same reason.

“You aren't.”

“I'm not?”

“No. You aren't convenient at all.”

“Oh.” This conversation was going downhill quickly.

“I want to be honest with you, Georgie.”

“Ohh...kay.”

“I can't promise forever. Not right now. But I'd sure like to give this a try, see what happens. I...” He rocked back to sit on his heels and removed his palm from her cheek to rub it through his messy hair. “I want to see if maybe there's a future for us. You make me want all sorts of things. I want to take care of you. Make you smile. And I damn sure want to make love to you again.”

He gave her hand a little squeeze and waited for her to respond. She just sat there, staring. He wanted to date her? Her inner fangirl squeed and bounced in excitement before her brain caught up. This was wrong on so many levels, but that didn't matter. He wanted to take care of her. To explore the feelings blossoming between them. That was the message she received from his words, from the expression on his face—a face she knew so intimately because she'd studied it, working with him to add nuance to the words she wrote for him. The man was a spectacular speaker, but this was no act.
Please
, she whispered up to the universe.
Let it be real. Let this...us...be real.

“Okay.”

He arched a brow at her. “That's not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he replied drily.

Before she stopped to think about it, she cupped his face in her palms, leaned forward and kissed him. She focused all her feelings, all the pent-up hopes and dreams of a nerdy young woman yearning for something—someone—she never thought she'd have a chance with.

When they finally broke the breathless kiss, Clay laughed softly. “Yeah, that's more like it. Now get dressed. I need coffee.”

He rose and backed out, shutting the door. Georgie found her panties and pulled them on before yanking on the sweats. She had to roll the waist of the pants after tying the drawstring as tight as she could. The thing still rode low on her generous hips, but she was pretty sure they wouldn't fall off. The long-sleeved henley covered the jerry-rigged waistline.

It wasn't until she walked out that another thought hit. “Shoes.” With a disgruntled curl of her lip, she added, “I can't very well wear my heels to the local coffee shop.”

“Yeah, I can see how wearing those with sweats might not go over with the fashion police.”

Georgie stared at him then blinked several times. “Fashion police?”

Glancing toward the ceiling, Clay exhaled deeply. “I spent way too much time around Giselle. Then again, she wouldn't be caught dead wearing my sweats.”

Georgie cringed at his words and hunched her shoulders.

“Which is stupid because I think it's sexy as hell.”

Well, didn't that just perk her right up. She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “Well, I spend most of my life in fashion jail but I'm revolting simply because those suckers hurt my feet.”

Clay ducked out, calling over his shoulder, “Wait...”

Following him out, Georgie watched him trot downstairs and heard him rummaging around. He reappeared with a pair of rain boots in his hands.

“Aha! I thought I remembered you'd left these over here. I'll get socks for you to wear.” He climbed the steps, tossed her the boots and headed into the bedroom.

She followed, her brows knit in consternation. “Are you sure these are mine? I don't remember leaving them here.” In fact, she didn't remember the boots at all.

He peered at her from the closet. “Pretty sure those are yours. The only other woman who's been over here is Giselle and she wouldn't be caught dead wearing those.”

Georgie's jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” She caught the pair of socks he threw with one hand. “Why wouldn't she?”

“Too practical. And they don't carry a designer label.”

Clay studied her expression for a long moment then strode across the room, a second pair of socks in his hand. He dropped the socks into one of the boots and cupped his fingers over her shoulders. “Let me explain, sweet pea. Giselle is a sports car—built for speed and high maintenance. You? You're a Ford pickup, built for comfort and long distance.” He kissed her before she could protest. “And trust me, this Oklahoma boy will come home to comfort every time. Now put your boots on. I want coffee and food. You wore me out last night.”

He disappeared downstairs before she could process what he'd said. A truck? He compared her to a truck? And called her...comfortable. Georgie sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks. He'd been smart to give her two pairs of socks. The galoshes were made to be worn over shoes. She needed the extra padding. Clomping down the stairs, she found Clay standing by the front door, holding up a jacket. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and was surprised when he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

“I meant that as a compliment, sweet pea.” He murmured the words, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him. “Don't get bent out of shape. Yes, Giselle is beautiful in her way but when it comes down to what's important? I'm picking you.”

“You are?”

“I am.” He turned her, his hands rubbing up and down her arms as he gazed at her. His expression was both bemused and sincere. “You've been here right under my nose and I've been too stupid to recognize what I had. Have. Because you're here. I have you. And I want to keep you.”

“You do?”

Clay threw his head back and laughed. “For a woman who makes her living with words, you've become rather...reticent.”

“I have?”

He kissed her forehead, turned her toward the door and gave her a nudge. “If it makes you feel any better, I'm a bit blown away by this turn of events, too.”

“You are?”

“You're repeating yourself, sweet pea.”

Georgie planted her feet and twisted her head to look at him. “Clay, I need to be honest here.”

His eyes shuttered but he didn't interrupt her.

“I'm...this...us...” She inhaled, held her breath and exhaled, but her hands still shook as she turned and reached out to touch his chest. “I've had a crush...”

“I know, Georgie.”

“You do?”

“Well, I know now. I guess Boone saw it all along. He was just waiting for me to pull my head out and realize what a treasure you are. Professionally, yes, I knew that, but I have the feeling that—” He snapped his jaw shut and his eyes cut away from her.

“What feeling, Clay?”

“You're real, Georgie. And I find myself needing a whole lot of that—of you—in my life. Is this forever? I don't know. We've just started this—” He gestured between them with his hand. “Whatever this is. I care about you. As a friend and now as something...more. I can't make promises to you. Not yet. But damn if I don't want to give this my best shot.”

Everything she'd wished for and then some was standing right here in front of her. All she had to do was acknowledge her feelings. She stretched up on her toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Me, too.”

Clay exhaled on a relieved laugh. “Can we go eat now?”

Feeling lighter and happier than she had in ages, she preceded him out the door. As they exited the security gate separating his yard from the sidewalk, Georgie looked up and recoiled, stumbling backward. Clay caught her in his arms and held her steady.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”