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She struggled to sit up, cupping her sweet, sweet breasts. “That’s kind of a problem.”
He nodded, passing her the lacy bra he’d set atop her blouse. “But not any more so than the fact we just lost our minds grinding on each other, half-dressed on a dusty tractor in a mildewed barn... at a barbeque with three hundred people just outside the door.”
Her brown eyes widened. “Yeah, there’s that.”
“Do you want to go to my place?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t even know what just happened. I sort of lost good sense.”
He lifted her from his lap, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling as the sweet heat... the sweet potential... slipped away. “I know exactly why it happened. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re like the measles.”
Georgia slid off the tractor, quickly dressing. “The measles. Gee, thanks.”
Laughter sounded outside the barn as Reed joined Georgia on the dusty floor, wrapping her in his arms and bringing her against him. He kissed her forehead. “You know what I mean. I want you. I don’t remember ever wanting a woman as much as you.”
Georgia sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder. “You shouldn’t want me.”
He didn’t say anything, just held her because though he still wanted to rip her clothes off, though he still burned with desire, though he was still stiff as a cottonwood, something new awakened between them—a sort of helplessness, an acceptance of something more than sex.
“It’s cold,” he said.
She nodded against his shoulder but didn’t drop the arms she’d twined around his back.
They stood for several seconds, two shadows against the moonbeamed floor.
Finally, she let go, pulling back to look at him. Tears sheened her eyes, and he’d never seen anyone look so desolate.
“Georgia,” he whispered, stroking her jaw.
And then he saw the terrible hurt inside her, a quiet desperation.
“Don’t,” she said, pressing her lips together and glancing away.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t fall in love with me,” she said, bringing her gaze back to his.
His heart leapt at the effrontery of her words, even as he recognized her warning was given without conceit.
Then he saw something else within the depths of those seductive eyes—a hunger.
Not for what they’d nearly done on Billy Holly’s old tractor. But for something deeper. Georgia wanted to belong to someone.
In the moonlight Reed could see very well what Georgia could not. He could because he’d seen it so often in the reflection of his own gaze.
Georgia needed a safe harbor, a place where she belonged, a place to let go of all she thought she was so that she could be who she needed to be.
Simply put—Georgia needed love.
Chapter Nine
Georgia sat with a plate balanced in her lap, trying to enjoy the brisket and the infamous Holly baked beans, but failing. Their little “walk” had been a huge fail, but still Reed sat beside her, his solid warm shoulder brushing hers, making her want to lean her head even farther on his shoulder.
Something she’d never wanted to do with a man.
Okay, she’d leaned against her ex, Henry, as they sipped wine in front of the fire, him working on a lecture, her drawing out defensive schemes for the next game. But it had been what Henry expected. Not what Georgia wanted.
Henry had been different from any other man she’d ever dated. Ten years older, intelligent with an aristocratic nose, skinny legs and a slight sneer, he’d been her Professor Snape. Examining her through cynical eyes, Henry had been quick to correct her grammar and teach her to enjoy good wine. He’d taken her to the opera, introducing her to caviar and floor seats for the Celtics. He’d erased the girl who drank out of beer bottles and used “ain’t” indiscriminately. No more backwoods redneck. He’d been exactly what she thought she needed.
