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Georgia set her fork down, trying to stow away her feelings for Reed much the way he’d battened down his. Both of them had to remember what they were doing was about having a good time in the moment. She couldn’t risk feeling anything other than fondness for Reed. “I think it’s time for dessert.”
Reed eyed the oven. “I’m not sure I can handle dessert yet.”
Georgia stood and unbuttoned the long-sleeved, checked shirt she’d pulled over a lace camisole. “I’m not talking about apple pie.”
Reed’s eyes softened as he picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth. “I have a surprise for you.”
Georgia left the last two buttons fastened. “Oh?”
“But you’ll have to follow me out to the barn to see it.”
Chapter Eleven
Reed opened the barn door and let Georgia pass. Mojo tried to follow them out, but Reed sent the dog off with a wave of his hand. Mojo ducked his head but obeyed. The day was warmer and full of sunshine, so his furry companion wasted no more time being sad. Reed had already turned Amigo out into the paddock to frolic with Sunny, his small Appaloosa gelding, and Pickpocket, the little Shetland pony he’d rescued. He’d mucked out the barn, airing it out.
“Oh,” Georgia gasped when she saw the big pile of fresh hay and the soft quilt he’d spread upon it. Two electric lanterns hung overhead, the glow about as romantic as one could get in a barn. Reed closed the door, pushing the bar closed to lock it. “You did this for me.”
“Seemed like a fantasy you have. Okay, maybe a fantasy I have.”
She turned and undid the last two buttons on her shirt, shrugging it off, tossing it over the edge of a stall. Then she shimmied out of the denim cutoffs, sliding them past her boots. Her small, firm breasts jutted against the soft tank she wore, reminding him of how he felt the first day he’d met her. In the Milligans’ barn, covered in afterbirth, triumph in her brown eyes.
She was a sight to behold then... and a sight to behold now.
“Maybe I should leave my boots on? Is that part of the fantasy?”
“Nah,” he said, scooping her into his arms.
Georgia looped her arms about his neck as he strode to the pile of hay. He bent, settling her on the plaid quilt, catching her gaze. “I’ll take your boots off.”
And he did, sliding them and dark socks off to reveal pretty, slim feet tipped in purple polish.
“To match my bridesmaid’s dress,” she murmured, lying back and extending her arms to him.
He paused to study her in the thin tank and tiny satin panties. Her golden limbs were long and sensuous, her body firm and athletic, her tits absolutely magnificent, so pouting and perfect. But it was her eyes he loved the most.
Dark chocolate, full of mystery, breathtakingly vulnerable.
“You’re incredible,” he said, tracing the curve of her elbow. “I wish I could explain what you do to me.”
Georgia dropped her arms and leaned up on her elbows. “I hope you’re going to show me?”
“Oh, I’m going to show you,” he said, his voice making a soft echo in the empty barn.
He settled beside her, his hands moving over her arms, shoulders, and the sweet curve of her cheek.
“You’re overdressed,” she whispered.
“No, I’m dressed for dessert.” He lowered his head and caught her lips, his hand curving against her hip, angling her body toward him before sliding that same hand down her body, stopping at her firm thighs, trailing back up to tease her breasts though the thin fabric.
“Oh,” she breathed as he slipped his other hand behind her head, taking advantage of her open mouth, kissing her deeply, his tongue encouraging her body to respond.
He ran a hand over her bottom, slipping inside her panties to grip her firm ass and pull her closer. Breaking the kiss, he moved down the column of her throat and tugged the strap of her tank off her shoulder, allowing one breast to pop free. “So, so pretty,” he said, dipping his head to catch the nipple in his mouth.
Georgia arched against him and tugged on his shirt with insistent hands. He felt the shirt come untucked and sighed as her hands touched his naked flesh.
Pulling back, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it somewhere on the barn floor. His hat joined it a second later.
“Wow,” Georgia said, running her fingers over his shoulders. “You may not be a cowboy, but you look like one. You work out.”
