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Because for a few seconds, when my arm was wrapped around her waist, when my other hand was buried in her hair, when my cock was hard as granite, Georgiakissed me back.
“We have unfinished business.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says it prim and proper, exactly the way I know she isn’t. I want her more than anything. I want to undress her and see all the ways her body has changed, and all the ways it hasn’t. I want to kiss those three little freckles dotted on her inner thigh. I want to feel her fingers pulling my hair while her body writhes beneath my tongue. I want to teach her a fuckin’ lesson.
I lean a hand on the doorframe next to her head, trying to get a grip on myself. “Sweet Peach,” I start.
“I told you not to call me that.”
Her eyes are dark in the fading light. Her hair is softly curled and falling around her shoulders like she’s a Grecian goddess come down from Mount Olympus with the sole purpose of making my life miserable. Her lips are very pink and perfectly lush.
She was soft as a rose petal when I fell in love with her in high school. Sweet and kind and gentle—until I realized there was more to her than that.
Now she has jagged edges, a calcification that grew in the years we’ve been apart. I see that hardness in her eyes, the tension of her shoulders when she crosses her arms, the lines between her brows as she frowns at me, and in the bare ring finger on her left hand.
I felt the jagged edge of Georgia’s soul crack against my skin when her palm connected with my face.
Age looks good on her.
“Georgia,” I say, my voice deepening despite myself.
She stutters, swallows, and averts her eyes.
“You kissed me back,” I say softly, but we both know it’s an accusation. A challenge.
Her intelligent, guarded gaze flicks to mine, then slides away again. “It was temporary insanity. I don’t want to do this right now. Please leave my property.”
She was like this when we were young—always pushing, challenging. Her softness and kindness hid the steel of her spine, but she wasn’t afraid to show it when she needed to. She was always meant for more than I could give her, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt when she walked away.
Then her words sink in. I blink.
Her property.
I stumble out of the daze that’s gripped me since I saw her standing in front of my art. I spent the past hour pacing around my workshop, surrounded by half-finished projects, thinking only of the feel of her sweet body in my arms. I was angry and turned on, and I couldn’t help wrapping my hand around my cock till I felt relief.
Partial relief.
It lasted for about four seconds before I had to see her again. I had to finish whatever this is between us—maybe start something new. I just knew I needed her like I need air and sun and water and shelter. I got her address from one of the older ladies at the hotel—the eccentric-looking one, Dorothy—and raced over here like I was seventeen again.
The manicured lawn, the expensive lighting, the contemporary home that might qualify as a mansion—no,definitelyqualifies as a mansion—and the slice of ocean I spied behind it as I drove up tell me I wouldn’t be able to afford this place in a million years. Especially not after my ex-wife wrung me out for all I was worth.
My eyes drop down to her bare ring finger, to that telling strip of very slightly paler skin.
And I feel sick.
She divorced the poor jackass she was with and took him for everything he had. I rock back, my foot crunching as I land on the gravel path.
She did to him what my ex-wife did to me—sucked him dry and moved on, living fat and happy on the carcass of her failed marriage.
And I’m at her door, on my knees like the pathetic moron I am, wanting to sign up to be her next victim? I’m jerking myself off into a rag wishing she’d let me breathe in her direction? I’m ignoring the fact that when she walked away, she made the first cut into my flesh that never stopped bleeding?
All because of akiss—because of a single moment during that kiss, when she went soft and pliant in my arms.
How stupid can one man be? The woman walked away from me once, and that should be enough. She showed me who she was twenty-five years ago. People don’t change. Women beat you bloody and leave you for dead with nothing more than a few well-placed words.
Iknowthese things. I’ve experienced it firsthand.
Guess I’m dumber than I thought, because I was just about to beg for it to happen all over again.
