“The only thing I’m hungry for is you,” she whispered.
River’s dark eyes turned even darker. He lightly kissed her fingertip, and then his tongue darted out, barely touching her skin, sending a bolt of heat down to her core.
Releasing a soft moan, she slid her hand down his neck to his chest.
He wove his hand into her hair and kissed her deeply.
She melted into him, needing to be closer, needing more. Her fingers spread across his chest, feeling the hard muscles she’d gaped at when he’d changed his shirt on Friday, and now that she had that image in her head, she wanted to see them again. She wanted to know the feel of him without any barrier between their skin.
Reaching for the hem of his shirt, she tugged up, and River quickly caught on, taking a moment to pull it over his head and toss it onto the floor.
He leaned over to kiss her again, but she backed up a step, giving him a sexy grin. “Let me look first. I’ve been thinking about your chest since you ripped your shirt off in the tasting room. I might or might not have peeked earlier too.”
His eyes hooded as his breath hitched. “And I’ve been thinking about those sexy bras and panties spread all over Flint Street.” Then he added with a shake of his head, “About them on you. Not on the street.”
She laughed, loving that she knew he wouldn’t be offended, that he was laughing with her…and she stripped off her own shirt to reveal the lacy navy-blue bra underneath.
“God, Georgie. You’re even more beautiful than I’d imagined.”
Her own breath caught, realizing that no man had ever told her that before and meant it. She could tell he did. Would she really be able to walk away from him and go back to business as usual? She wasn’t sure, but she had two options: stop things right now or see this through, and now that she’d had a taste of this, she wasn’t stopping.
“Let’s shower together,” she said. The thought of him wet and naked, his skin slick against hers, made her knees shake.
He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I intend on learning every inch of your body.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The first thing River did when he woke up was reach for her. He could still taste her, could still feel her moving against him. It had never been like this with anyone else—it was almost as if they’d anticipated each other’s movements, as if they were perfectly in sync. They’d moved seamlessly from the shower to the bed, and there’d been no first-time awkwardness (or second or third time). He hoped to hell she would consider a quick round four since it was still sort of, kind of dark outside.
But he didn’t feel the curve of her next to him anymore, didn’t hear her soft breathing or smell the shampoo she’d used in the shower. That meant she’d been gone a while.
A hollowness formed in his chest, a familiar ache that made it no less painful. The pain of being left.
You idiot. You knew the deal.
Yes, and he’d known it would feel like this, but he’d decided it was worth it. And it was—or rather it had been—but knowing her in that way had made him want her more. Of course it had.
He turned to look at the empty pillow next to him and saw a crisply folded note.
His mouth ticked upward just a little as he opened the paper and saw the embossed monogram.
I’m sorry I left, River, but I thought it would be easier this way. Last night was—
The pen trailed a little, as if she’d thought about writing something different but had changed her mind.
—amazing. But it’s time to put it in that box we talked about. We didn’t discuss your usual hours yet, given it certainly qualifies as work talk, but I’d appreciate it if you’d come at 9. We have a lot to discuss.
As a love letter, it left a little to be desired, but he found himself smiling. Because it was so Georgie, and because he hadn’t totally given up, not really. He hoped they’d find a way. Because two people who fit like this?
It was kismet. And that didn’t come along more than once in a lifetime.
When River turned on his phone, twenty notifications instantly popped up.
He took a fortifying sip of coffee before he started scrolling through them. The majority were from unknown numbers, but he’d received a text from Maisie at 5:30 a.m.
Either puke bugs are transferable between dogs and humans, or you should consider this a retroactive warning about the food I brought over tonight. I won’t be able to do lunch. You’ll have to give me the crazy story later, although the accounts on Nextdoor really do paint a picture. ;-)
Huh. Maisie sounded like herself, not like she was pissed or anything, but what was the likelihood she’d come down with a bug the same night he threw her out of his apartment? He and Georgie had eaten the takeout Chinese sometime around midnight, and his stomach still felt fine.
He couldn’t shake the thought that Maisie was upset he hadn’t followed her advice about Georgie. But he didn’t want to make assumptions.
I’ll check in later, he responded. See if you need some soup.
Her only response was the yacking emoji.
Sorry you’re sick, he added, and sorry about last night. I hate that we don’t see eye to eye on this.
He saw the three dots that indicated she was writing something, but the message never materialized. More proof that she wasn’t over it. Well, he’d swing by to see her later. Make sure she was okay.
He checked the time—8:00—and glanced through the rest of the messages.
Half were from a woman named Pat, who was apparently the head of the Nextdoor group, which she’d titled CONTAINING THE CAT MENACE ON FLINT STREET in all caps. She’d last texted to ask for a status update at three in the morning. Several other messages were from people who’d supposedly seen Jezebel, although one described her as a portly ginger cat and another admitted to being partially blind. Perhaps he should have thought twice about giving out his number so freely.
Hops pawed at his pants, reminding him that he needed to be taken out. Would Georgie be okay with him coming back to the loft a couple of times to do that? He couldn’t imagine she’d say no, but he was thinking about Georgie, the warm, wonderful woman who’d crept into his heart and lain in his bed, not Georgie, the businesswoman.
A sense of disquiet crept up on him—what would it be like when he saw her?—but he swallowed it down and continued with his morning routine. He arrived at the brewery at a little before nine and headed straight to the back, making his way to Beau’s old office. The place looked cleaner than he’d ever seen it, down to the beer rings on the tables, so at least they’d gotten that sorted. Hopefully Georgie had been able to book the company to take care of Beau’s house too.
He knocked on the door, his heart thumping powerfully in his chest, and heard Georgie’s crisp “Come in.”
He did, and his eyes instantly found her. Her hair had been unbound last night, loose and wild, like she herself was a moon goddess—a notion he’d shared with her while he was still inside her, making her laugh…and then gasp. “Why do you think I named it that?” she’d asked afterward. “I’m a goddess by moonlight.”
This morning her hair was pulled back into that tight style of the first day they’d met. Not a hair out of place. She was wearing an immaculate gray skirt suit that was much too fancy for Asheville, let alone for a brewery, plus a shirt buttoned up to her very chin.