Chapter Seventeen Douglas
“ T hose are button. Those are porcini. These are baby portobellos.”
Georgia’s hand moves over mine as we stand in the fridge, and I love it. I stretch my broad arm over the top of her slender one and press my chest into her back, content to feel her warmth and smell her scent, knowing that I’ll taste her again later.
While she talks, I dream of tasting her everywhere, of splitting her open with my tongue before I finish the job with my cock.
It’s good we’re in a chilly room. It’s keeping my erection to an uncomfortable ache instead of a raging kilt-lifter.
“Okay, sorry about that. You were doing great.” Georgia brushes her hair back from her face and hands the clipboard back to me.
“Apparently, I don’t know as much about cooking as I thought—which was precious little to begin with. Unless we’re talking about fresh game and fish. I know a fair bit about that.” I pat the boxes of mushrooms back into their neat rows, feeling as though I’m breaking into another man’s home by being in Georgie’s precious kitchen and fridge. “Never knew you’d need so many kinds of mushrooms to run a coffee shop.”
“The baby portobellos are more for the catering. We make stuffed mushroom caps, cream of mushroom soup, some quiches have mushrooms...” Georgia trails off and moves to the next shelf. “Go ahead.”
“Zucchini.” I frown. “Courgettes?”
“Mhm. Check.”
“Eggplant. Aubergines?”
“Nailed it, and check.”
I make tick marks on the columns. “Fourteen dozen eggs? Good Lord.”
Georgia switches sides, leaving the produce to head to the area where cartons of milk and dozens of eggs are stacked in wide flats. “That’s nothing. That’s a standard three-times-a-week order. It takes one dozen just to make two quiches and don’t get me started on how many he must go through for cakes, muffins, pastries, and cookies. Then there’s the breakfast sandwiches.”
“People who think the restaurant business is easy are short-sighted fools. This is a small town. How do you keep afloat?”
“Loyal customers, low taxes, and getting everything we possibly can from Onyx Farms. They cut us a wholesale deal. Also, a skeleton crew of staff.”
“Hmm. Eight gallons of whole milk, eight gallons two percent, and three gallons of heavy cream.”
Georgia. Covered in whipped cream.
Or my cream.
Oh, my God. If my mother were alive, she’d box my ears for thinking like this.
“Got it, got it, got it.” Georgia taps each bottle and jug with a finger as she counts.
“You sure there’s room for an extra accountant on this skeleton crew?” I ask, mainly to break up the lust in my brain.
“Five hours a week and unsold pastry? I can afford you.” She smiles at me and runs her hands over the lowest shelf as she bends. “I could always offer you a trade. Pay you under the table?” Her voice is teasing as she sways her hips, showing off her long legs and the curve of her ass.
Slow. We said slow.
So why am I thinking about her sitting under the table with her mouth gulping around me? Or asking to trade hours for hours? An hour of me crunching numbers at my desk for an equal number of hours of her bent over it.
“Urhm. Yeast.” My voice breaks after I try to clear the throb of desire in my throat.
“Plenty. I don’t need to worry about the flour, sugar, and yeast. If we end up in a nuclear winter, Georgie will still have enough dry goods to outlast the radiation. Ooh, speaking of things that could be disastrous, I need to feed Georgie’s sourdough starter.” Georgia snaps upright and sashays past me. “Why don’t you go grab a seat, and I’ll bring out something to nibble on when I’m done?”
Nibble on her. Start at the throat, work my way down...
I nod and retreat faster than politeness dictates, hoping my head will clear.
It doesn’t.
Sitting in the dimly lit and deserted coffee shop, listening to the soft clanks and clatters from the kitchen, my head is a maelstrom.
One second, I’m imagining ravishing that beautiful, brave woman in the kitchen.
The next, I’m wracked with guilt and cursing my own stupidity. I never, ever wanted Nicola like this.
Am I just horny after a long, long period of celibacy?
Am I even a good man for wanting to rush to the bedroom with a woman I’ve not courted properly? Don’t point out the obvious, that we said we’d take things slow. I know what I said.
I know my body doesn’t agree with it.
The safest course of action is probably to say as little as possible so I don’t say the wrong thing.
That’s not what I want. I want to be the person she can talk to—and I want her to be the one I talk to.
Friend. Lover. Everything.
My thumbs circle over my temples.
I feel like I don’t know how to be anything , let alone everything .
GEORGIA brINGS OUT half of an apple pie, two plates of dressed salad, two steaming bowls of a thick, creamy-looking soup, and some dense, crusty rolls that look like they have just the right amount of chew.
For a minute, I can dream about putting something other than my hostess in my mouth.
“This smells heavenly.”
“It’s all leftovers.” Georgia giggles and sits down across from me. “Thanks for helping. You made a boring evening way less boring.” She bites her lip and looks at me, cheeks flushed.
“Mhm.” I make a noise and nod. It’s better than yanking her across the table.
“It’s Italian sausage and gnocchi soup in a creamy asiago broth. Claire’s recipe. It’s been a big hit. I’m surprised there was any left in the freezer.”
“Mmm.” I take a bite. Creamy richness coats my tongue with a sudden sharp hint of basil and other herbs.
“But no one, not even Claire, beats Georgie’s dark rye and spelt mini loaves. One of these babies with fresh butter is all I need for lunch sometimes.” She puts one of the thick ovals on my plate and pushes a little crock of butter towards me. “Um. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But I’ve been reading a lot of steamy romance novels with my book club. I’m pretty sure the modern woman is utilizing another route these days.”
“Ha. You’re probably right.”
For fuck’s sake, Whitstaff! Open your mouth! Speak to the girl!
Georgia’s sweet smile fades to something like a nervous grin. She pokes at her soup and salad. Finally, she mutters, “Wouldn’t really matter. I’m nothing compared to Georgie and Claire when it comes to cooking.”
“Don’t do that.”
She looks up, startled. “Hm? Do what?”
“Put yourself down. Your man would think your food was the best because your hands made it.” My accent, which is never weak to begin with, is nothing but a Highland growl at this point.
Her soft hands fall to the table, slender fingers with pronounced joints from years of hard work twitching as if she doesn’t know what to do with them. Or doesn’t know what to do with me.
“I... I hope so. Was Nicola a good cook? Did you like her cooking? Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about—”
“She was a grand cook. Nothing she couldn’t make.” I cock my head, memories drifting back in.
Dinners she made that smelled like heaven and melted in my mouth—and we ate them with fractured conversations splintering between our lips. After we asked about each other’s days, we talked about what was on the telly, any local news, and how our parents were.
And then... silence.
“A grand cook. I told her so every night.”
“Oh.” Georgia nods, eyes luminous with something sad in their depths. “That’s so sweet.”
“That was about all I told her. I worked through each bit of the meal, stretching the compliments out. ‘What lovely fish pie this is, Nicola. Gravy’s just divine, love. More potatoes, dear? They’re smooth as silk.’” I put my spoon down. “When I ran out of praise for the meal, I had next to nothing to say to her, Georgia. We were both clever people, good at our work, skilled in various things. You’d think we’d have something to say. But we didn’t. I didn’t.”
The much smaller hand steals into mine. “You tried. What did she say?”
“Thank you. Always polite.”
Georgia’s mouth opens, then closes. “It sounds like you threw the ball and she let it drop, Douglas. You can’t play catch with someone who won’t throw it back.”
Shite, that’s what I’ve been doing most of this meal. “I know that. I’m so... I’m so afraid of saying the wrong thing and scaring you off. Of feeling empty and alone again after meeting you. It’s hard to answer, let alone start off,” I admit, piercing through my roll with a savage twist of the knife.
“Ohhh. Is that all?” Georgia’s voice holds a hint of laughter.
I’d be offended, but I’m too surprised.
“Honey, I can talk to anyone . You don’t have to worry about me drifting off in silence as long as you give me something. Anything.” She pokes my knuckle with her forefinger. “I dare you. Say the first thing that comes into your mind, and I’ll answer. Then, I say something, and you answer.”
She’s smirking at me. Her tone is a mix of playful and patronizing. She knows she’s taking the mickey out of me a little bit, but I don’t mind it.
The first thought that pops into my head, hm? She’s playing with fire there.
“I’m difficult. Why do you like me?”
Well. I’ll either come out of this beaming or feeling like an utter fool.
Georgia blushes. “Um. That’s... I guess that’s kind of personal, but it’s about you so you have the right to know. Promise you won’t think I’m shallow?”
I shake my head, eyes narrowing. Shallow? As in there’s something physical she likes about me? I pull my hair back behind one ear. Maybe she has a thing for graying old farts.
“The second you walked in, I couldn’t breathe—and not just because I was choking on a cookie. You were the most handsome man I’d ever seen—Orc or human. And you were in a kilt. Your voice was like Adrian Paul’s from Highlander , only deeper and smoother, no put-on accents or archaic words. I... I had this instant physical reaction. The kind I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”
Well. My head is the size of the restaurant at this point, but I can’t even preen. “Thank you. Your turn.”
“Turnabout is fair play. What did you like about me?”
My answer is instantaneous. “Everything. Your smile. The way you move, the way you talk while you’re doing a million other things. The way you look.” My fingers lock over hers, wanting to pull her soft fingertips between my fingers so that I can feel some part of her wrapping around me again, connecting us, even on the most superficial of levels. “I had that same reaction. The one I thought I must have missed, or one that wasn’t real, just a load of rubbish from old codgers like Ultarn the Prolific.”
Those boundless blue eyes suck me in, and I never want to leave the warm ocean of her gaze. “Doesn’t that mean... Doesn’t that mean something with Orcs? And other races, like wolf shifters? When they meet the one , don’t they know?”
“I... I didn’t think it was true.” That’s all I trust myself to say.
“Well, I think it is. I guess we could agree to disagree,” Georgia whispers.
“Or I could let myself be convinced. I like data. Figures.”
“Research?” Georgia is rising, coming around the table’s edge. My hand is still pulled tight in hers, the tension leaving as she comes to my side.
“Slow research. I... I’m not ready to do things that I only did with Nicola. If I ever do them again, I want them to be incredibly special. So the person I’m with knows how much I love her. Worship her.”
She nods and slides into my lap, straddling me as her head bends over mine for a kiss.
It’s soft and slow, but I’m the one who deepens it, hungrily delving into her smaller mouth to see how tight it feels around me, how hot and wet.
Speaking of hot and wet... I can feel her heat against my thigh. I grip her hips and the heat shifts, to the hardness of the cock I can’t control.
She gasps and I grunt an apology, breaking the kiss.
“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. Do you think it’s okay for people to show each other how they feel—even if they don’t act on it yet?”
I shake my head, uncertain. “I don’t know what you mean, love.”
“Natural things. Things that happen and you can’t totally control.” She strokes my hair back, forehead to mine. For a moment, her hips dip and press, jean-covered pussy to my aching cock.
I nod in wonder.
“Your turn to ask,” she whispers, thumbs stroking the back of my neck as she stays snuggled to me, the parts we shouldn’t even think about touching through inches of fabric.
“Are you trying to set me on fire?” I hiss, only half joking.
“No. Just get you a little steamy. My turn. Want me to get off of your lap?”
Why? Why am I being tortured? “No.” The word drags out, reluctant in the extreme. “Also, yes. I should say yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t remember ever wanting anyone like this.”
“Me, either.”
Well. Those must be the magic words because I suddenly grab the back of her head and bring her mouth back to mine. As we kiss, I can feel her hips flex against me. I can hear her moaning. Whimpering. For me.
Me.
It’s bad manners to leave a woman unsatisfied.
Worse manners to rush into something.
I can’t believe I ask it, but I do. I guess I trust her not to hate me—and I like that feeling. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask, lips against her neck. “You tie me in knots.”
“Not yet, but I’m not afraid of them. Knots, that is.”
The double meaning makes my cock swell further, thrusting up.
“God! Please.” Georgia’s whimpered prayer is meant for me, but I don’t know how to answer it.
“This isn’t slow.”
“It is when you’ve been missing from my life this whole time!” Her voice is a needy squeak between kisses.
“Missing from my life.” Yes. Exactly. Like the half of my heart I thought Nicola stole and buried with her. Poor Nicola. Maybe in heaven, there’s some angel she’s supposed to meet. I hope so.
My angel is in my arms. I squeeze her tight in sudden happiness. “I can’t think about food now. I can’t think about anything but you. You make me feel comfortable.”
“Same. And I love when you talk to me. Tell me you’re not sure. Tell me I’m driving you crazy. I can wait. I’ve been waiting.” Georgia nuzzles her little nose to mine.
“Tomorrow night, I’ll spoil you. Make it worth the wait.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I wish I had some way to suck them back in. I don’t know how to spoil her. And I certainly don’t think my home is the place to romance her and rush into physical intimacies.
Even though my cock is screaming orders to the contrary.
Georgia slowly slides out of my lap.
We spend a moment staring at one another. Her eyes are locked on the tent in my kilt. Mine are locked on the way her chest is heaving. I want to lay my head against those soft, buoyant breasts while I make her come with my fingers, sucking one into my mouth to hear her moan my name.
“Do you know what I’m going to have to do when I get home?” she asks in a tight, clipped voice, walking backwards to her seat.
I scoot my chair in, cheeks burning. “Take a cold shower?”
“No. A long, hot, wet one.”
I need a way to discreetly find out if Farrah Fenclan had any succubus blood in her veins that she passed on to her daughter. She could seduce a saint into the pit with nothing more than her voice and those searing blue eyes.
“What will you do when you get home?” she challenges in that breathy, alluring tone.
“You know what I’ll have to do,” I growl, fist already itching to squeeze around my cock and pretend it’s her sweet little quim.
“Hm. Then we should synchronize our watches. How does 9:30 sound?” Georgia asks.
Is she serious? She wants me to... She wants to...
My mind blanks for a moment. No words. Only the hot, wet vision of Georgia teasing her pussy until she comes, thinking of me. Will she be lying on her back in the tub, legs out over the sides, pouting pink flesh on display?
The room might be spinning.
“Am I being too much?” The breathy seductress has been replaced by a timid woman who suddenly looks worried.
“No! You’re not too much. You’re perfect. You’re— Georgia, if I ever act like I don’t know how to handle a woman like you, it’s because there is no other woman like you. And I want you to be mine.”
“That’s what I want, too.”
I don’t wear a watch, but I tap my bare wrist. “Better make it nine.”
“Promise you’ll be thinking of me?”
“Oh, I promise.” She’s all I can think about these days.