Chapter Twenty-Five Douglas
F ate is both kind and a right bitch leading up to Saturday morning. Georgia is rushing about, trying to prepare for a weekend away—something she hasn’t had in years. My grand plan is to sit around and dream about her, maybe brood that she’s too busy for me when I’m craving her constantly—but fate takes a hand.
Even though my contract states I’ll only be in the New York office once per quarter and when audits are carried out, I get hauled in at the end of the week to sit in on a mandatory new hire meeting (even though I’m not new to the company, I’m only new to this branch). The whole thing could have been handled with an email and a pinch of common sense, but that’s the corporate world for you.
Then I’m asked to go out to dinner with Neilson and some bigwigs from Dubai. As Neilson got me the job that brought me to Pine Ridge, I can hardly refuse. Besides, they’re going out to Tiger and Elephant, one of the finest Indian places in New York City. Pine Ridge doesn’t have any Indian restaurants that I’ve found, and I do miss that cuisine only slightly less than a fresh caught salmon.
I hate not seeing her, not having her in my arms. I hate not hearing her voice.
The texts she sends me... The photos!
That woman should not be allowed to drink a vanilla milkshake out of a straw, to say nothing of what she can do to an eclair...
Late on Friday night, I’m back home, packing for the trip and pacing, trying not to be selfish by demanding that she come over here so I can fall asleep with her in my arms.
I want to ask if I’ve done everything right—but shouldn’t I know? I planned a big holiday for Nicola and me—and she died before we got to take it.
Is that an omen?
Of course not. You went on another holiday with Nicola, didn’t you? And a honeymoon.
And we’d known each other for longer, and she drifted further.
What if the more time Georgia spends with me, the less she wants me? What if what she has for me isn’t love, just infatuation?
“Urgh.” I pull out my phone and hold it, tempted to call Georgia.
Don’t. You’re not supposed to lean on her for every little thing. Distract yourself. Go make up the bannock bread for the picnic.
I flop back on the bed with a groan.
I didn’t even buy a picnic hamper. I was going to yesterday, and I never did. Originally, she was to take me for a picnic, somewhere local. I’m the one who made it a big weekend away. That means I should have planned all the little bits and details, doesn’t it? Like packing the lunch and having something to pack it in .
My thumb swipes up and dials Finlay.
“Are y’ dead?” My brother’s voice is a sleep-roughened growl. It’s barely dawn over in Scotland.
“About to be. I don’t know. I forgot to buy a picnic hamper.”
There’s a long pause. “Dougie... That’s not fatal.”
“I’m going away for the weekend.”
“For God’s sake, man, stop and get a hamburger like every other American. Invest in one of those insulated kits for your sandwiches.”
“No! Fin, I’m going away with a woman. The first one I’ve seen since Nicola. I feel like she’s the first one I’ve ever seen,” I admit, hands raking nervously at my hair. Black and gray strands fall in front of my eyes. “I’m too old to have this many nerves.”
Finlay sounds wide awake now. I hear him groan as he starts to move, his bones still mending. “Tell me about your plans. About the girl.”
“I’ve found a little place, the Crystal Springs Hotel in the historical town of Antonia. It’s not too far, and it’s the prettiest mountain town with a scenic overlook that’s incredible. It’ll be cool enough in the summer heat. It’s still in the mountains, but it’s not right here in town. People don’t need to interrupt us.”
“Hm. Planning to spend some time alone?” The innuendo is clear. I can practically hear his smirk.
“Yes,” I say in icy tones, daring him to ask for more details.
“Where’s the picnic come in?”
“This started out as a picnic and turned into a weekend away. Out of town.” I swallow hard. For some reason, that makes it more serious.
“Is the town busy?”
“Not based on what I’ve read online.”
“Not that you’ll need to leave your room...”
“Finlay Wickstaff!”
“Wheesht, man, hold your rage. What are you callin’ me for, Douglas? Put your lunch in a cardboard box on ice. You must be able to lay your hands on some ice and boxes. You’ve just moved, your house must be full of them!”
“I could...” I stall, feeling like a coward.
“Out with it.”
My brother knows me so well. “The more I’m with her, the more I feel for her. The longer Nicola was with me, the worse things got—the quieter. The more distant. What if that happens with Georgia?”
“Hm.”
“That’s it?” I kick one foot, wishing it would lodge in Fin’s useless backside. “The only time I don’t worry about how she feels about me is when I’m with her, but I’m worried that the more I’m with her, the less content she’ll be.”
“Lord. Dougie, you’re supposed to be the smart one. The more you’re with her the better you feel, aye?”
“Aye.”
“That’s a sign you ought to be together more , not less, ye daft pudding.”
“But I—”
“Has she given you the slightest indication that she doesn’t want you around?”
I think of how we carve out time for each other, from my rushing to her house just to see her before bed, to the texts she sends me, to the way we could barely keep our hands off of each other in the middle of a bloody walk-in fridge! “No.”
“Not to hurt your heart, but you keep comparing this girl to Nicola. Did you and Nicola act the same as you and Georgia? I know you’re afraid you will by the end, but think back to the beginning. Was it ever like this with Nicola, may she rest in peace?”
My brain feels heavy and foggy suddenly, trying to remember back.
I remember when I first saw Nicola as a romantic interest. It was a grand, sunny day, and she stared at me across a mass of Orcs and humans, all together at a gathering of the clans. She had cool appraising eyes, and I raised my glass to her. By the end of the night, we made plans to meet again. We were both “late matchers,” and there was a thrill of satisfaction and hope on both parts. We’d found the answer.
Satisfaction, hope, relief, happiness... But not this fevered ache to be with her, not the bewildered delight that she wanted me as much as I wanted her.
“Georgia and I have something unique. I’ve never felt anything like it. Don’t know if it’s all love, all lust, or some combination.” I know it’s both, but I don’t want to sound too confident.
“I reckon that as long as you both share it, things will go well. The fact that you call me to bitch and moan says a lot, Dougie.”
I snarl, “I’m doing no such thing. I was asking for brotherly wisdom—which is about as useful as asking a jam spoon to recite the alphabet.”
“A jam spoon, am I?” Finlay growls back, then laughs. “Here’s my wisdom, have a spoonful—the moment you know she’s the one—you don’t muck about. You ask her on bended knee to be your bride, and you’d best hurry up if you want a traditional wedding this year, at the end of summer. I’ll bet you a bottle of the finest that she says yes and that she’ll be happy to walk up the aisle with you come September.”
“September! That’s only a few months away. Weeks, even.” I can count it as months, or weeks, or even days.
Georgia could be mine in days.
I lick my suddenly too-wet lips. I’m hoping that by tomorrow night she’ll be mine in the physical sense, even though I feel I should court her better and longer. “I won’t bet on a lady’s acceptance. What would that say about her if she would agree to marry me so soon? Shouldn’t I court her for a longer time? Show her I’m worth the risk? Georgia already knows about Nicola—how I failed her.”
Finlay curses under his breath. “Ye dinnae fail her. It was a marriage that withered without a lack of care, but by God, I’ll stake the lives of our entire clan that it wasn’t you who was careless. Anyone who knows you knows that you tried to be a good husband and mate—even if you were a grumpy bugger and a bit clumsy with it.”
His words might be full of backhanded insults (and perhaps a few compliments), but I feel better. My brother’s heated defense of me gives me a little hope, but he’s not done.
“When you get married, you don’t stop courting. If Georgia loves and accepts your offer of marriage in a matter of days or weeks, it means she has faith in you. She knows you won’t suddenly stop wooing her. It means she’s smart, too, smarter than you, I hope, as you’re tying yourself in knots over picnic hampers.”
We chuckle together, my laughter soft and self-conscious while his booms.
“Thanks, Fin.”
“You’re welcome. Speaking of wooing... the bairns are out of the house and my ribs feel better today. I think I’ll see what the missus is doing in the kitchen.”
“Don’t break anything else. If all goes well—I might need you to stand up for me in September.”
“I told you. A bottle of the best. I’ll have it ready, and I’ll pack it in m’ suitcase.”
I hang up and notice that I’ve received another text from Georgia. It just came in a few seconds ago.
A picture of a picnic hamper.
Georgia: I know you said you’d pack the food, but do you have something to pack it in? I have a picnic basket. Want me to bring it over early?
I put a hand over my heart. She has what I need. The little things. The big things.
My God, I’m in love, heart so full that I feel my rib cage lifting off the bed.
Douglas: That would be perfect. It’s not a far drive, and you must be tired. Want to be on the road by eight?”
Georgia: Six would be better. I want to spend every second of the weekend with you.
Douglas: How about every second of the rest of your life?
Fuck! I hit send! How do I un send? How do I delete that? Isn’t there a way to delete messages you didn’t mean to send, you soppy cow!? What is she going to think? Or say?
Georgia: That would be even better. Love you.
I stop my frantic search, just staring at the screen.
Calm. Acceptance. Just simple reassurance.
I’m beginning to think that one day, maybe even tomorrow, I’ll finally be able to stop overthinking and doubting every move I make around her. She just... loves me for who I am.
Douglas: I love you, too. Six it is. I was going to make a bannock to take in the hamper.
Georgia: Do you have jam? I have really good fresh raspberry jam from Onyx Farms.
Douglas: Perfect.
Douglas: You’re perfect to me.
Georgia: Stop. I’m going to cry.
Douglas: Don’t cry, love. Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day.
WHEN SATURDAY MORNING comes, I’m absolutely buzzing to see her. It’s the best feeling in the world when she runs to my door with her picnic basket in her hand and a big duffle bag over her arm.
“We’re taking your car, right?” she breathes as I crush her into a hug.
“Mhm. Is that all you’re bringing?”
“Well, it’s only for one night away.” Georgia blushes and my insides clench.
Tonight is the night. I want to make love to her in the fullest sense of the word, and I wish I wasn’t nervous.
I’m so nervous.
“Are you okay?” Georgia steps back and holds my hands, the picnic basket dangling over our wrists.
“Should I—Should I have booked two rooms?” I gulp. I booked one room at a little motel. I should have booked a palatial suite if I intended for us to share a bed—and everything that comes with it. Was booking one room presumptuous? I didn’t think so at the time, but now I’m convinced it was.
I love it when Georgia smiles up at me and puts one hand on my chest. All the fear fades, fleeing from her touch. “I love sleeping next to you! I missed you so much last night. I was considering coming over here just to snore and drool next to you,” she whispers.
“You don’t snore. But I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
Georgia, so strong and confident, melts against me and sighs. It’s my turn to soothe and protect.
Or at least commiserate.
“You ever been so happy and nervous at the same time that you think you might be sick all over the woman you love?” I ask with one eyebrow arched.
I can feel her laughter, a little singing breath. “You mean so nervous and happy you might barf on your boyfriend’s kilt? Yeah, I’ve had that. Like... I’m wondering if I should have packed this, and maybe if you tell me for sure, I’ll know we’re on the same page.”
With a bright, blushing face, Georgia unzips the peach and black duffel and holds it out to me.
I peer inside and see that right on top of all the mundane things like clothes and toothpaste is a silky little slip of a nightgown and a big bottle of Perfect Glide. I know what that is, even if I haven’t used it.
“Is that okay?”
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. I’m thinking about another knot, about her tight little pussy taking me to the hilt and wrapping around me until I burst inside of her.
It brings up another subject, one we should address more clearly.
“We’re very much on the same page,” I croak. “Since we are, maybe we should talk about contraception? Knotting... Knotting and condoms don’t mix. I think there’s an herbal potion, but I haven’t been taking it. I should have gotten some, but... I don’t know. I held off.”
A small part of my brain may have thought that Farrah Fenclan would surely get to hear of it and have some strong words (or hexes) for me.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. We’ll have to worry about that next week.” Georgia knits her fingers together. “This weekend isn’t in the ‘fertile zone.’”
That intimate little detail makes me stupidly proud. She shared private matters with me, as she should. I want her to feel safe with me, and to know how her body works... Finlay might say I’m a bit touched, but I love knowing. It means Georgia let me in, and wants me in her life.
“I’ll get some of that potion as soon as we’re back. I promise, I’ll make sure it’s safe.”
“Right. For now.” Her smile is suddenly a little tight, and her voice drops to a mumble.
“Hm?”
“Nothing. It’s something that we can talk about later.”
“Talk about what, love?” I put my arm around her shoulders, but Georgia slips past me, taking her picnic basket to the kitchen. She methodically starts packing all the food I’ve laid out on the table, adding it to the ample bounty she’s already brought.
My happy feeling dims.
God, no. Not this. I want her to talk to me. To tell me everything. Slipping past and saying it’s nothing? I try not to spiral into a flashback of Nicola’s silent smiles and the brief brush of a kiss on my cheek before she’d leave to wander the hills alone for hours.
“It’s silly, and it’ll scare you off.”
“What? No! Nothing could ever scare me off, Georgia. I’m the one who's afraid that you’ll leave. Drift away from me the more you see,” I confess, following after her.
“Douglas, no! I won’t drift away from you. I love you more each time I’m with you.”
“Then talk to me. My greatest fear is that you’ll simply... stop. That this will fade away.” I put my arms around her waist and lay my head on top of hers, inhaling the scent of her soft blonde locks.
Georgia shrugs. “I’m thirty. I’d love to be a mom while I still have lots of energy to enjoy it. But when you just find the right guy, and you tell him right away you want to have a family... I hear the stories. A lot of guys have been scared off by women who say stuff like that. They’re not ready for a family, and I’m crazy about you.” Her voice is a barely audible whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.”
My arms tighten around her more. “I’ve been waiting for a family for so long. I thought I’d never get it—I thought I’d lost my chance. If I met a woman who loved me and wanted my child, you know I’d never leave her side. She’d be stuck with me.”
I love the way her head tips back with a smile. “I want to be stuck with you.”
Is it wrong that my hands roam to her middle and rest there? Is it wrong that my cock misreads the situation entirely and presses into her backside, suddenly hard?
Georgia’s smile turns to a bitten lip and a muffled snicker. “Ooh. Someone likes that idea more than I expected.”
“Georgia...” She shouldn’t tease me.
“I like that it turns you on.” She wiggles her backside against me, and it’s suddenly all I can do not to bend her over the table and rip the stretchy, soft shorts she wears down the middle and plunge my cock into her warmth.
Patience.
I’m already moving much more quickly than I thought possible a few weeks ago.
With a firm squeeze, I cup her cheek and separate myself from temptation. “Um. Breakfast?”
Georgia pats the warm bannock wrapped in a clean tea towel. “Can we have picnic number one and number two? Breakfast around eight and lunch around noon?”
I put the bannock in the basket and shut the lid. “Let’s go.”