Chapter 22
‘You think really loudly, did you know that?’
My head snapped to the side. George sat in the driver's seat, one elbow resting on the window ledge, the other casually holding the steering wheel.
The sleeves of his shirt were pulled up to his elbow, showing off the ripples of his muscles.
And holy hell, now I knew what those arms felt like wrapped around my body, pulling me close, tangling in my hair.
Sometimes, I could almost convince myself that he would be shit in bed, so all of this attraction I felt towards him was pointless.
Last night set that idea on fire. Nearly burning me in the process.
‘The only thing I’m thinking is that your taste in music is awful.
’ An hour into the drive, I’d played him the hits from Taylor Swift, Lizzo, JP Saxe and several other pop legends and with each one his fingers would flex, like he was fighting the urge to switch it off.
I’d finally conceded and put on the all eighties playlist I had on Spotify.
As soon as Africa by Toto came on, he shot me a smirk and relaxed.
That smile, that fucking smile that felt like it had a direct line to my core, had me shifting in my seat. His eyes dipped down to my thighs before he looked back out the window.
‘And yet,’ he said. ‘You’re humming every song.’
‘Stockholm syndrome.’
Roxy was fast asleep in the back, curled up tight. Seeing the travel blanket he’d bought for her brought a fresh knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. It’s not the fact that he went out and bought it, Fallon would do that, even though she was allergic to Roxy.
It’s the fact that he thought about it, thought about her, about me. He had nothing to gain from doing it. There wasn’t a fight he was trying to smooth over. No mistake—that I knew of—he was trying to cover up, and he’d still done it.
For years, the only time my father ever did anything nice for my mother, it was after he’d cheated.
Usually with a sex worker he’d hired. He’d come sauntering through the door head high, clasping the cheapest flowers he could find and thrust them at Mum without a word.
Never said sorry, didn’t acknowledge it at all.
Neither did she. She knew what he was doing, the people he would meet, and the things he would do behind her back.
The lies, the cheating, she knew it all.
But he’d had her so convinced that she couldn’t survive on her own she took every indiscretion on the chin.
She’d faded so far into herself that she couldn’t see her own worth.
And he went off, happy as can be, continuing to be a cunt without recourse.
‘No good deed comes for free, Rosie.’ My mum would say that like a mantra.
A boy walking me home after school, she’d say that the moment I walked through the door.
If dad ever took me to the movies—on the rare occasion that occurred—I’d find out the next day he’d gone for the week, away with the girlfriend mum knew all about.
And she’d utter that phrase, over and over.
Eventually, it embedded itself into my soul.
George doing that for me to anyone else might have been a simple gift, or as he called it, the bare fucking minimum. But all I wanted to know was when the other shoe would drop. When would he break the news that something bad was happening?
No good deed comes for free.
Those words wound round and round in my head as we drove.
When our destination came up ahead, I was itching to get out of the car. Being this close to George was doing things to my head, and none of them were good. Okay, that was a lie. Some of them were good. Some of them were downright filthy, but even those sent my brain into overdrive.
The second he pulled up, I popped open the door and hopped out. I felt George’s steely gaze on me, but I ignored it.
Roxy was wagging her tail furiously, letting out soft barks when I was clearly too slow at opening up the door.
The second I did, she was off like a rocket.
The place we were staying was in the middle of thick, dense wood. Tall pines towered on all sides and the sweet scent of dew hung in the air. I came around the side of the car to see where Roxy had shot off too and found George standing, hands in his pockets, head tipped back, eyes closed.
He looked… at ease.
‘You love it out here, don’t you?’ I sidled up to him, keeping an inch of space between us.
George slowly looked down at me. Something terrifying and beautiful hiding behind those eyes. ‘Never been here before.’
I elbowed him gently in the ribs. ‘I meant outside.’
He chuckled, and my damn brain immediately recalled how that same low laugh had echoed down the phone last night. ‘Yeah, you don’t get this kind of peace in the city.’ He took a deep, cleansing breath.
We lapsed into silence as we watched Roxy sniff and mark her scent on every tree she found. Running all over the place like she’d never been this happy.
I jolted when a warm hand fell to the small of my back. George had snuck closer and, without giving me a chance to think, he pressed a kiss to my temple.
‘Let’s get the stuff inside. Fallon texted saying they were an hour away.’ He walked past me to the boot, starting to unload all of our stuff.
My fingers touched the spot he’d so casually kissed.
It took longer than I’d anticipated to get everything inside and set up.
The place was beautiful. A mixture of rustic cabin, and luxury retreat.
A log fire was tucked away in one corner.
Soft, plush sofas crowding around it to complete the cosy vibe.
Since we were technically in a treehouse, we had to walk over a few bridges to get to our particular cabin.
A hot tub sat outside, looking out into the forest and giving the perfect backdrop.
I had no idea how Fallon found this place, but it was incredible.
George had already put our suitcases away, put the cake in the fridge and was sitting on the sofa, blowing up balloons and grumbling.
‘I already told you I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.’ I smothered a laugh, watching his face get redder by the second as he blew up his eleventh balloon. Eleven out of thirty-four.
Which wouldn’t have been a problem if I’d remembered to bring the pump. But in the rush of leaving, and George’s habit of taking away my ability to think coherently, I’d left it sitting on my kitchen counter.
‘I’m not sure I believe you. It’s the perfect murder plan, death by exhaustion.’ He scowled at me before taking a huge breath and blowing it into the balloon.
‘I have no desire to kill you.’ I paused, as if genuinely mulling it over. ‘Not yet anyway.’
He did his best to glare, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
I tugged out the banner from the box, the last thing we needed to hang before the place was finished. It already looked like a circus had thrown up in here. A small part of me revelled in the fact that Oliver would hate all of this attention.
‘Why does your brother hate his birthday?’ I asked as I unravelled the Happy Birthday Oliver sign.
George took some deep breaths and tied off the end of the balloon, batting it away more violently than strictly necessary.
‘I don’t think he does, not really. But he gets so much attention on all other aspects of his life. People are always looking at him, I think when it comes to his birthday he’s sort of over it.’
‘Do you like your birthday?’ I grabbed a chair from the dining table and pushed it up against the wall. George eyed what I was doing and abandoned his balloons to come striding across the room.
‘What are you doing?’ The frown on his face shouldn’t have been sexy. And I shouldn’t have got such a thrill out of being the one to put it there. But here we were.
‘Putting the banner up.’
‘Let me do that.’ He lifted one end of the paper, ready to tug it from my grasp.
I tightened my grip. ‘I’m not incapable, you know. Plus, you’re on balloon duty. I’d hate to cause even more strife to you.’ My eyelashes fluttered as I spoke, earning me a deeper frown.
‘Rosie, give me the banner.’ His voice dipped low in warning.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ I said lightly. Tugging the banner free from his grasp, I lifted myself onto the chair.
George let out a soft curse, his hands immediately flying to my waist. A shot of heat scorched through my body. I muffled the involuntary gasp that fled my lips, feeling his hands on me.
‘You’re gonna kill yourself.’ His fingers pinched the exposed skin of my waist. I had to fight back a moan.
Mentally shaking my head, I scoffed. ‘By hanging a birthday banner? You’re being dramatic.’
‘And you’re standing on the very edge of the chair.’
My head dropped to see my heels perched on the edge, toes nearly hanging off. If the hands gripping my waist weren’t as tight, I’d have no doubt toppled off by now.
I shuffled back to the centre. ‘Better?’
‘No. Get down.’
Ignoring him, I lifted the banner to the corner of the archway. It would be the first thing you saw when you came through the front door. I pressed it to the plaster and let out a frustrated grumble.
‘Shit. I forgot the hooks. Could you grab them for me? They’re on the counter.’ I pointed over to the kitchen where the box and all the other stuff we hadn’t put away yet sat in a messy cluster.
I looked down to see George staring up at me like I’d lost my mind. ‘Only if you come down.’
I tamped down my frustration. ‘We’re wasting time. They’re gonna be here any minute. Please just get them.’
He wavered for a second, glancing between me and the counter. ‘Don’t fucking move,’ he grumbled. I held up two fingers to my head.
‘Yes, sir.’
His hands on my waist flexed. A darkness crossed over his eyes at those words that had me nearly tumbling straight off the chair and into his arms.
Reluctantly, he let go of me and stepped away, keeping a careful eye on me the entire time.
When he was satisfied I wasn’t going to topple over, he sighed and went looking for the removable hooks I’d brought.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘What question?’
‘Do you like your birthday?’
His eyes darted back to me every few seconds as he searched. ‘I don’t hate it.’
‘That’s a double negative. And doesn’t count as a proper answer,’ I quipped.
He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. ‘I’m thirty-five. Had a lot of birthdays. Don’t really care about them, but don’t hate them either.’
The banner grew heavy the longer I stood on the chair. Deciding to shift it to my left hand to give my right a break, I lifted it high in the air, overestimating my ability to balance. My legs wobbled on the chair and that was all it took for my centre of gravity to shift.
‘Fuck!’ I cried out as my hands dropped the banner in favour of saving myself, flailing desperately out in front of me to grasp hold of anything that could save me from face planting the wooden floor.
My legs buckled, and a scream lodged in my throat as I pitched forward. Inches from the floor, two hands quickly grabbed me by the waist and pulled me off the side. A low grunt sounded from just below as both our bodies landed with a thud on the ground.
Instead of the hard wooden floor, I was lying right on top of George. He’d tucked me tightly against his chest, taking the brunt of the fall.
‘I told you not to fucking move.’ His breathing was laboured as he clutched me so hard, his fingers would leave indents in my skin. The thought of having him lingering on my body like that sent a shiver down my spine.
‘I barely moved.’ Instead of sounding convincing, my voice came out breathy and small.
My thighs were draped over his, my breasts pressing against his pecs. I’d never been more aware of my body than I was right now.
His hot gaze raked over my face. The concern previously etched on his features melted away, leaving only a blazing feverish need.
He stared at me like he never wanted to look away.
Like there was nowhere on earth he’d rather be than lying on the floor with me draped on top of him.
God help me, but I was right there with him.
Feeling him hard and unyielding underneath me was sending my body into overdrive.
‘I’ll move,’ I whispered.
‘Don’t you dare.’
His hand went up and clasped the back of my neck, holding me to him as he sealed our lips together. My heart gave up another piece to him as my body melted under his touch.
My hands tangled in the material of his shirt, twisting, clawing as I tried to get closer to him.
Needed to get closer to him. My entire body was electrified with a current burning in every place he touched.
It’s like I hadn’t been breathing before I met him, and now I knew what it was like to have that air fill my lungs.
Everything else felt like death. Panic started at the base of my spine.
I pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time for that stupid part of my brain to ruin this.
I had him, for however long this thing lasted, I had him, near me, on me, and if I had my way, in me.
I’d take the inevitable pain of losing him, because I would eventually lose him.
That wasn’t in question. But a selfish part of me wasn’t ready to let him go yet.
Just a little longer.
With a growl that shot straight to my pussy, George effortlessly flipped us so my back was pressed to the hardwood floor, legs spread open as he fit himself between them. His hard cock was pressed against my aching core.
My head fell back, breaking the kiss when he thrust forward, making me feel every hard inch of him.
‘Make me so goddamn hard for you. Make me worry about you, make me… fuck.’ He broke off, slamming his lips into mine.
My fingers threaded into his hair, pulling on the strands. I wanted him to finish that sentence. To tell me that this wasn’t just in my head. That I wasn’t the only one feeling this. But I wasn’t about to break this kiss for anything.
‘Need you. Please.’ The desperation in my voice whooshed around my head. I didn’t care.
George pulled away. A soft whine built in the back of my throat. One hand held me firmly by the hips, the other reached up to cup my cheek. His eyes were black with desire and his chest pitching in an erratic rhythm.
‘Fuck it,' he said, fingers lacing around my throat as he dipped down to take my mouth.
Nothing had ever felt like him. I’d never wanted to give up control like I did in this moment.
‘Surprise!’ A door banged open. ‘Oh, fuck.’
The two of us froze for a second before scrambling apart.
Fallon was holding the door open, her eyes wide with shock. We both got to our feet, readjusting our clothes. Although we hadn’t got the chance to remove any of them, we were definitely rumpled.
I felt George solidify beside me. His eyes locked with Oliver, who stood like a statue in the doorway. Gaze darting between us, Oliver scoffed.
‘Happy fucking birthday to me.’