Chapter 28 Georgina
GEORGINA
The iron gate in front of Reed’s house comes into view in the car’s headlights, and I smile to myself.
I can’t believe this is my life. I’m sitting next to Reed in the backseat of the black sedan that’s driving us to Reed’s house from the Red Card Riot show, and I’m losing my freaking mind.
A mere nine days ago, I stood on the other side of that same iron gate, shrieking at Reed to let me out or I’d sue him for negligence and false imprisonment.
And now, here I am, wanting nothing more than to get my horny ass back inside that damned gate, so Reed can take me to heaven again, the same way he did in that janitorial closet earlier tonight.
“Ah, the scene of the crime,” Reed says playfully as the car approaches his house. He squeezes my hand, releasing an unexpected ripple of butterflies into my belly. “Are you, by any chance, feeling the sudden urge to double-flip me off—or perhaps sue me for ‘negligence and false imprisonment’?”
I bat my eyelashes at him. “Now, why would I want to do that, when we buried the hatchet so deliciously earlier tonight?”
Reed leans forward and grazes his soft lips against my cheek. “And, oh, how amazing it felt to bury my hatchet inside you, Georgina Ricci. So damned good, I can’t wait to bury it again and again, all week long—and even more deliciously.”
My clit pulses at Reed’s words and then throbs with yearning when Reed skims his lips across the length of my jawline. I turn my head, intending to crush my hungry lips against his, but it’s not meant to be. The car has stopped, signaling we’ve arrived at our destination.
“Is there a code?” the driver says, referring to the gate, and Reed shoots me a heated smolder that says, Hold that thought.
“We’ll just get out here,” Reed tosses out.
After we pile out of the sedan together, Reed heads to the trunk to retrieve my suitcase—the one I packed thinking I’d be spending an exciting week on the road with rock royalty—while I head to the gate and stare slack-jawed through its metal slats at Reed’s breathtaking house.
After a moment, Reed appears at my side, wheeling my suitcase behind him.
He unlocks a pedestrian gate and politely gestures for me to pass through first, which I do.
“Are you cold?” Reed asks as I walk by. “You’re shaking.”
I rub my upper arms. “Just excited. Also, nervous.”
“Nervous?” He closes the gate behind us. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Georgie girl. I come in peace. For the next week, my home is yours.”
Butterflies. They’re not rippling inside me any longer. They’re flapping up a damned storm.
“Thank you.”
Inside the darkened house, Reed parks my suitcase and flips a switch, and I gasp at the magnificence illuminated before me.
Reed’s massive living room is fit for a modern-day king.
Its ceilings aren’t high—they’re towering.
Floor-to-ceiling windows announce the owner of this manor is literally, and figuratively, on top of the world.
Dark wood and ironwork declare a masculine, powerful man resides in this castle.
But colorful tiling and unexpected pops of decorative color—sapphire blues, ruby reds, royal purples—make it clear the powerful owner of this manor is a cultured gentleman who isn’t afraid to take risks.
Reed motions to my bag at the front door. “Would you like me to bring your suitcase to my bedroom, or would you prefer to sleep in a guest room this week?”
Anticipation flickers across Reed’s chiseled face. A flash of vulnerability, I’d even say—like he’s momentarily possessed by the spirit of a teenager asking his crush to prom. But as fast as that vulnerability appears on Reed’s handsome face, it vanishes again, supplanted by his usual confidence.
But there’s no going back. I’ve caught a glimpse of what lies beneath Reed’s usual swagger, however fleetingly—as if I’d gazed out the window of a speeding train and caught the briefest glimpse of a sparkling, silver lake through a thick blanket of pine trees—and, just this fast, I’m instantly hooked and want to see it again.
“I think I’d prefer to sleep in a guest room this week,” I say.
But I’m lying through my teeth. If I were telling the truth, I’d admit I want nothing more than to sleep next to Reed in his bed this week.
But, unfortunately, my gut is telling me, rather forcefully, that carving out a safe space for me to take an occasional time out from Reed, and my thumping lust for him, will go a long way toward keeping me on-track to fulfill my higher purpose.
I’m not only here to fulfill my carnal desires, after all. More importantly, I’ve got a job to do.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Reed replies smoothly. But he can’t hide the flash of disappointment that flickers across his face as he says it. This time, he’s not a teenager asking his crush to prom. He’s the boy who’s just gotten flatly turned down.
I brush my fingertips against Reed’s forearm. “Will you give me a tour?”
He clears his throat. “Of course.” He turns and gestures to the expansive space. “This is my living room—the place you’re going to party like a rock star this Saturday night.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“This room is the main reason I bought the house. I wanted a place where I could throw epic parties. And when I walked in here, I said to myself, Bingo.”
“Why so many parties?”
“It’s a big part of my business plan. Whenever one of my A-list artists kicks off a tour in LA, I throw their after-party here to celebrate and generate buzz for the tour.
I also throw parties to celebrate award nominations and wins.
Also, to celebrate whenever one of my artists’ albums goes gold or platinum or diamond—which, thankfully, happens a lot these days.
Plus, on top of all that, I allow certain charities to throw their annual fundraising galas here. ”
I look around the impressive space. “Do you ever throw parties here just for fun?”
“Sure. I’ve hosted bachelor parties and birthday parties. I even had a wedding here—for my best friend, Henn. You met him at the bar.”
I nod. “That was sweet of you to let him have his wedding here. You’re a good friend.”
Reed shrugs. “Henn is a brother to me, and his wife, Hannah, is the best. It was my pleasure to do it for them.”
Aw, damn. My heart just skipped a beat. “So, uh, what are some of the charities you’ve let use the place?”
Reed talks passionately for a bit about his favorite charities—one his sister is heavily involved with that helps kids with cancer, and another devoted to saving the planet.
And as he speaks, I have the urge to do two things: one, jump his bones, just because he’s yummy as hell, especially when he talks about making the world a better place.
And, two, I’m dying to pull out my phone and record him speaking, or at least take furious notes, so I can quote him precisely when I eventually sit down to write my article.
But I refrain, figuring Reed might clam up if he sees me pulling out my phone.
“And, of course,” Reed says, “CeeCee’s favorite charities always have an open invitation to throw their fundraisers here. When it comes to the indomitable CeeCee, my answer is almost always yes.”
I shoot Reed a snarky side-eye. “Yeah, unless what CeeCee wants is an in-depth interview for Dig a Little Deeper.”
Reed chuckles. “I said my answer is almost always yes. CeeCee knows she can have anything she wants from me, except that.”
“Why is that, again?”
“Because the inner workings of my mind and life aren’t anybody’s fucking business.”
I make a face that says, Well, alrighty then. And Reed smirks in reply before returning his attention to his expansive living room.
“It might seem like this house is too big for a bachelor to live here alone,” he says. “But I’ve never once regretted buying this place.”
Excitement about Saturday night’s party ripples inside me. “I can’t wait to see your house in action. Thank you so much for throwing the party, and for letting me invite Alessandra.”
“No need to thank me. Like I said, I’m throwing the party for business reasons—because I’ve determined it will help you and the other writer assigned to the special issue bond with my musicians in a way that will elevate the end product.”
I flash Reed a snarky look. “Sure, Reed. You not wanting me to party with C-Bomb this week didn’t inspire your decision at all.”
“Not at all.” He matches my snarky expression. “Come on, Intrepid Reporter. There’s a lot more to see.” He takes two steps and tosses over his shoulder, “And, yes, you can take notes on your phone. But, please, don’t record me speaking, unless I’ve expressly consented.”
I stop walking, surprised he’s read my mind so accurately, and Reed stops walking, too.
“Georgie, you’ve got the most expressive face I’ve ever seen, and I can already read it like a book.” He crooks his finger. “Now, come, come, little kitty. I’ll show you the whole house, anything you want to see. Just as long as the last stop is my bedroom upstairs.”