Roman (Cold Fury Hockey #7)(36)

Her golden hair is long and a riot of curls that hang over her shoulders and down her back. She’s wearing black jeans that look painted onto her body and tucked into black high-heeled boots that come up to her knees. I can’t see what kind of top she has on because she’s wearing a cranberry-colored leather jacket that sits above her waist but is zipped up to the bottom of her throat. She’s adorned with rings on all her fingers, and numerous bangles on both wrists. Georgia Mack is an untamed beauty with an equally wicked aura about her, and at this moment all I can think is that she’s the complete opposite of me, and yet I’m drawn to her for some stupid reason.

Her brown eyes—which two weeks ago I’d classified as warm—now stare at me shrewdly from across the expanse of my office as she says with that southern twang of hers, “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister.”

My body jerks in surprise and my eyes cut swiftly to my receptionist, who is now staring at Georgia with her mouth hanging open.

“That will be all, Claudia,” I tell her, and her eyes snap to me. “Thank you.”

She bobs her head, doesn’t give another look to Georgia, and backs out of my office, closing the door softly behind her.

Because I’m feeling out of sorts because of this unusual attraction I have to this annoying woman, and because she’s clearly here to “pick a bone” with me, I manage to straighten my shoulders and wave my hand at one of my desk chairs.

“By all means,” I tell her smoothly, establishing firm control of this meeting…well, whatever this is. “Have a seat.”

She narrows her eyes and stalks toward me, bypassing my guest chairs and coming right to the edge of my desk, where she slams her palms against it, the bangles on her wrist chiming merrily in opposition to her clear anger. “I want to know what in the hell is going on with Lexi, and we’re going out to lunch to talk about it.”

Immediate concern for my daughter overwhelms me. “What’s wrong with Lexi?”

“Well, we’re going to lunch to talk about it,” she says adamantly.

“We’re going to lunch?” I ask stupidly, thrown completely off-kilter.

“We’re going to lunch,” she affirms. “I’m killing two birds with one stone. We need to talk about Lexi and I’m tired of waiting for you to ask me out. You move at the speed of molasses and I’m not getting any younger.”

My head actually goes dizzy trying to keep up with her. She’s clearly pissed at me, feels I’ve done something to affront her, and yet she wants to go out with me? What little bit of control I thought I might have had with this woman seems to be slipping quickly from my grasp, and to save my male ego from taking too much more of a beating, I calmly say, “I don’t have time to go to lunch, but if you’ll sit down, I’m sure we can rationally and calmly discuss what has you worried about Lexi.”

Those brown eyes flash with something I’d label as indignation before hardening into resolve. I think that perhaps for a brief moment she’ll listen to reason and take my suggestion.

Instead, she merely pushes up from her leaning position over my desk and says, “No, thank you. I’m not interested in that.”

And to my utter surprise, she shocks me stupid by turning around and flouncing toward my office door. I watch her retreating form, my eyes dropping to her ass that is molded nicely in those jeans, stunned she’s leaving.

Worried she’s leaving because she’s clearly concerned about my daughter, as am I.

Disappointed she’s leaving because as much as I’m loath to admit, I’ve felt more alive these last few minutes with her trampling all over my carefully ordered world than I have in, well, forever.

“Wait,” I blurt out as I come around my desk and start walking toward her.

Thankfully, she pauses with her hand on the doorknob and flips her long, curly hair from over her shoulder to her back as her head snaps my way. “What?”

“Do you like Mediterranean food?” I ask as I put my hand into my pocket and grab my car keys.

“Does moonshine put hair on your chest?” she shoots back at me, her southern drawl peaking to its most acute sound yet.

“I’m going to have to assume so,” I say carefully, not having ever had moonshine.

She nods in agreement, turns the knob, and opens my office door. “Then assume I like Mediterranean food.”

With that she walks out before me and stalks down the hall, and I can’t tell if she’s still angry at me or not, but I do enjoy the view of her ass in those jeans as I follow her out to the lobby.

—

“So how about telling me what’s got you worried about Lexi?” I ask Georgia as I watch her cut up her lamb kabobs. She had informed me when we placed our orders that she normally likes to eat tabbouleh, but she didn’t want to risk getting parsley in her teeth on our first date.

I didn’t even know how to respond to that, so I’d ordered lamb as well.

Georgia puts a small piece of lamb into her mouth, and I try not to focus on her lips as she chews it daintily while she stares at me thoughtfully. When she swallows, she stabs her fork in the air at me and says, “You tell me. Since she went to that game with you and Gray last week, something’s absolutely wrong with her.”

“I know,” I admit with a heavy sigh, dipping a piece of pita into my hummus. “I’ve noticed it too. She’s been avoiding me this past week.”