Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(68)

“Those were Seventeen magazines I stole from Bethany and hid inside books. I took the personality quizzes over and over until I got the answer I wanted.”

Caught by surprise, he laughed. “You wouldn’t come down out of the tree until Vivian threatened to give your dinner to the dog.”

A line formed between Georgie’s brows, her gaze moving to the mantel he’d been sanding. “Travis Ford.” She pressed a hand between her breasts. “What did you do?”

“Convincing Vivian to let me saw down the branch took some effort, but I pointed out she has about fifteen trees in the backyard, so she caved.”

Georgie’s face landed smack between his sweaty pecs, her arms motionless at her sides. “Oh no. I hate crying.” Her exhale coasted down his belly. “Oh God, it’s coming. I can’t stop it.”

Relief settled over Travis and he pulled her close, because if she didn’t care about his manual labor smell, neither did he. “You love it?”

“I love it. I worship it. Thank you.”

The moisture of her tears slipped down his skin and time seemed to slow down. So slow, he could hear every tick of his pulse, could count every thread of hair on her crown. “You forgive me for missing the appointment?”

Her words were muffled. “I already forgave you.”

“Yeah, but you really mean it now. It’s not grudging.”

“You make it sound like I was sulking.”

He tried to stop himself from kissing her forehead. It was too intimate a gesture, and he was very aware of the lack of cameras present. It was just the two of them. But he didn’t stand a chance against his impulses when she looked so soft. His lips pressed to the spot below her hairline and lingered, his arms gathering her closer. “You were pouting a little.”

Georgie poked him in the ribs. “You’re just trying to make me stop crying.”

“Guilty.”

Travis tilted Georgie’s head back and brought their mouths together, licking away the salt from her lips. Stealing it off her tongue. Jesus, he couldn’t close his eyes, because her happily tearstained expression was too invigorating. He’d done that? They stood for long minutes in the dimming backyard, wood debris at their feet, Georgie letting him master her with the kind of kissing he’d never participated in before. He kissed her like he was . . . taking care of her. Soothing her. Letting her know he’d stand guard while she wept. And the responsibility made him feel like more of a man than he ever had in his life.

His cock stiffened like a son of a bitch, but when he would have jerked her hips close in the name of friction, Travis let himself ache. Let his flesh beg and fill out his jeans, while he focused on the girl in front of him. The girl offering her mouth in a way that made him feel . . . worthy.

He was almost too dizzy on the sensation to realize Georgie had pulled back. “Travis?” Her thumbs traced his jawline. “What were you thinking about when I came home?”

Telling Georgie about the monsters that lurked in the deepest corners of his mind didn’t scare him. Not anymore. But he didn’t want her sympathy tonight. Tonight was about her. So he kissed her soft mouth again, taking the contact deeper until she gasped into his mouth. “I’m going to take a shower, all right?” He ran his fingers along the curve of her shoulder, pressing a thumb to the side of her neck and massaging. “I’m going to feed you before I introduce you to God.”





Chapter Twenty


What was the deal with panties?

A girl buys a grip of freaking underwear, and within a week, half the silky little mofos have been abducted by aliens or sucked up into some washing machine purgatory.

Where did they all go?

Georgie rifled through her sock drawer, hoping a pair of her overly expensive panties had gone rogue, but no dice. They were all in the bottom of her laundry basket, where they definitely weren’t going to help her get laid.

You don’t need help getting laid. It’s a done deal.

“Right.”

Still, though. Instead of wearing them all immediately, she could have saved them for special occasions. There had been no need to clean her house in an organza thong, although she had felt pretty fancy while scrubbing the toilet. Georgie took a deep breath through her nose and headed for the closet, trying not to peer through the crack in her en suite bathroom door. Travis was naked on the other side, rubbing her soap up and down his disgustingly hot body, getting ready to sex her up. No big deal, right?

She opened the closet door and scanned the contents. A dress would be trying too hard for a night on the couch. Jeans would be too hard to get off—and since she didn’t have any panties to wear, they’d rub her the wrong way. Literally. In her Netflix and chill fantasies, she’d been cool and casual in an oversized, off-the-shoulder sweater and leggings. Easy and effortless. She didn’t own anything like that. Dammit, Boutique Tracy.

The shower spray cut off.

Georgie snapped an oversized T-shirt off a hanger in a panic—maneuvering her boobs to maximum boobiness within the confines of her lace bra—and dropped the shirt over her head. Perfect, right? Her shoulder peeked out. Just like in her fever dreams . . .

Hurricanes. It was the Hurricanes jersey with Travis’s name and number on the back. Oh no. No, wearing his clothing would be way too on the nose. If he saw the loving care she’d put into ironing and hanging the jersey up in her closet, he’d probably deduce she’d spent her teens and early twenties infatuated with him, which absolutely could not happen. She could see his face now—just sheer horror, his eyes scoping for the nearest exit. She’d never be able to look him in the face again, let alone be his casual, just-for-now hookup.