Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(38)

That being Dutch having Georgie to himself without Carlyle or Carolyn or anything taking their attention, and they’d take that time to get to know each other better.

It had gone to a different plan, with his ma finding out neither of them had dinner.

She’d then commandeered the kitchen, and her husband to help, and made him and Georgie food while Jag, Georgie and Dutch alternately drank beer and took shots of tequila (of which Jag had more, but that was understandable). While they did this, Georgie and Dutch talked Jag down from feeling like a sucker for not reading the signs Carolyn was sending.

The night ended with the men doing the dishes and Georgie, Murtagh and Keely on the couch, the two non-felines in that scenario cackling and talking in low voices. The feline just laid in Georgie’s lap, purring like he was in hog heaven.

In other words, watching her with his brother, and his mother, Dutch got to know her better, and as with everything he was learning about Georgie, it was beyond good.

It’d been late when they’d left and they did it because Dutch, not to mention Hound, had noticed that Georgie looked tired and was trying to hide yawns.

So Hound rounded everyone up and took them home, leaving Jag’s truck because he wasn’t smashed, but he wasn’t good to drive himself.

And Dutch had wasted no time and gotten his girl to bed.

And now was now.

She shoved her face back into his throat and said, “I don’t want to leave this bed.” But before he could concur, she yanked her head back and spoke fast. “But I know we gotta get back on the case. It’s just, you’ve got a great bed.”

He did have a great bed.

But it wasn’t his bed she didn’t want to leave.

He beat back his smile and spanned her cheek with his hand. “Baby, I know you’re not a selfish bitch. You’ve proved that repeatedly. You don’t have to keep reminding me of it.”

Dutch felt the heat against his palm even if he saw the rose bloom in the apple of her other cheek and she muttered, “Good.”

“And I don’t wanna leave this bed either. But mostly you in it with me. So how ’bout we make a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Today is Friday. We give Carlyle today. We got a reservation tonight, that’s ours.” He grinned at her. “We’re gonna get busy after that, and I’m gonna get mine.”

“Yeah, you are,” she promised on a whisper, shoving closer.

He kept grinning as well as talking. “We give tomorrow to Carlyle, but even if shit is not sorted, we get Sunday morning just for us. In this bed. You and me. Work for you?”

“Totes,” she replied.

He felt his body move with laughter even if it wasn’t audible, except for the shake in the one word he said.

“Totes?”

She smiled at him.

He couldn’t get lost in her cute.

They had to get a move on.

“Another deal,” he continued. “You get the bathroom first and I’ll make coffee.”

Her smile died and she said, “Okay, but before we hit it, we talk.”

They’d been talking.

“We are talking.”

“A different kind of talk,” she said.

“About what?” he asked.

She wet her lips, pressed them together and rubbed.

This did not give him good thoughts.

“About what, Georgie?” he pushed.

“About you,” she said softly.

He tensed.

It came soft again when she said, “Please.”

“What about me?”

“You know, Dutch.”

And he did know.

He also knew she gave him Carolyn.

She gave him history about her mom, her dad, her roommate, her cat, her condo purchase, her job.

Open. Honest. Out there.

This was happening with them.

And she was asking for this.

What was happening between them was a lot.

He had to give her this.

Fuck.

“You get the bathroom, I’ll get coffee,” he muttered.

“Then you get the bathroom, and I’ll pour us coffee. How do you take yours?”

“Two sugars.”

“Mwrrr!” came angrily from the side of the bed.

They grinned at each other.

“Quarter can wet food, honey,” she ordered. “Be sure to break it up.”

“Gotcha,” he replied.

He touched his mouth to hers, then he got that cute, little squeal when he dragged them both out of bed.

They each did their thing, and apparently, she did really like his bed because they were going to talk there.

He knew this because, when he was done in the bathroom, he came out to see her cross-legged in it, Murtagh curled in her lap, her fingers hooked through a coffee mug, his steaming on the nightstand.

He moved that way.

She checked out his body when he did, and pure Georgie, did not hide she liked what she saw.

He was wearing a pair of dark-red sleep shorts with a black drawstring and that was it.

Last night, and right now, he’d not missed she was making another play with her wardrobe decisions considering he doubted she usually wore what she had on now to bed.

Halter top, all lace up there, cut low, lots of cleavage, semi-sheer skirt, not lace, but super short.