Devilishly Wicked (12 page)

Georgia winced, but before she could answer, Tristan beat her to it.

“Grace.” He immediately headed to the living room.

“Wow,” Marnie whispered when he was far enough out of earshot, “you didn’t tell me he was
that
good looking.”

“Would mere words really have done him justice?”

Marnie chuckled and shook her head. “No, you definitely need to see him to believe it.”

“And that’s why I feel like I’m going to be ill.”

Marnie chuckled and patted her friend’s arm, clearly not taking Georgia seriously.

Tristan was already settled onto the overstuffed sofa, chatting easily with her grandmother when they stepped into the room. Grammy glowed under his attention.

“Isn’t your boy looking handsome?” Grammy said, the twinkle in her eyes and the grin on her face making her look like a young woman.

“Grammy, he’s not my—”

“Grace, you are the one looking lovely tonight. Did you get your hair done today?”

She had, and Georgia didn’t think Tristan was just throwing compliments out there in hopes one might stick. She genuinely got the impression that he’d noticed, which made her heart race even faster in her chest. There was something so appealing about a man who noticed small things like that.

Grace preened, again looking like a young schoolgirl. “Just a little rinse and set.”

“Well, it looks smashing. And what are you working on here?” he asked.

Grammy told him about the scarf she was making for Georgia, and Tristan listened to the trials and tribulations of pearling and double stitching as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d heard in ages. And Georgia and Marnie watched him as if he were the most fascinating thing they’d encountered in ages, too.

Once Grammy was done with the adventures in knitting, Tristan reached out to pat the woman’s gnarled hand.

“I wish I could stay and chat longer,” Tristan told her. “But Georgia and I must get to Lincoln Center to make our appearances and make sure the paparazzi get as many photos of my stunning Georgia as possible.”

Lincoln Center . . . paparazzi . . . stunning . . . his Georgia.

Oh, God, Georgia felt woozy. She couldn’t do this.

“Lincoln Center,” Marnie said, impressed. “This must be one swank affair.”

“A very swank affair, indeed.” Tristan’s gaze met Georgia’s, but she couldn’t decide what to make of the look or his comment. Why did she get the feeling he was emphasizing affair rather than swank?

Because you are losing your mind
.

“We certainly don’t want to make you late,” Grammy said.

“No, definitely not,” Marnie agreed.

Apprehension tightened Georgia’s stomach again. “Let me just go grab my wrap and my purse.”

She left the room, not rushing this time.

Calm down. Calm down. Stop being such a twit.
She’d never make it through this night if she didn’t get a handle on herself.

She paused inside her cluttered room, trying to compose herself and remember exactly what the heck she’d come in here to get.

“Pull it together, Georgia,” she muttered to herself.

Great, she was back to talking aloud to herself. She snatched up her pashmina and searched in her jumble of clothing and other clutter for her clutch purse.

“Girl, you really need to calm down.” Marnie walked into her room. “You are a mess.”

“Thanks for sugarcoating it.”

Marnie made a pained face. “I don’t think you have time for me to sugarcoat it. You are getting ready to go out for a night of stars and fashion and opulence with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re not helping.”

Georgia tossed aside a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, growing more agitated by the moment.

“Georgia, stop.”

Georgia shot her friend a desperate look. “I have to find my purse.”

“This one?” Marnie held up the clutch Georgia had been ripping the room apart to find. It was a fifties’ vintage piece in black and red patent leather.

“Yes,” Georgia said with a sigh of relief. She reached for it, but Marnie pulled it back before she grabbed it.

Georgia gave her a puzzled look, her hand still held out for the purse.

Marnie ignored her impatient wave. “Georgia, you really have no clue how stunning and amazing you are, do you?”

Georgia wasn’t sure she could handle a pep talk—even though she knew she needed one.

“I’m serious, chickie,” Marnie said with a wide and fond smile. “You are amazing and beautiful and when you walk into a room, you just shine. Don’t second guess yourself and your style. You know yourself, and I’m positive that is one thing most of those Hollywood stars and critics and even the designers themselves can’t say. Don’t . . . doubt . . . you.”

Georgia focused on her friend’s words. She shouldn’t doubt herself. So she was curvy with big boobs and an apple bottom. So she loved everything retro. And she loved hair dye and makeup. She always had—since she was a teenager. Though she’d refined her look since those days.

She caught her image in the mirror. Marnie was right. Georgia did know herself. And she did like herself. Either Tristan would dig her look, too, or this would be her one and only grand outing with the man. It probably was anyway, so she’d just chill and enjoy it.

“You’re right,” Georgia said, turning to her friend to hug her. “I just need to enjoy every moment of this fabulous, once-in-a-lifetime evening. Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

Marnie squeezed her back. “Exactly. But I can tell you now, people are going to be blown away.”

“W
hat is this?”

Tristan looked at Georgia’s profile, not that he’d been able to take his eyes off her for more than a few seconds at a time. The way the satin of her dress draped over her full hips. That low-cut neckline, which was now hidden by her wrap, beautifully displayed her round breasts and the deep valley of cleavage between them. His mouth literally watered even just in memory.

How the hell was he going to stay at the gala long enough to talk with his newest recruits, and not just whisk her away to the suite he had reserved? Just getting to the gala, period, was going to be an astronomical feat.

Then his gaze moved up to her face and saw the expression on it was filled with surprise. He realized she’d asked him a question, although she didn’t seem to notice he hadn’t answered her. Her eyes were locked on the shiny, black stretch limo parked in front of her building.

He blinked, making himself shove aside the haze of lust blurring his thoughts. Even her look of wonder, like a child’s on Christmas morning—not that he was personally familiar with children or Christmas morning—but still that awestruck look of hers still managed to drive him wild.

She dragged her gaze away from the limousine to him.

“A limo?”

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “You hardly expected me to drive, now did you?”

She made a gesture somewhere between a shake of her head and a shrug. “Well, it’s not exactly like you have a shabby car, but I guess I should have realized you would use the limo service for an event like this. I mean you are expected to, right?“

“You know my life. A slave to appearance,” he said wryly.

Her expression of amazement faded slightly, but Tristan didn’t have time to ponder why as his driver came around the front of the vehicle.

“Good evening—” William hesitated when he saw Georgia. “Georgia?”

Georgia’s already flushed cheeks reddened even more. “William. Hi.”

Was she embarrassed to be seen with him? That idea didn’t sit well with Tristan. No one was embarrassed to be seen with him. But his dismay over Georgia’s reaction was quickly replaced by the driver’s.

The hulking driver’s dark gaze roamed over Georgia, appreciation clear on his face. He smiled, a wide grin that revealed deep dimples and made his teeth gleam against his dark complexion.

“Dam—” William caught himself, realizing his boss was right there. “Don’t you look gorgeous tonight, Miss Georgia.”

Georgia laughed, her cheeks a pretty pink, her expression more relaxed than Tristan had seen it since he’d asked her to join him tonight.

“ ‘Miss Georgia’? Really? But thank you, William,” she said with a natural easiness that made Tristan’s gut wrench with some emotion he didn’t understand. He just knew she never spoke so easily with him.

“You hardly expected to see me attending one of these chichi events, did you? Neither did I.”

William chuckled, the sound low and rumbling as if they were sharing some private joke.

Tristan wasn’t amused.

“Well, you look the part,” William said, and nodded with more appreciation.

Lust wafted off the large man, so thick Tristan was surprised even Georgia couldn’t smell it.

Tristan really wasn’t amused.

Tristan placed a hand on the small of Georgia’s back. She started at the touch, but didn’t move away. Her familiar scent surrounded him, blocking out William’s just a bit. Enough for Tristan’s tension to relax, a little anyway. She still wanted Tristan.

As if there was any doubt.

“William,” Tristan said, his tone more curt than he intended, “we don’t want to be late.”

The driver immediately nodded, realizing his behavior was unprofessional. He bowed slightly, his black jacket straining against his broad shoulders and bulging biceps.

“Yes, Mr. McIntyre.” He hurried to open the door for them.

Tristan frowned as Georgia offered the large man another smile and thanked him. Tristan placed himself between the man and Georgia, helping usher her into the back. For a moment, he struggled to describe the foreign feeling, but his pondering was replaced by the appreciation of her nice derriere as she leaned forward, trying to figure out the most ladylike way to crawl into the vehicle.

That appreciation was quickly marred when he noticed William’s gaze admiring her actions, too.

After a second, she opted to turn, sit and slide across the bench seat. Tristan was sad to see the lovely view disappear, but not disappointed that William was no longer admiring it along with him.

Still, Tristan couldn’t help shooting the man a warning look, which William had the sense to heed. William glanced down, waiting for Tristan to follow her into the limo. Which he did, sliding across the seat, until his shoulder, hip, and leg were pressed against Georgia.

More of that strange feeling swelled inside Tristan, but he ignored it, gesturing for William to close the door.

Once they were alone, Tristan turned toward her, his leg pressing tighter against hers.

“So you know William.”

Georgia shot him a glance; then her gaze dropped to where they touched. “Of course. He’s your usual driver, so I talk to him quite often. He sometimes comes up to the reception area when he’s waiting for you.”

Tristan nodded. That made sense, and why was he even asking? More importantly, why did he even care? So the man was attracted to her. Usually that just ramped up his own lust. He fed just as easily off of other people’s lust for each other as he did off lust directed toward him. In fact, he’d normally be considering a threesome. After all, the more desire, the better. Lust fed him. Made him stronger, more powerful.

But tonight, he didn’t feel that usual drive or satisfaction. Tonight, William’s lust for Georgia hadn’t aroused him. It had . . . pissed him off. Tristan was only interested in one human’s lust and she was seated right beside him.

But singling out one, when he could clearly have double the lust . . . that was very strange.

Up front, William got into the limo and started to pull into traffic. Georgia turned her attention to the passing scenery.

The air wasn’t filled with desire, but awkwardness. Not at all what Tristan wanted for this night.

So why was he focused on another man’s desire for Peaches, when he should be working on his own seduction? Clearly, he desperately needed to seduce her so he could get back to feeling like his normal insatiable self, rather than having the highly pedestrian feeling of being ready to fight for the attention of just one woman.

He intended to rectify that right now.

Except instead of saying something suave or flirty, he said, “William is attracted to you.”

Why the hell had he said that?

Georgia shot him a surprised look; then she laughed. “That’s silly. He is not.”

Then he realized why he’d told her. Not to make her aware of the other man’s interest, but to see how she reacted. And aside from her obvious amusement, and maybe a touch of bewilderment, she didn’t react at all. No flare of that lust he sensed and smelled when he flirted with her. None.

Tristan’s usual smugness returned. She wasn’t interested in the large, muscular man. Not in the least.

“Well, I can hardly blame him. You are stunning.”

Whoosh. And just like that, the whole back of the limousine was heavy with the rich, luscious scent of her desire.

He smiled, feeling much more like himself. He shifted, pressing closer to her. More desire.

He didn’t need to speculate on his earlier odd feelings. All he needed to focus on was this intense desire of hers, his own lust, and his plans of seduction.

“Let’s have some music and a drink.”

“Okay,” Georgia agreed guardedly, her voice a little breathy. None of the ease of talking to William, but Tristan would rectify that, too.

Tristan reached over his head and pressed a button and the back compartment of the vehicle filled with music. Not overtly romantic music, but the beat was fun and somewhat sensual.

“The Cure?” she said, casting him another surprised look.

“Am I right to peg you as an eighties alternative girl?”

She smiled then. “Totally.”

Damn, her smile was gorgeous. Tristan wanted to kiss her right then and there, but he knew he couldn’t rush. Seducing his Peaches was going to take time and finesse. And that was part of the fun.

“How about a little champagne?”

“Yes. Please.”

He slid forward to retrieve a bottle of Dom Perignon 1966 from the ice bucket readied for them. A pop echoed over the music as he deftly uncorked it and poured her a glass.

“Thank you,” she said, that slightly bemused look back on her face as she accepted the champagne flute from him.

He poured himself a glass and settled back beside her. Both sipped silently for a few moments as The Cure’s “Love Song” filled the air around them.

She polished off her champagne in record time, and she didn’t refuse when he took the glass and refilled it.

When that glass was nearly empty, he asked, “Good, isn’t it?”

She paused, her glass partway to her lips, shooting him a sheepish look.

“It’s very good.”

He nodded and took a deep swallow of his own. He could already feel her body relaxing beside his. Champagne was rather miraculous that way, going straight to mortals’ heads.

“And what do you think of the limo?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then to his surprise, she giggled. “I feel like we should be picking up our friends and heading to the prom.”

Tristan stared at her for a moment, and then laughed himself. “What?” he said, confused.

“I feel like we should be on the way to the prom.”

“Well, I’m not terribly familiar with proms, so explain this reasoning to me,” he said, honestly interested.

“Yeah, right,” she said dubiously. “Like you weren’t the prom king or something.”

He shook his head, finding himself watching her and grinning. He liked this more relaxed side of her. Loved it, in fact.

Because it promised lots of fun in bed, he told himself, even as he felt the strangest twinge in his chest at her adorable smile.

“Honestly,” he said, “we didn’t have proms where I’m from.”

“No proms—where would that wonderful world be?” She sighed as if he were telling her he came from over the rainbow. Apparently, proms were not something she had enjoyed.

“I had a pretty austere upbringing. Proms would have been considered far too frivolous for my world.”

“Did you grow up in that town in
Footloose
?”

He frowned, growing more confused by the moment. “I’m not sure what town you are referring to. And I have no idea what ‘footloose’ is aside from being paired with ‘fancy-free.’ ”

Georgia laughed. A genuine laugh that thrilled Tristan to the marrow.

“I’m sure you know the term ‘footloose and fancy-free’ very, very well.” She laughed again.

He didn’t deny that, but continued on with this fascinating conversation. “So explain what happens at a prom.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “it’s a high school ritual where the girls wait and pray that some sweaty, pimply teenage boys will ask them to be their date. Then the girls wear gowns that they later wonder why the heck they ever thought they looked good in. And the parents take tons of embarrassing pictures that will be used as blackmail at a later date, and when everyone finally gets to the dance, they just stand around, not dancing, wondering why they desperately wanted to attend.”

“That sounds”—Tristan made a pained face—“really awful.”

“I think for most, it pretty much is.” She giggled again and took another sip of her champagne.

He took a sip, too, pleased that she was actually at ease with him. He’d seen moments of this lighthearted side of her, but not as much as he’d liked. And he did like it. A lot.

“So wait,” he said, “I still don’t connect how a limo goes with this prom thing.”

She shifted slightly toward him. “Oh, well. That’s one of the things kids feel they need to make that special night extra-special.”

“A limo? To attend a high school dance while wearing unfortunate fashion choices where you don’t actually dance?”

She nodded. “Yep.” Then she added, “To be fair, I suppose some kids dance. I did.”

“And did you attend with the sweaty, pimply teenage boy of your dreams?”

“No, I went with my gay best friend. That’s why I danced.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m still not sure I understand proms.”

She laughed, that lovely, throaty tone filling the back of the limo. “It’s probably best to leave that one of life’s mysteries anyway.”

He nodded, smiling widely.

Georgia covertly studied him, loving that smile still lingering on his lips. And wondering how the heck she’d told him all of that. Proms, really.