Public Relations (26 page)

“So you don’t mind?” He sat up against the pillows. “My taking control of things?”

Brows lifted, she regarded him with a flirty smirk. “Not sex. Everything else I’m going to fight you for.”

He nodded, slow and deliberate, slanting her a look that said
bring it on.

“Movie?” she asked, grinning wide.

“Movie,” he affirmed.

Remote in hand, she crawled to her side of the bed. Not wanting to be pushy, letting him take the physical lead he seemed to crave, she waited for him to put his arm around her and draw her close. When he did, she nestled into his side, one palm resting on his bare, muscled chest and her head on his shoulder. His breath tickled her hair as be pressed a kiss to her crown.

“My mother would’ve had a problem with the word ‘stink’ too if we’d been wealthy, I think,” Peter mused some moments later as Katharine Hepburn’s character Tracy bickered with her younger sister, Dinah.

Georgia giggled. “I like Dinah.”

“Me too.” Peter’s voice rumbled through his chest, into her ear.

They watched another few minutes, and Tracy arrived at the stables to meet her fiancé. Tracy lifted an issue of
Spy
magazine off her Uncle Willie, then proceeded to admonish her husband-to-be when he looked for their names inside. Georgia tensed when Tracy got to the part about letting complete strangers inside her life. Her home. To spread gossip. Then she remembered the rest of the plot…about the undercover gossip columnists.

Had her subconscious gone completely berserk? What was it thinking suggesting this movie to her? And with Peter here? Her mind raced as she tried to think of a way to get out of watching the rest of the film.

“I hate the press,” Peter muttered, then looked down. “Present company excepted.”

“Thanks.”

His assessment did nothing to assuage her fears. Jimmy Stewart’s tabloid journalist character came on to the screen. Usually she adored his part. Today, every time he opened his mouth, she just felt ill. Peter’s breath became shallow, and his pecs tensed under Georgia’s hand. She cleared her throat and adjusted her head on his chest. He shifted uncomfortably.

“God,” he growled. “If some ink-stained excuse for a journalist invaded my home undercover like that…”

Georgia sat up and felt around blindly for the remote.

“Let’s get lunch. I’m hungry,” she said with false brightness, flicking on the bedside light.

“You sure?” Peter blinked against the sudden illumination and propped himself up. “Was I talking too much? I do that—play peanut gallery.”

She scrubbed at her face with both hands. “No. No. I’m just not in the mood for lovers’ quarrels at the moment.”

Peter rubbed her upper arm in a soothing gesture. “Sorry.”

Georgia bit her lip. She should be apologizing to him, not the other way around. Clasping his hand, she halted the motion. “You like Chinese?”

“I seem to remember Sid saying something about you enjoying it,” he offered.

Taking the opportunity to put some distance between them so she could clear her head, she bounded off the bed. “I’ll order. You find something to watch that doesn’t involve gossip, newspapers, politics, or romance.”

“That only leaves porn,” he called after her.

She stuck her head in the room, grinning. “You sound like Sid.”

“Well, that’s a step in the right direction,” he said, remote poised midair as he regarded her. “Right?”

Her brain briefly flirted with the idea of what it might be like to date Sid, and an involuntary shudder overtook her.

“I can’t believe I just went there,” she said, making a face.

“Where?” Light flickered as he flipped through the channels.

“Dating Sid.”

It was his turn to don a bemused frown. After a moment, he shook his head. “Can’t picture it.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” She ducked out in search of her paper menus.

If she thought Peter was tough to handle, she couldn’t imagine what keeping one step ahead of Sid might be like. Then again, she’d never had any secrets from her best friend. She’d never had to.

As she ordered her favorites along with a few new dishes from the Happy Duck—whom she’d always doubted was happy about having anything to do with a Chinese menu—she contrasted what being best friends with Peter would be like versus being best friends with Sid. Never having had a serious romantic relationship, she had no other basis for comparison.

Peter snuck up on her after she’d ordered, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She jumped but leaned back into him when he nuzzled her ear.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “You’ve been staring into space for at least two minutes.”

She blushed to know he’d been watching her, then sighed. “Honestly?”

“No. Lie to me. It turns me on.” His wry tone made her snicker.

She pressed her backside against his groin and moaned appreciatively. “Apparently it does.”

His answering hiss of pleasure made her nipples stand up and take notice. Warmth surged to her clit, swelling her pussy with need.

“You really want to wait?” she asked, then pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

His hands skimmed her sides, moving toward her breasts. She arched. The position rested her head against his shoulder, where she could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat.

He dropped his hands and stepped away. Cleared his throat. “Yes. Let’s wait.”

A little hurt, she faced him. “Okay. Not a big deal.”

“Hey.” He cupped her face with his hand and moved closer. “I don’t want to…treat this like it’s just sex.”

She knew that. Knowing what she knew, however, she wondered if that was all they’d ever have. All they had time for—just sex—before the walls of their cobbled-together relationship tumbled down.

Chapter Eighteen

“Dinner,” Peter said.

“Dinner?” She blinked up at him, pulled from her musings.

“I’m going to buy you dinner on Wednesday. Until then it’s hands off. No kissing. Nothing. Just talking and getting to know one another.”

She groaned. “You have to be joking.”

He laughed. “Now who sounds like a man?”

“What are we going to do until then?”

“I don’t know.” He stepped out of arm’s reach. “How about we work on the plan for the newspaper? You had some really good suggestions. I’d like to talk them over with you.”

Skating at Rockefeller Center, eating their Chinese food with chopsticks straight out of the carton as they watched all the activity below, had been more like what she had in mind.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You give us today to play, and I’ll give you tomorrow to work. I promise not to touch.”

Both brows raised, he stared at her in mock disbelief. Arms crossed, he studied her. “No touching?”

She shook her head, solemn. “None.”

“You swear?” He teased her, she knew by the glint in his eyes, and he stepped forward one pace, bringing them closer. “And what if you can’t keep your hands off?”

“Me?” she gasped, laughing. “I don’t think the problem will be on my side.”

“All right then, it’s a bet.” A solemn nod seemed to seal this fact in his mind.

“What kind of bet?” Hands on her hips, she cocked her head at him. “Like if I touch you first, I lose?”

“Exactly.” He was millimeters from her, his brandy-scented breath teasing her lips. “You touch me, and I get to do anything I want to you. Anything…” He tilted his head as if he was going to kiss her, and she involuntarily licked her lips. “At…” Another tilt, this time in the opposite direction. She clutched the counter behind her and tried desperately not to lean in to close the distance between them. “All.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

“Okay,” she rasped. “Deal. Same goes for me. You touch me, and I get to be on top.”

He blinked twice and slowly drew back. They regarded one another, the air between them charged with sexual promise. Eventually one of them would forget or give in—do something spontaneous. Losing had never sounded so good, but she would play to win. She’d never lost a game on purpose and didn’t intend to start now. Not even with Peter.

“All right.” His voice sounded no more cool and collected than hers had. He raked a hand through his hair and looked around. “Going back to the bedroom would be a bad idea.”

Darting a glance at the tent his cock made of his pajama bottoms, she let out a shaky laugh. “Probably true. How about ice skating?”

“What about lunch?”

“We’ll have a winter picnic at Rockefeller Center.”

“What about the press?”

“What?” She was already moving past him toward her room. “You’ve never heard of sunglasses and a ski hat?”

He snorted. “All right then, I’ll get dressed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you if the paparazzi catch on.”

She poked her head out of her bedroom.

“Wear something you wouldn’t normally. Something…” She shrugged. “Like Sid would wear on his day off.”

“Which is?” He gave her a ridiculous little bemused frown that only made her heart melt for him more.

“A cartoon T-shirt and purple sneakers?”

A guffaw exploded from him. “And where would I get these instruments of my social demise, pray tell?”

“You have a butler.” She grinned. “Let him buttle.”

On his way toward her door, he waved his hand in an “I give up” gesture. “I’ll think of something. Just not cartoons.”

“See you outside in fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” he confirmed and closed the door.

Oxygen and energy seemed to leave the apartment with him. Georgia stared at the door long after he’d left, wondering how she’d ever live without him.

* * * *

Peter sat on the bench facing the apartment door, elbows on his bouncing knees as he waited for Georgia to emerge. When she stepped out of the building, she paused. Then grinned.

He stood and held his arms out from his sides, turning for her inspection. Black long underwear peeked through all the strategic holes in the ripped and faded blue jeans hugging his ass. He knew, because he’d checked himself out in the mirror before deciding he looked a sexy kind of ridiculous. For him anyway.

On top he’d donned a red-and-gray-checked plaid shirt over a turtleneck and had thrown on an ancient leather bomber with a woolly collar. Fingerless gloves, vintage aviators, and a black knit cap completed the ensemble along with his only pair of boots—steel-toed construction boots that looked exactly as if he’d worn them to every job site he’d ever visited. Which he had.

“Wow.” Georgia whistled low, handing him the bag of Chinese food. “You dress down nice.”

He gave her a sweeping glance. Ice skates slung over her shoulders, she wore a winter-white miniskirt with tights and a cherry-red sweater that hugged her breasts as if the wool had been spray painted over her chest. On top, a white Tam o’ Shanter with a red pom-pom completed the sex-on-a-stick look.

“You look like a candy cane,” he said, his voice throaty.

She apparently caught his unspoken double entendre, and a slow smile spread across her face as she brought her chest millimeters from his.

“Good,” she whispered, clearly playing cock-tease, then stepped back. “Shall we?”

The temperature was warm, but not so warm they would forget it was winter. Unusually, no wind blew up the avenue to pink their cheeks. The low cloud ceiling promised more snow, but the air hadn’t gone damp yet. They’d probably have to take a cab back, but for now they could walk.

Peter’s fingers curled in on themselves as he and Georgia walked side by side. Fuck this bet, and why had he made it? He wanted to hold her hand so damned bad, and they weren’t even an hour into their voluntary challenge. A challenge he’d instigated for the sole purpose that he wanted to think with his brain and not his cock for once.

And yet, when he thought about it, he usually used his brain around women, which was exactly why his heart never committed. Georgia didn’t know that, however, and he wanted her to be certain he was with her for
her
and not for the sex. After that blasted social-gossip piece, he knew he came across as a randy playboy who couldn’t keep it in his pants. Who had to pay for it because of his insatiable sexual appetite. Which couldn’t have been further from the truth. He had to pay for it to avoid intimacy. Intimacy that he very much wanted with the woman who crossed Fifth Avenue beside him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.

He hefted the white plastic bag he carried and pretended to consider it. “We forgot drinks.”

“That, I can remedy.” She pointed to a coffee shop across the block. “But I think there’s another one closer to the Center.”

“Coffee. Good idea.”

“I believe peppermint cocoa is customary.”

“Is it?” He smiled down at her, thinking how the taste of peppermint on his tongue might be his undoing.

“Definitely.” She nodded solemnly, but the twinkle never left her eyes. Large and luminous, they seemed to look right through him, compelling him to reveal things he’d never shared with anyone, perhaps not even himself.

“Why did you go to school in the US?” he asked, wanting to talk about her. He’d had enough of his own personal revelations over the past three days to last awhile. Or at least the next ten minutes.

Her smile faltered, and she shook her head as if clearing away some clouds. They walked several more minutes. He was holding open the door to the coffee shop for her before she spoke again.

“The answer to your question is fraught with drama and dark family secrets. Some of which I’ve already related.” Though tarnished with false bravado, her grin returned as she swept past him. They reached the line, and she said over her shoulder, “If I tell you the full story, I’ll have to kill you. Still care to know?”

He reached for her lower back, intending to rub there in soothing circles. Just in time, he stopped and snatched his hand away. Sweat popped out on his brow as he realized how easy it would be to get used to touching her—to being a part of her life she depended upon.

They ordered and retrieved their beverages from the barista. Cocoas in hand, they hit the pavement once more, and she began talking.

“I was seven when I noticed something was wrong with my parents’ marriage.” Her gaze had taken on a faraway cast, and she clutched her cocoa in both red-mittened hands. “We went on holiday and all slept in separate rooms—I with my nanny, which wasn’t so unusual, but they had their own rooms. For the upper classes it’s not so unusual, but for my parents…” She gave a wry laugh as her pace slowed down. “Let’s just say my mother loved my father more than was normal for the circles they ran in.”