Public Relations (35 page)

Blue eyes regarded her with an intensity she couldn’t fathom. Not from this man. A strange combination of arousal and sadness snaked around her ankles and up her legs as intense longing threatened to pull her under. She stumbled, but his arm tensed and his grip tightened, keeping her upright and forcing her to maintain the rhythm of the step.

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” she said, breaking protocol.

“You seem sad,” he said, his observation a mere murmur above the din of voices and the fluid strains of the London Philharmonic’s principal chairs. “Why?”

Gaze wide, she looked up at the prince, wondering what to say.

“You miss him?” he asked.

She frowned. “How did you…”

There was no way Sid or Carl could have made the prince’s acquaintance without her knowing. Even she had never met the man.

“He misses you too.” The prince’s words were spoken into her ear, a quiet rumble that brought his lips and his scent close.

Spicy. Brisk. Clean.

Adrenaline surged. Her chin shot up. “Peter?”

He pulled back and looked down at her, his mouth curving into a hesitant smile. “Yes.”

She stumbled to a standstill, her legs refusing to move as her limbs froze with her shock. Only his quick thinking got them out of the ballroom before they disrupted the flow of the dancing couples altogether. In a dimly lit anteroom, he held her. Fingers hesitant, she explored his face—first his jaw and lips, then the edges of the mask—before reaching around to the back of his head to untie the silk ribbons. The mask fell away into her hands, and she stared up into Peter’s searching eyes and handsome face.

Tears threatened to cut off her vision, and Peter’s sure fingers removed her mask and swiped the drops from her cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “I’m sorry. So damned sorry. You’d be right to hate me. I was unfair to you. So unfair.”

His apology made the deluge inevitable. She’d never cried so much in her entire life as she’d cried over the past week, and tonight was no exception. Lowering to a wingback chair, Peter pulled her onto his lap, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

With soothing sounds and motions, he comforted her. He’d shaved recently, she thought dimly, because his stubble didn’t catch in her hair, but he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head as he cradled her. Just as she’d imagined.

“I’m dreaming,” she said after a long while. “Please don’t let me wake up yet.”

“You’re not dreaming.” He tipped her face up and dried her lingering tears with his handkerchief. “I’m not going anywhere. Unless”—his gaze shifted away before meeting hers once more—“you don’t want me here?”

“Are you mad?” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe you’re real.” She laughed. “I thought you were the prince.”

He frowned. “Do you have a date with him?”

“What? God, no!” Bringing her fingers to his lips, she traced them. So soft, yet so firm. “He’s married and…” She met his eyes. “I think you’re enough of a handful.”

A relieved smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. As it faded, a surge of sexual heat arced, ensnaring Georgia’s attention as Peter lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was soft and tentative, filled with all the forgiveness and apology she’d craved. She knew they had so much more to discuss, but she could only think of holding him. Touching him. She needed to know he was real and not the figment she’d conjured in her dreams so many times over the past week.

She moved in, tilting her head so he could deepen the kiss, and he brought his hand up to grip the base of her skull, massaging and manipulating until he had her positioned just so. Tongue delving, he swept away logic and replaced it with longing—a need for him so intense she knew they wouldn’t make it back to her house before they both demanded satisfaction.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“We should lock the door.” Georgia lifted her head on a gasp to deliver the observation.

Peter’s gaze darkened, and he nodded. “Go ahead.”

Somehow she managed to stand and cross the room on wobbly legs. Her fingers shook as she twisted the key in the lock and turned to lean against the door for support. Legs splayed, elbows propped on the chair arms and fingers steepled together, Peter regarded her from the shadows. Only the gleam of his dress shoes and the white of his hands gave him away as corporeal and not an invention of her desires.

“Come here.” He issued the command with a steady confidence that explained exactly why she’d mistaken him for a prince.

Smiling at her private thoughts, she complied. When she reached the chair, he held out his hand and pulled her forward so she stood between his knees. He looked up, regarding her with an intensity that stole her breath. Though he sat and she stood, every fiber of her being took notice of who really had control of the moment, and she’d never been so glad it wasn’t her.

Still…there was something she’d always wanted to do for him. She licked her lips and opened her mouth. Then closed it again, unsure.

His thumb brushed her wrist, heating the delicate skin. “What is it?”

“I want to…” She glanced away and shrugged, hoping her body language communicated more information than her words. When he looked confused, she forced herself to finish. “Taste you.”

He hissed in a breath, and her gaze flew back to his face. The pain-pleasure grimace etched into his features said he very much enjoyed the idea of having her pleasure him with her mouth.

A little tug at her fingers brought her lower until she knelt between his legs. He widened his thighs, giving her more room, and placed her hand on his knee. As she watched, he regarded her and unfastened his trousers.

EYES WIDE, LIPS parted, Georgia knelt before him with hunger written across her delicate features. Above the satin décolletage of her black-and-white ball gown, her breasts gleamed, begging for his touch. But she’d said she wanted to give something to him, and who was he to deny his lady?

His countess, he mentally corrected.

Pulling his cock from his pants, he sighed at the combination of cooler air and the erotic brush of his own fingertips. Waiting for his cue, Georgia worshipped him with her eyes. He’d never felt so alive or so loved. Though the act was carnal, he saw the intention behind her request, and it had very little to do with empty lust.

Peter brushed his thumb along his slit and gathered up the jeweled drop balanced at the tip before cupping Georgia’s chin and pressing his thumb to her lips. She gave a kiss to the pad, then licked away the moisture and sucked him in. The pressure of her tongue and gentle scrape of her teeth were nearly his undoing, and she hadn’t even wrapped her lips around his cock yet.

“Georgia.” He groaned her name. “Now, please.”

Her quiet murmur of assent vibrated along his thumb to his hand. He swore the sensation went straight up his arm and flowed from there down to his groin. Releasing him with an audible
pop
, she lifted her head and smiled up at him. When she lowered her mouth again, it was to take him into her moist heat.

His head fell back. He couldn’t have held it up if he’d tried. Muscles that should have been languid went taut. Nothing was under his control in that moment. He’d given it all up to her.

Soft licks alternating with deep-throated bobs made him gasp her name. He tried to keep his hips motionless, but at some point they’d taken on a will of their own. Hand at the back of her head, he guided her gently through each surge and swell. Pressure built, and his pace became less controlled. Breathing deep, he pulled back and grasped her arm with gentle insistence. She looked up, letting him slip from her mouth. Cool air hit heated saliva, and he shuddered.

“I want you,” he managed to rasp. “Take off your panties.”

Pink rushed to her cheeks, whether from arousal or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps from both. He’d never tire of her combination of genuine innocence and intelligent confidence, he realized, as she stood and gathered up her full skirt to straddle him.

He gave her a quizzical frown.

“I’m not wearing any panties,” she whispered and lowered her pussy onto his naked cock.

The first brush of her silken wetness compelled his hips upward and his hands to her waist. She guided him inside her channel, lids fluttering closed on her moan. He watched her as she lowered inch by inch. When his cock stretched her, she bit her lip. He held her securely until she’d adjusted to him enough to be able to move again.

Fully seated, their bodies joined as completely as they could be, she finally opened her eyes and looked down at him. No words necessary, her gaze told him everything she wanted to say. Everything he needed to hear. Slowly, they began to move together, he into her, and she against him. Their sighs and groans filled the air, cushioning him in a world where only Georgia existed.

For the first time, he made love to her. Let her feel every inch of his desire, every ounce of his love. By the time he shouted his release, the frenzied pump of his hips compelling her to shudder and cry out her own pleasure, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he couldn’t live without the woman he held in his arms.

A long time later, they sat on the floor together. Back leaned against the chair edge, Georgia in the circle of his arms, he stroked her hair and limbs. Her face and breasts. Anything he could get his hands on, he touched with languid appreciation.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked without looking up at him.

He heard the hesitance in her voice and knew she dreaded to ask but had to know the answer. He gave a rueful laugh. “Niall. And Sid.”

She shifted, peeking up at him, her glance quizzical. “Niall?”

“Yes.” Brushing his knuckles along her bare arm, he thought of his brother’s insights. “Turns out he’s pretty smart after all. And so is your friend.”

“Hm.” Georgia settled against him once more. “I could’ve told you that.”

Peter curled his hand and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “He said I used you. Worse than…”

They were both silent for a moment.

“Worse than I used you?” she ventured.

God, she was brave.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I deserved what you did. Though I didn’t know it at the time. After everything with your father…I should have understood when I found out. It was such a shock. Yet, if I’d been paying attention, I suppose the clues had been there all along. I can’t believe I didn’t figure out you and Gigi were the same person.” His laugh was rueful. “Some valuable lessons came out of it. For me, I mean.”

“No.” Georgia pushed away and shifted to face him. “What I did was inexcusable, and I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for what I put you through. I don’t blame you for hating me for not telling you.”

There was only one thing he didn’t understand, and though he loathed hurting her, he had to ask. “Why
didn’t
you tell me?”

In the momentary silence, he noticed the sound of the orchestra and briefly wondered how they’d leave the room in their disheveled state without causing a scandal.

“I know it’s going to sound odd.” She looked down at her clasped hands before meeting his gaze. “But by the time I thought I should…by the time it mattered and I knew you weren’t the person I painted you to be? I didn’t want to hurt you. Or lose you.”

He nodded, understanding completely. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

Wasn’t it strange how different his actions seemed now than they had the morning when he’d first seen that column? Now he’d have curled his lip in disgust and wondered at the bastard who could only form such shallow relationships that he had to hire the women he dated.

“No.” Auburn curls bobbed as she shook her head, emphatic. “You wouldn’t have.”

He cocked his head, pretending to consider. “No. You’re right.”

She didn’t so much as flinch.

“I would have ordered you to forgive me and when you asked me for what, I would’ve told you that you didn’t need to know.”

Expelling a laugh, she grinned up at him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her breathless.

“I don’t understand how you can forgive me.” The light left her eyes as she made the confession. “Sid must’ve worked wonders.”

“He and I talked quite a bit, yes.” Peter caressed Georgia’s bottom lip with his thumb, relishing the plump softness even as he tried to find words to communicate everything that had happened over the past week. “He told me about your father. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

Georgia glanced away. “It’s all right. We kept everything low-key. And…I’m okay.” She gave him a halfhearted smile. “Really.”

Setting aside the topic for now, knowing she’d likely need to talk about the man’s death in little bites, he said, “Sid told me you came to the charity ball that night with no other desire than to dance with me. That I snubbed you.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Covering her eyes with one hand, she lowered her head. “I can’t believe he told you that.”

Pulling her hand away, he told her something he’d never admitted to anyone. “I have this thing. About social events. They make me so uptight I get blinders on and don’t see anyone or anything I don’t have to. I’m sorry.”

“You?” Her eyes widened. “The Debonair Billionaire?”

He pulled a sheepish frown. “’Fraid so. But I hope I made up for it tonight.”

Her brilliant smile told him he had. In spades.

“One more difficult question and then I swear I’m done,” he said.

“Go ahead.” Sucking her lower lip in between her teeth, she nodded for him to proceed.

“Sid said you started the column as revenge against your father.” He searched her face. This part was important. If they were going to move forward, they couldn’t have any secrets. Not anymore. “Is it true?”

Lacing her fingers in her lap, she twisted them as she seemed to consider her reply. Finally, she pierced him with her steady stare. “I don’t think I knew it at the time, but yes. I did.”

“Do you think I’m like your father?” He needed to know. “Can you respect me after everything I did?”

She blew out a breath, and tears sprang to her eyes. “You know what I wish?”

Peter caressed her cheek, wanting to spare her the pain of this conversation, but knowing he couldn’t. “What, sweetheart?”