The Dirty Girls Book Club (23 page)

His discarded clothes lay in a heap on the floor and a thick navy bath sheet hung crookedly on a towel rack. Georgia touched it, felt its dampness, thought of it rubbing Woody’s body. All over. Reluctantly, she drew her fingers away.

He had told her to look in the cabinet by the sink. She saw all manner of liniments and bandages as well as the usual supplies: spare soap, toilet paper, toothpaste, toothbrushes. A large box of condoms.

Another reminder of the kind of man he was. A man who, even though he might be a surprisingly pleasant dinner companion, was the polar opposite of her beloved Anthony when it came to his views on sex and love.

She located the correct bottle, filled a glass with water, and returned to the living room.

Woody lifted an ice pack from his face. “Get lost in there?”

“I couldn’t find the right pills.”

“Sure.” He took the medicine and handed the glass back to her. “It’s okay; it’s human nature.”

“What?”

“Snooping.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were.” He shrugged, and winced. “If I ask you to do something, will you keep quiet about it?”

What now? “Uh, I guess that depends what it is.”

He held out the second ice pack he’d brought from the kitchen. “Help me get into this thing.”

When she took it, she realized it wasn’t a pack, but a shoulder wrap.

“If you say anything to anyone about this, I’ll have to kill you.” The words were joking, but she heard the seriousness behind them.

“It’s our secret,” she said as she helped him strap it around his left shoulder. “How bad is it?”

“Nothing major. Dislocated it a while back and it keeps getting smashed again. Can’t seem to get it healed. It was doing great until that mugger tackled me.”

“I’m sorry. It was all my fault.”

He eyed her. “You gotta be careful, Georgia.”

“I know.” She went over to the couch and perched on the edge, clasping her hands in her lap. When she stared down at them, she noticed flecks of dried blood on her fingers, from where she’d helped Woody clean up from his nosebleed.

No, she couldn’t think about that, or she’d have a meltdown. She could feel it inside, hovering. She wouldn’t break down in front of Woody. He’d been through enough tonight.

She shifted restlessly on the couch and something rustled under the couch cushion. She slid her hand down the crack, located the something, and pulled it out. A condom. “I should have known.” Familiarity had brought a degree of composure, and this time she didn’t drop the little package. “You really are prepared for female visitors, aren’t you?” she teased, stuffing it back where she’d found it. Leaving it out might only give him—or her—ideas.

“Guy’s got to be prepared for the best,” he joked back.

She shook her head tolerantly. “You may have the morals of an alley cat, but at least you’re smart enough to use protection.”

He threw his chest out in that blustery way characteristic of the
male of virtually any species. “I’ve never had unprotected sex in my life,” he said proudly.

“You’ve never had sex without a condom?” she asked in disbelief.

“Never. I’m not going to take any unnecessary risks.”

She stared wide-eyed. “You’ll go up against two muggers in an alley, but you won’t make love to a woman without a condom?”

He shifted in his chair. “Right.”

“But …” No, she really shouldn’t have this conversation with him.

“But what? I can’t believe a smart woman like you believes in unprotected sex.”

“No, not when it’s, uh, casual sex.” Which, of course, was all he ever had. “Yes, all right, I get it. You’re right. It’s just that when you love someone, when you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t want anything between you.”

He cocked his head. “It’d take a lot to trust someone that much.”

With Anthony, she’d never had a moment’s doubt. “When you find someone special, your soul mate, it’s different,” she said softly. “There’s love, trust, intimacy, and the lovemaking is amazing.” That feeling of joining together, becoming one, had been … “Transcendent,” she murmured.

Woody shifted position, and winced.

She came back to earth, and remembered something else. While the lovemaking had been transcendent, it hadn’t been orgasmic. Only this man, this self-proclaimed tough guy, had brought her to climax. It made no sense at all.

“You should go home, Georgia,” he said, his voice sounding tired and flat. “I’m fine, honest.”

“You’re concussed.”

“No, I’m not.”

Uh-oh. “You’re acting disoriented,” she pointed out. “Earlier, you said you might have a concussion, and now you say you don’t. That’s one of the symptoms, right? Disorientation?”

“I didn’t hit my head when I fell. Just go.”

Men didn’t like having you around when they were sick. If Woody was feeling worse, that was all the more reason she shouldn’t leave. “You said it all happened so quickly you didn’t remember the details.”

Nor did she. It had been like something out of an action movie, except it had been real. The knife; her panic. Woody suddenly being there, kicking and punching. The sickening sound of bone breaking. Nausea surged in her stomach and she fought it down.

“Did you have to hurt them so badly?” Her voice sounded accusatory, which was unfair, but it had all been so terrible, including the sight of those two men writhing on the ground.

Woody gazed at her from the eye that wasn’t covered by the ice pack. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

“Oh, come on! After playing hockey all your life?”

“Georgia, I’m not a violent guy.” He lowered the ice pack and frowned at her.

Not like his father, he meant. And yet, having seen him lay into those muggers, and seeing the way he threw his body at other players on the ice, she found herself wondering. She slugged down some more brandy, hoping the burn would quiet her nerves and settle her stomach.

Fiercely, he said, “I know how to gauge things. Hockey has rules, discipline.”

“I guess so.” She really wanted him to convince her.

“I don’t react out of anger.” He reapplied the ice pack to his face and sat back in the chair, crossing his legs, ankle over knee the way men do. The bathrobe split, revealing a portion of his thighs. “I don’t use more force than necessary.”

She was almost too focused on his words to ogle his thighs. Almost.

“I don’t get off on beating up on someone,” he said grimly.

“Tonight …”

“That first guy had a knife and I had to disable him. When the second guy attacked, I didn’t know how many more there were. I had to stop him, quickly, and be ready to take on someone else.” He looked very male, an easy inhabitant of a physical world of strength and violence that was foreign to her.

Georgia’s whole body trembled. She tried to control the quivering by sitting very straight, pressing her knees together, and clasping her hands tightly. “Were you afraid?”

“No. There wasn’t time for that.” He studied her. “Were
you
afraid?”

His words triggered the tension in her body. “Terrified!” She rose jerkily and moved away, trying not to glance out the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over False Creek. “I’ve never had anyone threaten me. I’ve never been hit; my mom never even spanked me.” A shrill edge of hysteria had crept into her voice and her muscles twitched as she relived her panic.

She turned to face Woody. The whole room was between them.

He took the ice pack from his face and put it down, then rose and came to stand in front of her. Gently he said, “It’s okay, Georgia. Nothing happened.”

“But it did.” She raised a shaking hand to touch his swollen nose. The shawl slid off her shoulders to the floor, but she didn’t pick it up.

“It did!” She said it again, her voice breaking. Her whole body shuddered violently as she reexperienced the terror.

Quickly, Woody put his arms around her and tugged her to him. Not tight, but warm, gentle, and comforting. That gentleness was her undoing, or maybe it was the ice wrap on his shoulder, a silent reminder of what they’d been through. Tears choked the back of her throat.

A sob burst out, and then she was crying in earnest.

He didn’t say anything. He just held her, resting his chin on the top of her head and stroking soothing circles on her back.

Finally, the tears slowed. She sniffled. “If you hadn’t been there …”

“I was.” His lips were on her hair.

She didn’t step out of the circle of his arms, but pulled back to lift her head and look up at his battered face. “I’ve never felt so helpless. I hate the idea of being dependent on a man.”

“You’re right. Women should be independent.”

Why did that surprise her? She knew he wasn’t really a Neanderthal. “Tell that to my mom,” she said ruefully.

“Or mine.” His voice was chilly.

An abusive father? A dependent mom who wouldn’t leave him? Was that the truth of Woody’s childhood? Did she dare ask?

“Here’s what you need to do,” Woody said firmly. “It’ll give you power and confidence.”

“That sounds good.”

“Take self-defense lessons.”

“I’m not the most athletic person in the world,” she said doubtfully.

“You’ll do fine.” He sounded as if he believed it.

Maybe she could believe it too. “I’ll look into it. If I research some places, could you help me pick the best one?”

“Glad to. I want you to be safe.”

He could be so sweet. She couldn’t stop herself from resting her head against his chest again. His bathrobe had shifted and now her cheek touched his bare skin, felt the tickle of crisp curls of hair. Was it horrible of her to enjoy this, to want more of it? To need this closeness and, yes, to feel aroused? It had been a unique night and her emotions were on overload.

He was injured, in pain, and yet he was being so nice to her. She
smelled his warm maleness, and the scent was heady. Did he feel her breath against his body?

His chest rose and fell more rapidly.

She moved closer, snuggled tighter against him—and realized he was indeed naked under the bathrobe. Naked, and erect.

Woody rested his chin on the top of Georgia’s head. She fit perfectly in his arms. He liked it that this strong woman, so determined to be independent, felt safe with him. That he could protect her and she’d let him comfort her and offer advice.

He liked her curves too, which were much more accessible in that silky dress than in her normal suits. And the vanilla scent of her, both innocent and sexy. She smelled edible and he wanted to taste her.

Her breath, her tumbled hair, were soft caresses against his skin. Her shoulders and back felt delicate and feminine under his arms.

His body ached. His nose throbbed, his swollen eye burned, and his shoulder felt like someone had tried to wrench it off. But, overpowering those pains was the achy tightness in his groin, the driving need to have sex with her.

Sex. With a condom. Not lovemaking. Not that soul mate intimacy she’d spoken of, that made her face glow. That she found so damned
transcendent
.

He was—almost always—a good lover. Women moaned, cried out with pleasure, told him he’d made them see stars. They wanted to do it again.

But not Georgia. And now maybe he got it. It wasn’t just that he’d been a jerk that first time, losing control and thinking only of
himself. She’d climaxed, but he hadn’t taken her to that special place she’d been with her husband. Hell, how could he? He’d never been there. Hadn’t realized such a place existed.

Georgia’d had better sex than he’d ever had. Her husband, that skinny, intellectual-looking dude, had given her that.

She gave one of those little female shimmies that wriggled her whole body tighter up against his, and let out a sigh.

When Woody had played the “maybe I have a concussion” game, his goal had been to get her here and convince her to have sex. She had to feel his hard-on, and she hadn’t stepped away. So maybe she’d be amenable.

He’d never be her soul mate, never give her fucking
transcendent
sex. But who cared? He didn’t want all that stuff like commitment and marriage. Marriage could turn out bad. Real bad, like with his parents. Even a steady relationship was tough for a hockey player, with the guy on the road half the time and his girlfriend at home. Lots of couples broke up.

Some didn’t, though. And yeah, maybe he felt a little envious of the guys who had wives and kids cheering for them at home games.

Oh hell. He wasn’t concussed, but that blow to his head must have rattled his brain. He was standing here, naked and hard under his bathrobe, holding a gorgeous woman in his arms. His little head was screaming for sex and his big head had gone all girly and romantic?

“Maybe I am a little disoriented.” He stroked down her back and rested a hand on the sweet curve of her ass. “But there’s one thing I’m sure of.”

She eased back so she could look up at him, the motion thrusting her hips more firmly against his hard-on. “What’s that?” Golden flecks glittered in her hazel eyes, and her cheeks, which had been ghost-white since the mugging, were finally pink.

“This.” He bent and captured her lips, grateful that the mugger hadn’t punched him in the mouth.

Her response was immediate, telling him she felt the same need he did. Her lips were so soft, so full, and when his tongue licked inside her mouth she tasted faintly of chocolate. He’d never been a big dessert guy, but he could get addicted to vanilla and chocolate, served up Georgia style.

Heat surged through him and his body strained to get closer to hers. He wanted to rip off the stupid ice wrap, his robe, her pretty dress. To get flesh to flesh.

Seeing her in that alley, some hopped-up loser pointing a knife at her—Hell, it had been one of the worst moments of his life.

But she was here. Safe, warm, and responsive in his arms.

Or, no, maybe she wasn’t. She broke the kiss, her hands coming between them to push against his chest.

Damn it, what now?

“Woody, we can’t.” Her breath came fast; her eyes were golden. “You’re injured. You should go to bed.”

That wasn’t a “no.” Not a real “no.” He didn’t let go of her. “Yeah, I should. And you should come with me. You can play nurse. Tend to my aches. All of them.” He pumped his hips so his erection thrust against her belly.