Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) (15 page)

He leaned forward, lifted the bottle off the table, and splashed some more in her glass. “Drink up.”

“You think you can get me wasted? You’ll pass out trying.”

He raised one dark brow at her. “I’ve got body weight and dehydrogenase in my favor.”

“Be that as it may, I can drink you under the table.”

“Is that a challenge, Smith?”

“It’s a fact, Montgomery.” Just to prove her point, she picked up her glass and tossed back the shot. “Your turn.” She poured another two fingers in his tumbler, handed it to him, and set the bottle aside. Enough alcohol. She had better ways to give him a temporary respite from the worry weighing on his mind. He downed the drink, those expressive lips twisting into a grimace as he swallowed.

“Now let’s test your reflexes.” She hiked the hem of her dress above her knees, slung one leg over his lap and straddled him. He grasped her hips as she arranged herself on his hard thighs.

When she stilled, he cradled her butt in his big hands and scooted her closer. “I passed,” he said against the side of her throat.

She cupped his cheeks and drew his head back. “That wasn’t the test. This is.” She lowered her mouth to his and sank into a long, slow, whiskey-soaked kiss. His head tipped back against the sofa, and she thought for a moment he might let her have her way with him, but then long fingers tangled in her hair, and he leaned forward, changing the angle of the kiss. His reflexes were still pretty sharp, but hers were sharper. The knowledge sent a shiver along her spine. Beau tended to storm her senses, leave her shuddering, gasping, and utterly at his mercy, but this time the tables would turn. She reached down between their bodies, grabbed two handfuls of his sweater, and pulled it over his head.

“I love your chest,” she said between kisses, and let her hands run all over the warm, smooth terrain, from the hard planes of his pecs to the channel between, which ran due south and provided a perfect path to guide her fingers down his abs. Her tongue tingled to follow the same route.

“Coincidentally, I feel the same about yours,” he murmured, and drew her dress up. She raised her arms and let him peel it off, but shifted away when he leaned close and reached for the back clasp of her bra.

“Uh-uh. Keep those hands to yourself. I’m not finished testing your reflexes.” She ran her fingertips over the ridges of muscle bracketing his abs, all the way to where they disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Savannah.” His low voice vibrated with warning.

“Yes, Beau?” She traced the edge of his waistband until her fingers arrived at his fly. The bulge straining the line of buttons there jumped under the brush of her hand, but his fingers intercepted hers.

“Four shots of whiskey have an effect on a man’s reflexes.”

“I’ll be the judge.” She wiggled her fingers out of his grasp and went back to work on his fly.

“No you won’t. I made you a firm promise a while back. You get nothing short of my best every single time I’m inside you, or…Jesus that feels good.”

She swept her thumb again over the smooth head peeking from the waistband of his underwear, this time lingering longer to explore the small opening at the center. He groaned and flexed his hips.

“See, you’ve got excellent reflexes.” She slipped off his lap and onto her knees, parted his jeans, and freed him the rest of the way from his boxer briefs. He raised his head and their eyes met. While he watched, she traced a fingertip along the length of his shaft.

“They’re improving by the second, but—”

“Just one last test.” The big, strong, invincible man she loved needed an escape, and she could provide one. Leaning in, she kissed the very tip of his erection. “Don’t worry, it’s painless.”

Despite her promise, when she parted her lips and slowly took him into her mouth, she wrung a low, tortured curse out of him. “Fuck it, Savannah. You’re killing me.”

She reversed course, appreciating the hitch in his breath, and then paused to look at him. “But you’ll die with a smile on your face.”

“You’re determined to take me down, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She let the response vibrate around him, loving how his eyelids suddenly struggled with gravity, and flags of color unfurled across his cheekbones. A large hand cupped the back of her head, guiding her, but not usurping control.

When she dug into his jeans and cupped his balls, he murmured her name.

“Hmm?” Oh yeah, he liked that. The hand on her head tightened.

“It’s not going to take long.”

She laved the smooth crown, and then speared the tip of her tongue into the opening. At the same time, she gave his balls a pump. His big body jerked, and a fast, harsh inhale reached her ears.

“Okay. I’m there. You should stop before I—”

“Beau?” She had to raise her head to speak, but she refused to relinquish her grip on the boys.

“What?” His tortured reply pleased her almost as much as the desperate look in his eyes.

“Sit back, relax, and let me take care of you.” Before he could respond, she lowered her head and encased him, taking him in as deep as she could without denying herself oxygen. Then she squeezed again.

The hand in her hair fisted. Muscles tensed, and then long, hard-fought words echoed in her ears as she drained him. “Jesus. Savannah. I
love
the way you take care of me.”

Her heart trembled.

No, but you would. You would if you’d really let me
.

Chapter Fifteen

“I get nervous when you do that, Smith.”

“What? This?” Naturally, she kept right at it.

Beau tightened his grip on the steering wheel and forced his attention back to the road. “Yes. That. Do you have any idea how many accidents I see involving exactly what you’re doing right now?”

She shrugged. “Then you’d really hate watching me do it while
I’m
driving.”

Good point. “At least give it a rest while I make this turn.”

“Oh, please. I’ve done this while going over railroad tracks—at forty miles per hour—without a single mishap.”

Before he could give her shit about taking railroad tracks at forty miles an hour, she lowered her hand from her face and waited while he steered the Yukon into the parking lot of the Chattahoochee Tavern. As soon as he slid into one of the few remaining open slots, she flicked on the interior light and resumed applying black gunk to her eyelashes with a long, potentially blinding wand. What was the female preoccupation with eyelashes, anyway? He supposed he’d notice if someone didn’t have any, but short of that…

She tossed the tube into her oversize red purse and dug around for something else.

“You don’t need the war paint. You look beautiful.”

“I look like I haven’t seen a ray of sun in almost a week—which I haven’t.” Her attention never wavered from the bag. “I need blush.”

He crossed his arms and settled into the seat. “I could make you blush.”

She arched her brows at him. “And mess up all my hard work? I’d have to start all over again. But it’s nice to know someone’s ready to have fun this evening.”

He was. For the first time in a long time he actually looked forward to a holiday party. Some credit went to his mom, who’d called that morning to tell him her pathology results couldn’t have been better. Clear margins, clear nodes. She’d passed the news along to him as casually as discussing the weather, and then dived right into plans for when he and Savannah visited, but he’d been a little too distracted by the waves of relief washing over him to pay much attention.

Hell yeah, he was ready to have some fun.

Savannah took a break from moving a fat brush over her cheeks in rapid circles. “That makes two of us. I’m really happy to know your mom is in the clear.”

“Me, too.”

She smiled, and then tipped her head toward the mirror again and slicked some glossy red stuff on her lips. The way she held her lips open and moved the wand over them sent his memory sliding back to the other night, on his sofa, and the feel of those soft but nimble lips cradling his highly appreciative cock.

When she finished, she dropped the gloss in her bag and turned to him. He flicked off the dome light, which left the interior of the car gilded by the soft white glow from the lights around the tavern’s parking lot. He turned to her, propped his left arm on the steering wheel, and leaned closer. Hemmed her in when it came right down to it, but he didn’t think she’d mind. “Tell me, Savannah, do you have everything you need in that bag of yours to redo all this?” He ran his finger along her cheekbone.

Long, darkened lashes fluttered, and his groin tightened. Maybe he was a lash man after all?

“Why would I need to redo it?”

He cupped her jaw, tipping her face up, and brought his mouth inches from hers. Her gleaming lips parted. “Because I’m about to mess you—”

A thump on the driver’s side window brought them both up short. He craned his neck to find Hunter’s grinning face on the other side of the glass.

“Go away.”

“You want privacy? Seriously? You’re in a fucking parking lot, Lancelot. Anyway, Ashley wants to meet your fiancée. Or as she put it, she wants proof of life.”

His partner reached out and snagged someone by the arm, and a second later Ashley’s exasperated face appeared at his window. “I did not say that.”

Beau lowered his window. “Hi, Ash. Did you two come together?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied. “I was walking in. He was walking in. I didn’t walk fast enough.”

“She’s lying. She deliberately fiddled with her shoe just to make sure I caught up.”

“I stepped in a pothole.”

“On purpose.”

“I’m three seconds from kneeing you in the balls. On purpose.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Ash.”

Rather than watch his partner take one in the family jewels, Beau opened his door and looked back at Savannah. “They’re harmless. I promise.”

She laughed and opened her door. “I’m not worried.”

Hunter rounded the front of the truck and offered her a hand. “Hi, Savannah. Pleasure to officially meet you.”

“Likewise.”

He gestured to Ashley. “This ball-buster is Ashley… Ow!”

The brunette lifted the skinny heel of her red leather ankle boot from Hunter’s instep and shook Savannah’s hand. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve worked with these two for a long time, and I have a soft spot for one of them,” Ashley said.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Hunter complained.

“Not you.” She patted Beau on the shoulder. “You. Though I have to admit, he’s given me some moments over the years.”

Savannah glanced at him. “You don’t say?”

“I do. The stories I could tell. One of these days we’ll have to grab a drink and I’ll give you the lowdown.”

Savannah fell into step beside Ashley. “Oh, look. A tavern. Can I buy you a drink?”

Beau held the door while Savannah and Ashley chatted their way into the bar. “Bet she’s talking about the time you passed out giving twenty-five kindergartners a tour of the station,” Hunter said as he walked in.

“I’m not going to take that bet. I am going to take a beer, and”—he stepped away for a minute to confer with the ladies—“Savannah wants a white wine, and Ashley wants champagne. You might as well run a tab.”

“And I’m buying because?”

“Because I remember who blurted the news about my
engagement
, thus giving Ashley the opportunity to spend an evening assassinating my character.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. But I’m not a cocktail waitress. Come with me.”

Somehow he ended up buying the drinks while Hunter played barmaid, and then got cornered by the deputy chief of operations, who wanted to talk shop. Hunter and a couple of intermediates joined in. Beau propped his back against the bar and nursed his beer, keeping one ear in the conversation while he watched Savannah circulate around the room as Ashley introduced her to other members of the team. In a sea of soft lights and indistinct bodies, she glowed, like his personal beacon.

Safe harbor
. The thought sprang out of nowhere, and spiked his pulse because he knew better. Yes, she was beautiful, smart, and funny. On top of all that, she possessed bone-deep compassion and instinctive generosity. If he let himself, he could fall hard for her.

Don’t let yourself, because you’re not the kind of man who can risk another fall. She’s leaving in a few weeks. Even if she weren’t, there are no safe harbors for you, and forgetting that is the most dangerous thing you can do.

Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Converted gas lanterns overhead put a copper halo around her long, loose hair. She smiled, and laughed, and shook a dozen hands, but every so often those smoky eyes found their way back to him, and her polite, social smile turned into something else. Something that said,
After this, let’s head back to your place and have a party for two.

Just like that, the anxiety subsided.
This
was the safe harbor. Their physical connection he could handle, no matter how urgent or overriding it might feel. He knew exactly how to satisfy those needs. His lips automatically stretched into an answering smile made of
Hell, yes
.

The deputy chief congratulated him on his engagement, and he forced his attention back to the men in front of him and said, “Thanks.” Then the older man pinned Hunter with a sharp look and asked when
he
planned to settle down. Beau patted his partner on the back and excused himself, ignoring Hunter’s silent plea for rescue.

He figured he’d have to track Savannah down, but when he turned, he nearly stumbled into her.

Her hands clasped his shoulders for balance, and then lingered, palms sliding down the front of the soft, light gray crew neck he’d worn specifically to entice her touch. Mission accomplished. He drew her in close. “Thanks for doing this. Socializing with my coworkers goes above and beyond the call of duty.”

She eased back and sent him her lopsided grin. “Are you kidding? Where else would I have learned about the time you neglected to secure the back doors of the ambulance, drove off, and dumped the gurney in the middle of the street?”

Assholes. “In my defense, I’ll mention the street was actually a driveway, the gurney was empty, and the doors on that rig never latched correctly.”

“Especially when you don’t shut them properly—so I hear,” she added when he glared at her.

“You can’t believe everything you hear. Not out of this crew.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, and the small gesture made him want to haul her back to the car, drive home, and spend the next several hours making her bite her lip to keep from screaming things like, “Oh, God. Right there. Yes. Yes. Yes,” at the top of her lungs. Manners probably dictated they hang out another ten minutes—fuck it, five minutes—just to be civilized. “Did you have your check-in with the gallery today?”

“I did.” Those bright blue eyes dimmed a little.

“And?”

“It went well. In fact, the manager told me if I weren’t going to Italy they’d sign me to an extended deal. Not just for the works I’m exhibiting at the showcase, but everything I produced over the next year.”

If I weren’t going to Italy
. He liked the suggestion more than he ought to, especially because her departure represented their ideal exit strategy. “Why can’t you do both?”

“The fellowship is designed to support and foster undiscovered artists, not those actively promoted by a major gallery. Signing with Mercer to participate in the New Year’s Eve spotlight and exhibit a handful of pieces doesn’t qualify as being ‘actively promoted,’ but if I entered into a commission agreement of the scope Mercer’s proposing, I would meet the definition.”

“Could you defer the fellowship for a year, and see how things worked out with Mercer?”

She chewed her lip. “I could request a deferral. The foundation grants them from time to time, but I doubt they’d extend the courtesy on the basis of me wanting to see how my career worked out with a gallery that is, technically, a competitor.”

“I guess this comes down to one important question. How badly do you want to see Venice?” He meant the question as a joke, but his gut tensed.

“Ha. I spent a semester abroad during my MFA studying glassmaking techniques in Europe, so I’ve seen Venice. Lovely city, but location isn’t the primary draw. The fellowship offers a sure thing for the next nine months, which means a lot to me after the instability of the last few. It’s also a chance to reboot my career. I give up some autonomy, but the foundation features my work and presents me to a whole new level of collectors and buyers. Not a guarantee, of course, but a chance. ”

“Too good a chance to pass up?”

“Probably.” The little crinkle appeared between her brows, and he wanted to kiss it away. “I applied for the fellowship because my career here stalled. Hell, it tanked. But my pride hates to see me abandon Atlanta as a failure, even for something as coveted as the Solomon Foundation. Maybe the Mercer Gallery offer means I should stay the course?”

“What do you
want
to do, Savannah?”

Do you really want to know the answer?
So what if she does want to stay? That’s a career decision. It doesn’t mean she intends to waste more time in a dead-end …whatever…you can’t even call it a relationship, with a man who can’t offer her the kind of future she deserves.

She stared at him for a long moment, opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head. “What I want for the future is too big a question for me to answer right now.” Her fingers danced over the back of his neck and sank into his hair. “Ask me what I want to do for the rest of the night.”

The world straightened. The ground under his feet solidified. “You think you’ve got the whole night in you, Smith? Because I guarantee I do.”

Her lips curved. “I’m counting on it, Montgomery.”

…

“Damn, you’re gorgeous. Delicate, but powerful. Graceful, yet undeniably sexy. I can’t wait to get inside you.”

Savannah stood in her strapless bra and matching thong, and let her hands roam, exploring every line and contour, luxuriating in every breathtaking detail…until a knock on the other side of the door interrupted the seduction. A polite female voice called, “Do you need any assistance?”

“No, no. I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.” She cast a nervous glance at the door and then turned back to the object of her lust. “Okay, let’s do this. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

The sleek column of ivory satin seeded with tiny Swarovski crystals seemed to wink at her. She lowered the side zipper and then lifted the dress off the hanger. The $3,000 price tag mandated she be very, very gentle. Frankly, she had no business even trying the thing on. She didn’t need a wedding dress, much less a $3,000 one, but the moms had been so excited about the shopping trip—they’d even dragged poor Sinclair along as the designated driver—and after a few complimentary glasses of champagne at the bridal boutique, she’d gotten kind of swept up in the moment. When the sales associate had smiled and said, “This is a smidge beyond the budget you mentioned, but I think it would be perfect,” Savannah hadn’t had the strength to resist. What harm could come from trying it on?

Stepping into the cool, silk embrace sent a decadent shiver along her spine. She zipped herself in and turned to look at her reflection in the full-length fitting room mirror. The gown might as well have been made for her. Aside from the length—everything she tried on was miles too long—the dress hugged her body like an opulent second skin, and flared out above her knees in a dramatic sweep of skirt. The strapless sweetheart neckline left her shoulders bare and presented an unapologetically feminine silhouette. She could wear her hair up, and maybe Sinclair could design a necklace to…
Holy shit, Savannah, reel it in. You’re not
getting
married.