Georgie's Heart (11 page)

She closed her eyes again, breaking off her disjointed thoughts. So this was the feeling she had been reaching for and couldn't find with her husband. The lack of it had destroyed Georgeanne's marriage and had caused her husband to consider her a poor excuse for a woman.

And now she had almost found out what all the fuss was about, in the arms of a man she had met barely one week ago.

Worse, if she had met Zane sooner, Fritzi Field would not currently be wreaking havoc on Georgeanne's formerly quiet life.

Georgeanne felt more convinced than ever that fate had it in for her.

Zane knew he had gone too far, too fast. Georgeanne had withdrawn into her own thoughts, and those thoughts were not particularly pleasant, judging from her pensive face.

He hadn't intended to throw her down on the grass and start to make love to her while he was in the middle of cutting down a tree. Somehow, when he ran after her and caught her, it had become inevitable. Zane couldn't regret it, but he did regret causing Georgeanne distress.

He smoothed her hair back from her face and stroked his lips across her forehead. “What are you thinking, Georgie?”

She struggled to sit up and pull her blouse down in spite of Zane's heavy arm across her waist. “I was wondering what had gotten into me,” she said, with the wry humor he loved in her.

Her breasts were bare to his possessive gaze. He would give almost anything to take up again right where he had left off when sanity returned.

“You're right. Anyone could walk up and see us,” she added.

Georgeanne looked as though she still couldn't believe what had almost happened. Zane wondered just how extensive her experience with passion was.

He sat up beside her and helped pull her blouse down. “I know. That's why I halfway managed to keep my head. I wouldn't embarrass you like that for the world, Georgie.” He reached around her to rehook her bra. “Please don't be angry with me. You're so beautiful, I couldn't resist touching you.”

He found Georgeanne's passion beautiful to watch. She was completely honest, with her every emotion reflected on her face immediately. He had no doubts about the strength or the reality of her response to him. Making love to Georgeanne would be the most shattering experience of his life.

“I'm not angry, Zane.” She looked away, coloring. “In fact, it … was very educational. Believe it or not, I've never understood before how a woman could let herself get carried away so completely that she finds herself pregnant.” She smiled suddenly, remembered enchantment in her eyes. “Now I think I understand how it can happen.”

Zane couldn't believe what he heard. He stared at Georgeanne and realized that she didn't know what she'd just told him. “I'd never put you in that position,” he said roughly. “I might get carried away, but not that carried away.”

“Good,” she said, smiling, “because it appears that I might be somewhat lacking in willpower.”

Zane quickly cupped her chin and turned her face to him. “Georgie, that's the nicest thing a woman has ever said to me. Kiss me again.”

“I don't think I'd better.” Her smiling brown eyes met his gaze with painful honesty. “You make me behave totally unlike myself. There's no telling what'll happen if I kiss you.”

Zane had to laugh, although he could see Georgeanne still felt confused at her own response to him. “Do you think I go around tumbling women to the ground when I'm in the middle of cutting down trees for a friend?” he countered. “Georgie, what happened between us was meant to happen. I'm incredibly attracted to you. Naturally, I want to make love to you.”

Georgeanne swallowed and looked away, and he hoped he saw an answering desire in her eyes before she focused her gaze on a nearby tree.

Zane chuckled again and hugged her against him. “Don't worry, Georgie. Let this be a lesson to the both of us about playing with dynamite. We'll do what one of my patients calls ‘avoiding the near occasion of sin'.”

Georgeanne smiled, but the smile faded.

“What's wrong, Georgie?” Zane studied her face. She was thinking about something unpleasant, something that had caused her beautiful, full mouth to tighten and her satiny skin to pale.

Georgeanne blinked. “I'm sorry. I was just … thinking. I still can't believe this happened, I suppose.”

Zane threw back his head and laughed aloud. He felt exultant, as if he'd just conquered Mt. Everest or shot a canoe through dangerous white water. “Well, it did. By the way, be ready at seven tonight. I'm taking you to see Hunt's movie.”

“But — ”

“No buts, Georgie. You're through out here for the weekend. It's time you had a little relaxation.” In her eyes, he thought he saw speculation about the natural culmination of the explosive desire between them. “Don't,” he said and grinned. “I've got to get that tree down so I can feel free to enjoy myself tonight.”

Georgeanne flushed. “Sorry. I was just thinking that I do feel somewhat tense. Must be the company,” she added in droll tones.

“Must be.” Zane rolled to his feet. If he didn't, he'd take Georgeanne up on the unconscious invitation in those dark chocolate eyes, and this time he wouldn't be able to hold himself back from making love to her.

She wasn't ready for a commitment of that magnitude, Zane realized. He already thought of her as his, and he was forgetting that Georgeanne hadn't even been on an official date with him yet. He'd better get to work to remedy that.

He stood and reached down to her, admiring her slender hands and the strong, supple body that had just moved so perfectly to his demands. Georgeanne needed a little time, and it was going to kill him to give it to her, but he'd manage somehow. He wanted her to have no regrets about the way she responded to him. If she required time to adjust, then he'd see that she got the time she needed.

“You have grass and leaves all over you.” He brushed her clothes vigorously. Just touching her resurrected the desire he had managed to temporarily subdue. “Do you think anyone will know what we've been doing?”

“If I had a mirror, I could tell you,” Georgeanne said with wry humor. “My face gives away everything.”

“Yes,” Zane said, with infinite meaning in his deep voice, “it does.”

*

Walking beside Zane back to the clinic, Georgeanne couldn't help but notice how well their steps fit together. Zane moved with the easy stride of a man who kept his body in excellent physical condition, and with all the outdoor work and walking she did, she was in good shape as well. She never thought she would find this much enjoyment in just walking beside a man.

Georgeanne swallowed hard. If she wasn't careful, she'd fall in love with Zane Bryant. Lord knew, she was an expert at endowing a man with every virtue she wanted to see, and so far she hadn't even been forced to create any virtues for Zane. He already possessed every attribute most important to her.

Georgeanne finished out the day by attaching herself to the window trim she was painting. Her thoughts formed a peculiar morass of guilt and pleasure. Why, she asked herself, had it taken twenty-eight years for her to find a man who brought forth the response she had written about as Fritzi Field? She felt like a total fool, and she felt like kissing the world, all at the same time.

Then a peculiar thought struck: Did this mean she could now consider herself a woman? Georgeanne broke into suppressed giggles. If a woman's first sexual experience officially made her a woman, then her first real taste of sexual pleasure must make her … something.

She caught Zane's interested glance and hastily concentrated on laying paint very carefully along the window trim. Perhaps Fritzi Field's second book ought to be all about what happened inside a woman's body and mind during and after her first earth-shaking sexual experience. It would certainly be a lot more fun to research than
Faking It
had been.

Zane sent her home at five, and remembering the hot expression in his eyes brought the bright color back to her complexion. The thought of going to a movie with him placed her in yet another mental quandary.

What if Zane wanted a repeat of the afternoon's events? Realizing her body was capable of experiencing a high degree of sexual pleasure had been so shattering, she still hadn't assimilated it. Part of her wanted to run, while a greater part of her hoped Zane would kiss her like that again.

Just the thought of what had almost happened between them made Georgeanne feel weak. She drove down the long, narrow road toward her isolated country house and relived the experience. She was lucky she didn't drive off the road.

Her two dogs appeared when she pulled into the circular drive before her house. Georgeanne stared at the scene, trying to see it through Zane's eyes, and decided it was impossible. A man either loved country living or he didn't.

Her husband hadn't, but Georgeanne had steadfastly refused to sell the house that was her only legacy from parents who had died when Georgeanne was ten. Her grandfather had farmed rice and raised cattle on the surrounding fields for nearly fifty years, but the house and two acres were all that remained of those many acres of land. Georgeanne considered the house her heritage, which would belong someday to her children. If she ever had any.

“Love me, love my house and dogs,” Georgeanne muttered, climbing out of her SUV.

She stood a moment gazing at the white farm house. Spring had brought out the honeysuckle and trumpet vine that screened the front porch. The two sycamore trees her grandfather had planted were fresh with spring-green foliage. The wooden farmhouse had a lot of charm, thanks to Georgeanne's careful planting and tending of shrubs.

The dogs had ruined her efforts to nurture a flower garden, but Georgeanne didn't mind. Not when they came rushing up to her every evening full of joyous welcome.

Roscoe was a medium-sized long-haired dog whose parentage likely included English setter and fox terrier, and his buddy, Jack, combined several varieties of terrier in a facade that only a mother could love. Although Georgeanne wasn't Jack's mother, she did love him, and both dogs gave her all the love and protection a woman who lived alone in the country could want.

She bestowed rubs and fond words impartially on the two happy dogs and unlocked the front door. The insistent ringing of the telephone met her ears. Georgeanne hurried to answer it. Perhaps Zane was calling to cancel their date.

Then she recalled that Zane had her cell phone number. That meant only one thing.

“Hi, kid. It's about time you got home,” her agent, Alice Anson, said in her trumpeting voice.

Georgeanne suppressed a groan. Of all the awful times for Alice to call, this had to be the worst.

“Hi, Alice,” she returned, with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. “This is Sunday. Don't you ever take a day off?”

“Are you kidding? I'm a literary agent.” Alice's familiar, rasping voice was laced with humor. “When do you think I get any reading done? Look, Georgie, we could be making a mint off this book of yours. When are you going to do everyone a favor and accept some of these talk show invitations? I've had at least ten calls these last two days — ”

“Never,” Georgeanne yelped. “Alice, I will not change my mind. Don't ask me again.”

“You're sounding hysterical, kid. What's up?”

“I'll tell you what's up. One of my friends at work is carting a copy of the book around and is reading excerpts aloud. I'm going nuts, that's what's up. Why would I want to go on a talk show and talk still more about that stupid book?”

“Don't insult our product.” Alice's voice took on a soothing quality. “That book is a beautiful little money-maker, and don't you forget it. I worked on that package.”

“I know.” Instantly remorseful, Georgeanne collapsed on the sofa. “So did I. The thing is, I never expected it to be such a hit.”

“I told you it would.” Alice's voice became reasonable. “Why do you think I took it on? I don't represent just any manuscript, you know. A work has to move me in a really big way before I'll waste my valuable time on it.”

Georgeanne, as always, began to feel guilty about robbing poor Alice of money the agent had earned fair and square in spite of the fact that, in reality, Alice worked for her. “I appreciate all your hard work, Alice, but the truth is, I'm a very private person. If you want to hire an actress to be Fritzi Field, believe me, I'll understand.”

“Kid, the only person who can do this book justice is the author, and don't you forget it. The issues it raises come from the heart and soul of a real woman. Just think about how many more copies your personal appearances will sell. That's all I ask. Just think about it. And think about quitting that dinky job of yours while you're at it. Now's the time to write a follow-up to
Faking It.
And you could use a Facebook page and a website, not to mention a Twitter account and something on Pinterest. Think of the followers you'd have. Think of the increased sales.”

Georgeanne thought about it for one-tenth of a second. This time she did moan aloud. “I'm sorry, Alice. I just don't have anything further to say on the subject.”

“That'll change,” Alice predicted. “Your publisher has collected up quite a bit of mail for Fritzi Field. They packed it up a few days ago and mailed out to you. Once you start reading it, you'll realize you owe the public another book, not to mention access to the author.” There was a silence, as if Alice was refreshing herself from the ubiquitous cup of coffee on her desk. “The readers are full of questions. You'll find yourself writing two or three books just to get them all answered.”

“I don't know, Alice.” Two more books on faking orgasm? No way. “Writing the last one really took it out of me.”

“Wait till your royalty check arrives,” Alice said in soothing tones. “You'll feel much better right away, believe me.”