Georgie's Heart (17 page)

Georgeanne had chosen a slacks outfit in deep sapphire blue with a multi-colored, short-sleeved silk blouse that gave her a crisp, tailored look. She knew she was going to need all the mental fortification she could get.

“Georgie, you look beautiful.” Zane reached the vehicle just as she stepped down from it and took her hand. His arms went around her and he pulled her flush against his body. “Sorry, but this is what waiting does to a man.”

He kissed her, not at all shy about letting her feel how he wanted her, and Georgeanne kissed him back. For the moment, all her worries fell away.

She smiled at him. “I'm glad I'm here.” It sounded inane, but what else could a woman say when she was being rocked by a desire so intense, it left her gasping for air? “Mr. Bentley called this morning. His wife had a kidney infection. She's much better and will be coming home from the hospital this afternoon.”

“I'm glad.” Zane tugged at her hand. “Come on up. I usually stay close to home when I'm on call, so I picked up some videos and lots of flavored popcorn.” He laughed and added, “I sure hope you like popcorn.”

Georgeanne replied, “I love popcorn.” She also remembered that when Tony Rollins had said something like this, she immediately started thinking more about the food than she did about what Tony might want to do to her in the realm of lovemaking.

With Zane, her first thoughts were hopeful visions of sharing kisses and more on the sofa in front of the television. He smelled of tangy spice, and his skin was warm and rough to the touch. She could hardly wait to get inside his apartment.

He walked her up the double flight of steps. “You said you liked Roy Rogers, so I rented every old Roy Rogers film I could find.”

“I love them all. You'll see why I wanted to grow up to be a cowgirl.”

They reached Zane's apartment and he ushered her inside. The moment Georgeanne crossed the threshold, two things struck her mightily. One was the warm feel of Zane's big hand, which had slipped beneath her jacket and rested on the colorful, silk blouse covering her lower back. The other was the copy of
Faking It
resting spine up on the coffee table.

Her breath caught in her throat. Judging from the way the book was spread open, he had already read it three-fourths through.

She ought to tell Zane up front that she was Fritzi Field. She had managed to talk herself out of it so far, but the thought had persisted. He could find out at any moment, and when he did, he'd want nothing further to do with her. She ought to tell him now.

But not right away, her heart had cried. Not before she had a chance to feel all the things she now suspected Zane could make her feel.

Perhaps she was just a coward at heart. The fact was she had written a bestselling book, something very few people could do, and she ought to be proud of that fact.

That came home to her when she finally read a few pieces of Fritzi Field's mail. A few letters excoriated her as a lady-libber with no natural womanliness, but the rest of the letters praised her for bringing into clarity an issue and its solution. Alice Anson had been on target when she'd picked
Faking It
as a book that would touch a national nerve.

So why was
Faking It
's creator so reluctant to receive the accolades due her?

Georgeanne avoided thinking about that. The major reason in her mind right now was because she didn't want to destroy what she was building with Zane Bryant.

So, was she going to wait and destroy the relationship later, when it would hurt Zane and probably devastate her even more?

Georgeanne decided abruptly that she would tell Zane now. Before things went any further. As she should have done two weeks ago. Zane had a right to complete honesty.

Zane saw her gaze rest upon the book. “Did you deliver your opinion on that book to Denise?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Georgeanne cleared her throat and kept her face averted, ostensibly to lay her purse down on an end table.

She tried to steady herself by looking around his apartment, but she found little to focus her attention on. Zane's living room was bare of clutter and contained only the pieces of furniture necessary to make it a living room, and even those were of a nondescript, masculine nature. The only personal items present were a stack of Roy Rogers videos and a series of cardboard popcorn containers. And his copy of
Faking It
.

Georgeanne averted her gaze.

“Well?” Zane asked, evidently amused by her obvious intent to avoid the question.

“Well, what?” She searched her brain to delay what she was about to say for a few minutes longer. “Heavens, Zane, I feel as though I'm in a motel room or something. You need some fancy pillows to give this room character. Or maybe a leafy, green plant of some sort.”

Zane caught her arms and whirled her to face him, laughing. “All right, Georgie. What is it with you and this book? Every time it's mentioned, you get the weirdest expression on your face.”

“Now, Zane, that's the way my face always looks.” Georgeanne strove for dignity. Tell him now, her brain shrieked.

“Your nose is going to grow, Georgie,” Zane said roughly, and wrapped her in a crushing embrace.

She melted into the kiss immediately, and Zane groaned aloud. Her heart rejoiced. He had been wanting her the way she'd been wanting him.

Zane somehow managed to shut and lock the front door while they indulged in another deep, searching kiss. The moment the door had been duly locked, he swept her up in his arms and carried her toward his bedroom.

Georgeanne couldn't believe it. She was no featherweight, but she rode in Zane Bryant's arms, still kissing him, and she had no doubt what his destination was. To make matters worse, she had no willpower or desire to stop him. The buttery feeling in her knees and the anticipatory pounding of her heart told her she'd get no cooperation from them.

Zane laid her on his queen-sized bed the way he'd place a child on his examination table–with infinite care. He gazed at her intently.

Georgeanne's mouth went dry. Now, just when she needed her powers of speech in order to tell him about Fritzi Field, she couldn't have said a word if she wanted to. So this was what the big deal was … the feeling that every human being craved.

Zane gently removed her shoes and dropped them on the floor beside the bed. Then, with great tenderness, he removed her jacket and tossed it over the head of the bed. He removed his own shoes and came down beside her, stroking his hands over her silk-clad arms.

“Oh, Georgie, you feel so good,” he whispered against her cheek, and she felt his long lashes brush her nose. “I've been waiting all week just to touch you again.”

Georgeanne's arms went around him, telling him without words that she felt the same. She closed her eyes. At the moment, she was in the serene state of acceptance, knowing what was about to happen and lacking any intent of fighting it.

“I didn't mean to do this,” he murmured. “At least, not right off. But I've known for the past two weeks that you were the only woman for me. Georgie, talk to me. Tell me you feel the same.”

Georgeanne opened her eyes and found Zane's intense gaze on hers. She had to try twice before she could speak.

“I've known it, too, Zane. I — there's something — ”

But Zane had buried his face against her neck with a triumphant laugh. “I knew I couldn't be the only one feeling this way. Oh, Georgie, nothing has ever been like this.”

The longer Zane's big hands traveled up and down her sides and her arms, the less interested Georgeanne became in telling him about Fritzi Field. She sucked in air when his hands rested over her breasts, fascinated by the reaction of her own body to his barest touch.

“The doctor is in, Georgie.” Zane's deep voice created a further seduction of her senses. “You'll have to take off all your clothes for the examination.”

She stared back at him, conscious that the movement of her breasts as she breathed caused his hands to move also. “I will?”

“Yes.”

She didn't even have to think about it. “Okay.”

“Do you think you can manage it without moving?”

“Sure.”

She lay still, and he didn't move either. They basked in their togetherness after the long weeks of separation. Time halted. Even the air seemed golden with promise.

Soon, touching her through her clothes wasn't enough for Zane. He began the task of separating her from her garments, a task usually facilitated by the fact that his patients were so little, he had no trouble skimming a shirt off, or removing a diaper or lowering a pair of trousers. Georgeanne reflected that her clothes must have approximately one-thousand strange fastenings, none of which Zane understood.

Georgeanne didn't help him. She felt far more interested in slipping her hands beneath his shirt to examine his chest with her palms.

“Hey, I'm the doctor here.” He looked down at her long, slender hands resting on his bare chest and drew in his breath. “The patient is not supposed to distract the doctor.”

“I'm a little worried.” Georgeanne's voice was slightly slurred with desire. “You feel as though you could be developing a slight fever.”

“Slight fever, nothing,” he said roughly. “I'm burning up.”

He got her blouse off at last and tossed it over the headboard. Georgeanne wore a lacy brassiere that even Zane's clever fingers could not detect which direction would unlock the hooks. It came loose at last, and rather than remove it, he simply pushed it up to gaze on her with rapt attention.

“You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen,” he said. “I could look at you all day.”

Georgeanne's laughter strangled in her throat. “Please don't. I don't think I could stand it.”

“Lord, Georgie, nothing has ever been like this. Nothing,” he repeated and stroked his palms across her lightly.

Georgeanne moaned as swift stabs of feeling shot through her. If she felt like this just from his barest touch, what was she going to feel like when his lovemaking became serious? Georgeanne moaned again at the very thought of it.

Zane jerked his polo shirt off over his head and tossed it to the floor. “Ordinarily, I don't approve of patients trying to examine the doctor, but this is one time I'll gladly make an exception.”

Georgeanne stared at Zane's chest. It was broad with muscle and thickly covered with dark, tightly curling hair. “That's the best looking doctor's chest I've ever seen.”

“How many have you seen?”

“Dozens.” Georgeanne plowed her fingers through his chest hair, loving the way he threw back his head slightly and sighed with pleasure.

“Oh, yes? Well, you must be one of those doctor-hopping patients. I've got news for you, lady. You've just looked on the last doctor's chest you're ever going to see.”

Georgeanne's eyes widened and she gave a small spurt of laughter. “Really? This should be interesting.”

“It will be,” he said, eyes dark with promise. “I'll probably find it twice as interesting.”

He leaned over her, taking her mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss, and Georgeanne arched to kiss him back. The action brought her bare breasts into contact with his chest, creating a thousand pinpricks of desire across her sensitized skin.

Georgeanne had never felt anything like it. Every part of her body seemed to have nerve endings, and every one of those nerve endings screamed for Zane's touch. When they got it, they screamed even louder with pleasure. With all the racket going on, it was a wonder Georgeanne made any sense at all out of the careful examination Dr. Zane Bryant made of her body.

“I've always admired a doctor's hands,” she whispered at one point. “They're so tender and experienced. No one can touch a person the way a good doctor can.”

“Georgie, for you I'm not just a good doctor.” His hot gaze held hers. “I'm a great doctor.”

“I'll go along with that.” Georgeanne locked her hands behind his head and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

What surprised Georgeanne the most was the interest she had in examining Zane's body. She had never been particularly interested before in a man's body before, but Zane's was different. Everything about it fascinated her.

She took her time performing a leisurely examination. Every gentle touch of her fingers, every kiss, and every movement of her hands evoked groans or murmurs of delight. Strange, but she'd never realized before how responsive a man could be to a woman's touch. Perhaps it was because she had never been particularly interested in spending time touching a man before. She couldn't get enough.

“If you don't stop,” Zane whispered, “there won't be anything left of me.”

Georgeanne laughed wickedly and continued with what she was doing. How could she stop, when there was so much enjoyment in it for her?

The world spun. She lay on her back looking up at Zane, whose eyes were dark with passion.

“Georgie, you're about to be on the receiving end of some of that. I hope you've got a lot of stamina.”

“Oh, I do,” she said. “I do.”

“If you keep saying things like that, you're going to need twice as much stamina.”

Georgeanne hoped so. She was finding within herself an enormous capacity for passion.

Zane took his time, and Georgeanne's excitement reached new heights. He kissed her breasts, nibbling at the sensitive tips until they were red and taut.

“Zane, you're driving me crazy.” Even her voice shook. “Please … ”

“Please keep driving you crazy, or please something else?”

“Everything,” she said. “All of the above.”

His laughter sounded deep and satisfied, and his voice was none too steady either. “Georgie, you're wonderful.”

All the same, Zane spent a little more time sending her into a frenzy of need before he slid between her legs and joined his body with hers.