Public Relations (27 page)

He couldn’t help but notice her use of the past tense. “Are your parents divorced?”

“Yes.” Georgia shook her head, the flirty bob of her pom-pom inconsistent with the gravity of her expression. “She ran off when I was ten.” She cleared her throat and took a sip of her cocoa. “But that’s giving away the punch line, I suppose.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said.

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago, and we weren’t close. But the worst part was Dad bringing home any woman he wanted after she left. It was impossible to round a corner without catching him in some depraved act. Sometimes more than one woman at once. And there were other things…events…where there were multiple couples. I confronted him about it once. He laughed and told me when I was old enough he’d issue me an invitation.”

White-knuckled rage buckled the lid of Peter’s artisan beverage. He deliberately relaxed his grip. He’d barely managed to bite back a dismay-laden expletive. Georgia kept talking, cutting off any intelligible response he might have managed to form.

“I saw families on American television shows behaving like, well, families. I wanted normal parents so very badly.” She gave a rueful smile. “I was addicted to
The Brady Bunch
.”

There were so many things he wanted to say. About understanding why decorating a Christmas tree—an activity he’d long since taken for granted—seemed to mean so much to her. And he got it about why she worked at the two-bit paper rather than ask her father for help in making her way. That he understood her determination to be independent.

Instead he said, “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

They’d arrived at Rockefeller Center. He and Georgia leaned on the wall, elbows on concrete, watching the colorful buzz of the skaters below. The
shoosh
of skates and children’s laughter rose up with the carols playing in the background. Above, the giant tree glowed with yellow-gold lights, showcasing the best of the Christmas splendor New York City offered.

“It was my nanny who convinced me to go away to school. She was leaving me that year anyway.” Sighing, she stared stolidly into the distance. “Sometimes I wish I’d taken pictures of my father and his conquests. Sent them to the papers. I’d have relished standing on the sidelines, watching his social life go up in flames.”

The parallels to his own situation with the gossip columnist struck Peter between the eyes. He cringed. No wonder Georgia had thought he’d only gotten his just desserts. In her world, with everything she’d experienced, and without knowing him, she had seen a man treating relationships and love with cavalier disdain.

“God. No wonder you hated me when we met.”

She laughed. “You could tell?”

He cocked a brow at her. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“No. I suppose I wasn’t.” She cleared her throat and broke her stare. “But I didn’t hate you. Hated myself for wanting you despite what I thought I knew, but I didn’t hate you.”

Well, if that wasn’t a revelation that made him blush. He said nothing and followed her gaze to the skaters below. They were both quiet for a long while. He wanted to give her space to come down from the intense emotions her remembrances doubtless brought with them, and he needed to just be with her. Connecting with and processing the information she’d shared.

No matter what he’d done to screw up his family life, he’d always been able to respect his parents—had known they’d placed him and his brothers first, above their own wants and needs, since time immemorial. What a frightening thing it must have been to be a child and not have a parental figure watching out for her.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Georgia, who chewed her lip.

“Do I disgust you?” she asked.

The frown that snapped his brows together almost painfully made him flinch away. “What?”

She shrugged. “What I told you about my father. It’s pretty abominable.”

“Georgia…” He sighed her name, saddened she could think her parents’ actions reflected upon her. “I admire you for your strength of character and your sheer determination to get out of a bad situation.”

Her faraway gaze told him she wasn’t absorbing his words.

“Look at me,” he said, wanting to make her understand.

“I’m not a saint,” she muttered.

Slender shoulders curved inward, as if they might fold forward to protect her heart. He silently vowed he’d touch her and break the bet if she wouldn’t look at him.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

Georgia snapped her chin up to stare at him. Lips parted, color high, and decked out in all that red and white, she presented the prettiest picture of a Christmas package he’d ever seen.

She raised both brows, her gaze taking on a wary cast. A little breathless, she said, “You’ll lose the bet.”

He leaned toward her lovely face. “Not if you meet me halfway.”

“You’re calling a stop?” She searched his face, no doubt for signs of mischief.

“It’d be a little difficult to skate and not touch you.” He grinned, hoping if he used humor he might be able to entice her away from the precipice of her darker thoughts. “What if I need to rescue you from falling on your pretty little butt?”

She gasped, but her lips twitched upward and her eyes renewed the sparkle he’d longed to see.

“Me?” she asked, decreasing the distance between their lips. “Hardly. I’m a flawless skater.”

“All right then,” he murmured. “You can rescue me.”

“All right then,” she echoed, staring into his eyes.

Then he pressed his lips to hers. In a clinch straight out of a Hollywood film, he lifted her off her feet with the band of his arm at the small of her back. Pressed along his front, she sighed into his mouth while he felt every delicious curve. Her arms twined around his neck to bring him closer, and he groaned into her mouth, his tongue probing the moist heat there. She tasted sharp and sweet, of bright peppermint and earthy chocolate.

“You’re delicious,” he said, lifting his head.

She gazed up at him, stars in her eyes, completely adoring. His formerly frozen heart melted thoroughly, leaving only a puddle behind.

“Spend Christmas with me and my family,” he said.

At her beat of silence, his pulse skipped. Adrenaline surged. What if she didn’t—

“I’d like nothing better.”

For the first time in twenty years, Peter looked forward to the holidays. He smiled so broadly his face hurt. “Thank you.”

Merriment danced across Georgia’s expression. “Don’t thank me yet. You have no idea what I’ll give you for a gift.”

“You’re my gift,” he said, taking her in his arms once more. “And I can’t wait to unwrap you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Georgia stepped out of Peter’s embrace. “Let’s skate.”

He frowned down at her, wondering if he’d said something wrong.

“I want to get back to not touching you sooner rather than later.” She leaned in and whispered, “So you can lose the bet.”

Blood surged southward at her suggestive tone. He watched after her as she walked away, her hips swaying more than usual. Biting back a curse at the tightness of his jeans, he jerked his coat lower and went to the skate rental stand as Georgia sat, pulled off her boot, and worked on replacing it with a skate. When he returned, she had both skates on, but neither was laced or tied. He made to sit on the bench next to her, but she cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she stared pointedly at her feet. He followed her gaze, and she waggled her skates.

“Lace them, please?” she asked with enough sweetness to make him narrow his gaze with suspicion.

Despite his misgivings, he knelt before her and took her laces in his fingertips. As he did so, Georgia let her opposite thigh fall open, her short skirt revealing the apex of her white tights. Through the flimsy cotton he could clearly see the outline of her pussy. Full, pouting, and wet. He swallowed down a groan and swept his gaze up her torso to her face.

She licked her lips.

His cock jerked as if she’d made direct contact.

“Careful,” he muttered, “or I’ll put more than coal in your stocking.”

A cat’s-cream grin spread across her face. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

If he thought
everyday
Georgia was sexy, then
seductive
Georgia set his blood on fire. Everything about her—from her eyes to her throaty whispers—was designed to seduce a man out of his mind. He couldn’t think with her looking at him that way, much less plan out the steps to his victory. If she wanted to play dirty, then she had no idea what she was in for. First, however, he needed to find a way to regain the upper hand.

Taking her ankles in both hands, he jerked just hard enough that she slid forward on the bench and had to lean back on her palms. He maintained his hold on her right ankle with one hand while he braced with his other between her legs. She looked down, saw how close his fingers were to her pussy, and sucked in a breath. His shoulders, he knew, blocked the crowds from seeing what he was doing, but Georgia could very clearly tell where he intended to go next.

“I…I’ll lace them,” she said.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with mock concern. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t take care of your needs?”

Her ankle jerked in his hand, and he tightened his grip.

“Truce!” she squeaked.

He could smell the faint musk of her arousal and feel the heat rolling off her pussy onto his chilled hand. The torturer became tortured as his senses fed the stimuli straight to his cock. Precum surged up his shaft as he ran one finger along her pussy lips, outlining them, slowly. Deliberately. As if he’d nothing better to do than fondle her all day. As if his balls weren’t ready to loose their load into his 501s.

A mewl escaped Georgia, and Peter looked up. Head thrown back, cheeks flushed, she appeared thoroughly ravished, and he’d done nothing more than run a single finger up to her clit. He pressed that finger down and circled. Her hips jerked, and her fingers curled against the bench. A faint voice in the back of his mind grew a little louder. This wasn’t the time or place. She’d learned her lesson.

Ever so slowly, he withdrew his hand. Georgia opened her eyes and looked down at him. Bewildered. He gave a smug smile.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

In response, he kissed the inside of her knee and gently pressed her legs together before he laced up her skates.

THE SPOT PETER had touched tingled. Not just where he’d kissed, but where he’d circled her clit with that one magic finger. Georgia stood on wobbly feet—only part of her imbalance due to her footwear—and waited for him to put on his own gear. With sure jerks of his fingers, he took off his boots and replaced them with the skates. When he finished, he stood and smiled at her.

“Ready?” he asked.

Mouth dry, she nodded and let him take her hand. Tingles ran up her arm when his fingers curled around hers. Sure and steady, he guided her to the skating rink and then paid for their admission while they handed over their shoes for safekeeping. A new session had just started, and they joined the other couples as they filtered in from the line.

Georgia slid her skate forward experimentally, testing the ice and her muscle memory. Just like riding a bike, she found her rhythm and balance without a second thought. Thinking Peter followed, she found a clear patch and headed for the opening with gusto. Arriving, she swung into a pirouette, showing off for him. Just a little. The world came to a standstill as she ended her spin and searched him out with her gaze.

There. Standing by the far wall, he regarded her with an intensity she could feel even from this distance. He pushed away and skated toward her with sure-footed grace. Powerful legs and a long torso made sure he stood out among the crowd. Even if someone didn’t know who he was, they knew he was somebody.

When he reached her, he held out one hand, palm up. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her forward a few feet before he unexpectedly gave a little tug that swung her to face him. He grasped her about the waist with his opposite hand and wordlessly led her into a dance as the strains of Frank Sinatra’s “The Christmas Waltz” flooded the arena with magic.

The world seemed to hold its breath, and time suspended as the scrape of skates and the soft press of Peter’s thighs filled her awareness to overflowing. He guided her backward, the pressure of his palm on hers, his opposite hand at the small of her waist, making certain she knew every move he needed her to execute to stay in perfect rhythm with his steps.

A hush fell around her, and though she’d never been the center of attention, she knew, without looking up, a good portion of the crowd kept their focus on her and Peter. Only a ball gown swaying around her ankles could have made this moment more complete. She felt like a princess—Peter’s princess—at the climax of her very own fairy tale.

As the last strains of the song faded away, he swayed them both to a stop on the ice and leaned in for a kiss. The skaters closest to them clapped. Camera flashes popped, and when Peter pulled away, she slowly blinked her eyes open to stare into the gorgeous blue depths of his gaze.

“So much for no publicity,” he said, dropping his forehead to hers.

A string seemed to jerk from her middle, up her spine, pulling her straight. “What?”

Georgia searched the crowd.

“Don’t worry.” He laughed, pulling her into a side by side skate around the rink. “I don’t think any of them are paparazzi.”

Though his assessment calmed her stomach a little, she couldn’t help looking around to see if she recognized the skaters they passed. The world seemed to rush by too fast, a blur of color and sound that she hadn’t noticed as she’d waltzed with Peter. In contrast everything seemed too loud, a little raucous. Even “Jingle Bells,” a tune she normally loved, grated.

An hour later, she remembered their uneaten lunch. Her stomach rumbled loudly enough she was sure even Peter heard it.

“Where did you leave our lunch bag?” she asked, wondering if he’d ditched it.

“I had a driver come pick it up and bring it back to my place. We can eat it tomorrow.” He brushed his hand up her arm and squeezed. “I want to take you out to dinner.”