The Dirty Girls Book Club (41 page)

As turned on as she was. It had been the most amazing evening of her life, and it kept getting better. The ache between her thighs demanded relief, and soon. “Much as I like you in a thong, I have to say the boxer briefs are classier.”

“Thank God.” His eyes twinkled with humor.

“Now peel them off.”

When he did, and stood in front of her, so rugged and physical and beautiful, his cock jutting full and firm up his belly—hers, all hers, from now on—she beckoned with her index finger.

He took the two steps toward her. “What do you want, Georgia?”

She came closer, so the front of her body, clad in the lovely gown Viv had helped her pick out, grazed the front of his. “Unzip my dress.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The man was good with female clothing. She’d barely drawn a breath before the zipper was sliding down. She hooked a finger in each skimpy shoulder strap, pulled them down, then let the dress fall. She stepped out of it, then kicked off her high-heeled gold sandals.

“God, look at you,” he said. “Now, that’s nice underwear. You’re the one who should be modeling.”

She wore champagne-colored scraps of lace. “Strip me, Woody.” The excitement of commanding him like this gave her voice a raw, husky edge.

“You women have been ordering me around for weeks.” His fingers worked the clasp of her bra, then hooked into the sides of her thong. “This is the first time I’ve enjoyed it.”

“It’s about to get better,” she promised as she let the skimpy garments drop to the floor.

He bent to kiss her but she put both hands on his chest, stopping him. “No. Not until we’re in bed.”

She pulled back the covers and stretched out on the bottom sheet, gazing up at him. Hers. So sexy, so perfect. So loving. Oh God, how she loved him. She couldn’t wait to join with him, their bodies and hearts totally naked together. “No more foreplay,” she said. “The whole evening’s been foreplay. I love you, Woody, and I want you now. Inside me. Come here.”

She bent her knees, spread her legs, offered her body in an invitation as blatant as her words.

Breath coming fast, he lay between her legs, the head of his naked cock nudging her moist sex.

He cradled her head between his hands; then his mouth crushed hers, taking it with a fierce hunger that resonated all through her. Whimpering with need, she reached down, grasped his beautiful cock, and eased it inside her.

He slid in slowly, relentlessly, until he’d filled her completely.

He stopped, and lifted his mouth from hers. “What do you want now, Georgia?”

“Make love to me.”

“Oh, yeah.” He caught her hands, raised them above her head as she arched her body into his, and twined their fingers together. He didn’t kiss her again, but instead gazed deep into her eyes as he began to pump, their bodies creating a slow, sensual, consuming rhythm.

She felt him more intensely, more exquisitely, than ever before as he stroked deep, deep to her core, filling her, then retreating, then coming back even deeper.

Arousal, passion, love combined to make her body twist urgently against his, rising and falling, demanding and giving. Orgasm was building, the sensations now sweetly familiar yet always incredible.

Especially incredible now, when she knew this was more than simply a physical act.

“Tell me,” she panted, struggling for breath, gazing deep into his eyes. “Say the words.”

Woody’s hands gripped hers tightly. “I love you, Georgia.”

“I love you too. Now, here’s what I want.”

“Tell me.”

“Make me come, Woody, and make me scream.”

“Damn right, I will.”

Sunday night, Woody’s body was battered and bruised, but he felt stronger, more confident, and happier than ever before. He’d never imagined that being in love could feel so incredible.

He’d achieved his most important dream: winning Georgia. Now it was time to make the second one come true, and he was going to do it in front of the woman he loved.

Minutes before the players would take the ice, he said, “Men, it’s been one hell of a long season and here we are, one game from the end.
The
game. Tonight, the Cup will be in the building.
Our
building. We’re gonna play our hearts out, and when the game’s over we’ll be skating that Cup around the ice. Each of us, one by one, holding it high.”

Heads nodded firmly.

“Then you know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna take it over to the hospital and drink champagne out of it with Stu.”

“Damn right,” Federov grunted.

And after that, Woody would go home to Georgia, for the sweetest celebration of all. Other players would celebrate with wives or girlfriends, children, maybe siblings and parents. He felt sorry for the single guys who had no one to hang out with but a flock of superficial puck bunnies.

“Sound like a plan?” Woody bellowed.

“Damn right!” they all shouted back.

“Then get out there, and bash’em, Beavers!”

Woody had given her rink-side seats, and she’d invited her mother. They might have their differences, but there was no one Georgia would rather have beside her tonight. She and Bernadette were growing closer, and it felt wonderful.

When the two women met outside the arena, Georgia said, “Confession time. As of last night, Woody and I are a couple.”

Her mother whooped, hugged her tight, then said smugly, “Tell me something I don’t know. I’m so glad that
book
of yours makes you happy, baby. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Bernadette.” She couldn’t wait to tell the book club that she’d created her own version of Lady Emma’s story, and she and Woody had given it a happy ending.

“So, when are the two of you coming over for dinner with Fabio and me?” her mom asked as they headed into the arena.

Georgia chuckled. “Soon. I promise.” And she meant it. She was eager to show Woody off, and curious to meet the guy who encouraged her mom to be more independent.

“The folks at work know you’re dating Woody?”

“I’ll tell them tomorrow. I’m determined to convince my boss that I’ll still do a professional job with the VitalSport campaign.” He couldn’t argue with her results to date.

“Of course you will. You’re a very responsible person.”

Wow, genuine praise from her mother. “You know,” Georgia said, “I’m starting to think maybe I wasn’t switched at birth, after all.”

Bernadette’s smile flashed brightly. “You and me both, baby. It took us a while, but I guess we both had some growing up to do.”

Georgia sure did appreciate her mom’s company during the first two periods as they cheered the Beavers, booed the Capitals, and Bernadette let her dig her fingernails into her arm.

In the intermission between second and third period, when neither team had scored, Georgia touched the red welts. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. That’s my future son-in-law out there.”

“Bernadette, he hasn’t proposed.” In her heart, she knew he would. The two of them were so right together, it felt inevitable that they’d spend the rest of their lives loving each other.

She only wished the outcome of this game felt as inevitable. She wanted it so badly, for Woody and the whole team.

In the third period, the Capitals threw their best offensive line against the Beavers’ goal. The Vancouver coach sent in the strongest defensive line, and together with the powerful goaltender Federov, they fought off the onslaught.

“Woody’s going in.” She grabbed her mom’s arm again as Woody, Bouchard, and Olssen, the Beavers’ top offensive players, took the ice.

She knew the three had played together last season, and earlier this season before Stu Connolly got moved up to replace Olssen. The three players had an ease together, and if Olssen didn’t have quite the same speed and dazzle as Stu, Woody said he was more consistent.

The Capitals were all over Woody, knowing he was the highest scorer in the league. Every time he headed toward their goal, they got in his way.

He’d explained some of the strategies to Georgia and she watched in fascination as Olssen quietly insinuated himself in a position next to the Capitals’ goal, while everyone, the goaltender included, struggled to fend off an apparently determined Woody.

Then Woody hooked the puck sideways, straight onto Olssen’s
stick. Olssen, with all the poise in the world, sent it flipping into the corner of the goal.

She leaped to her feet, screaming, as everyone in the arena did the same. If anything could have taken the roof off, their cheers would have done it.

On the ice, the Beavers embraced and backslapped excitedly.

In the stands, she and her mom hugged each other, then were caught up in hugs by the people seated around them. Tonight, there were no strangers; the fans were one big family.

The game wasn’t over, though. There was still almost ten minutes, and anything could happen. The players couldn’t lose their focus.

Play resumed, and those ten minutes seemed more like hours as both teams threw every ounce of their energy and skill into the game. Woody almost scored, but the Capitals’ goaltender threw his body on top of the puck and stopped it just short of the line. A clever Capitals’ play almost snuck around Federov, but somehow he got his elbow pad in the way and flicked the puck away.

The last two minutes were intolerable. “Even if the Capitals score,” Georgia yelled in Bernadette’s ear, over the din of the crowd, “that’ll only tie it. They’ll go to overtime.”

“They won’t score. Our guys have a lock on it.”

Georgia bit her nails.

In the last minute, the Capitals pulled their goaltender and stormed the goal with six men against five, giving it everything they had. Federov and the Beavers, with Woody in the middle of the fray, fought them off with just as much determination.

With less than ten seconds left, the Capitals’ Ovechkin caught a rebound and slapped a shot toward the goal.

Federov dove on it.

For the first time that night, the arena went silent. Where was the puck? Had it crossed the line?

Carefully, very carefully, with the refs surrounding him, Federov separated himself from the ice. Georgia stared at the magnified image on the JumboTron.

The puck was two inches outside the goal line.

The crowd went crazy, the Beavers jumped on one another with crushing hugs, and Georgia and her mom, arms around each other, bounced up and down with joy.

The stands shook as fans jumped, screamed, and embraced, and the pandemonium kept up as the refs tried to restore order, and the last couple of seconds were played out on ice to make the win official.

Her mom handed her a tissue, and Georgia realized they were both crying and laughing at the same time.

Woody’s team had won the Stanley Cup. Her man’s name would be engraved a second time on that huge trophy.

On the ice, the Beavers were one big huddle of grinning, hugging bodies, more of them pouring onto the ice all the time. Helmets came off; then the giant huddle broke up as individual players embraced one another. Everyone wanted a piece of Woody, but he broke free, caught her eye, and pumped his fist in the air. Laughing, crying, she pumped hers back.

The teams formed two lines to do the traditional handshakes, and she felt sorry for the Capitals. Though they should be proud of what they’d achieved, they looked utterly drained.

She watched proudly and tearily as the Conn Smythe, which went to the player who was most valuable to his team during the playoffs, was presented to Woody. He hefted it, kissed it, and accepted his teammates’ praise, but she knew he was waiting.

It wasn’t that he didn’t value the Conn Smythe, but he’d told her that, in the end, there was only one trophy that truly mattered.

And now she saw two smiling men carry that trophy into the arena along a red carpet, and place it on a table. How surreal to
watch this and know that, at some point, that massive glittering cup would be sharing Woody’s penthouse.

The speeches were brief, with congratulations to the general manager, coaches, players, and fans. And then Woody, as team captain, was presented with the holy grail of hockey.

He kissed this trophy too, the jubilation clear on his face. Holding it two-handed above his head, he pumped it up and down in victory as his teammates surrounded him.

She expected him to take it and skate around the ice in triumph, but instead he passed it to Federov. She nodded in acknowledgment. Without the big Russian, the Beavers never would have won.

After that, each team member took the cup, kissing it and skating around in jubilation. Tears ran down more than one of those rugged faces.

Finally, Woody reclaimed the trophy. He didn’t look excited as much as gratified, a happiness that wasn’t about just this moment but about the entire season and everything he and every other player had put into it.

He skated toward her and, smiling through her tears, she held his gaze.

He raised the Cup high above his head and shouted, “I love you, Georgia.” By now, the noise had died down enough that she heard his words clearly.

“I love you, Woody!” she screamed back.

Bernadette grabbed her shoulder and pointed. “Look!”

Georgia followed her pointing finger to the JumboTron—and saw her own face, tear-streaked and joyful.

“You two just told the whole world!” her mom said.

Laughing, Georgia said, “Good!”

“Oh, baby, I’m so happy for you. I have to say, that’s one fine
book
you’ve been reading.”

Georgia stared at the man on the ice: cheeks rosy red, hair lank
with sweat, wearing a jersey with the cartoon figure of a beaver. Tough, brave, caring, smart, sexy—and hers.

What had she learned in the past month? That in real life, just as in fiction, a happy ending can come in the most unexpected package.

She threw her arms around her mom. “He’s the best damned book in the world!”

The idea of the Dirty Girls Book Club has been in the back of my mind for years, and I’m delighted to have finally brought the girls to life on paper.

Thanks to my editors at Berkley, Katherine Pelz and Wendy Mc-Curdy, for giving me this opportunity. Thanks also to my agent, Emily Sylvan Kim of Prospect Agency, for her enthusiasm and unwavering support.