Various States of Undress (19 page)

He lay there, his heart racing as Georgia trembled beneath him. After a long moment, she relaxed, and her legs drifted to the bed. Still he stayed inside of her, not wanting to let go, even as he shifted to the side, taking her with him. They lay facing each other, her thigh resting on top of his, her hands curling on his chest. She didn't say a word, and neither did he. They didn't have to.

He felt as if he were home. Not at his place—but truly home. As that thought took shape, he let it rest there in his mind, a new thing. An amazing, precious new thing. A scary thing, though, too. If she didn't feel the same way . . . if she didn't want all of him the same way he wanted all of her . . .

“Brett?” Her voice was soft.

“Yes?” He reached out and pushed a tumbled lock of hair from her forehead.

“I need to go.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, his tender thoughts rapidly receding. “You don't want to stay?”

“I do, but I can't. My agents . . .”

His arm tightened around her waist. “They can wait.”

“Not all night.” She lowered her leg from his and looked away. “They'll start to wonder.”

“Your agents wouldn't let the paparazzi find out about this.”

She sighed. “I know, but I can't just . . .”

“What?”

“I need to go.” When she pushed gently against his chest, he moved his arm and rolled onto his back, a discomforting feeling seeping in and stealing what was left of the sweetness. Had he misinterpreted what had just happened? Let his obsession with her fool him into thinking that she'd truly given herself to him?

“Please stay.” Brett realized that he was close to begging. He didn't want to let her go. But she wanted to go and wouldn't explain why. Did she think that he wouldn't understand her? That he was incapable of it? Or was she trying to spare his feelings because she didn't want to tell him that he . . . he wasn't good enough for her?

“All right, sugar,” he found himself saying easily. “That's fine.”

“Brett . . .”

He glanced at her, still curled up, her knees raised. “It's fine,” he repeated. “I need to get some sleep, anyway.”

She closed her eyes. “I didn't mean to be so abrupt a minute ago.”

“No big deal. We had fun, right?” He gave her a winning smile, even as his heart began to ache. “Sex is generally entertaining, especially with a couple of weeks of foreplay.”

“Entertaining?” she echoed, opening her eyes.

He winked at her.

Without a word, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, got up, gathered her clothes, and went into the bathroom. A minute later, she walked out the door.

Brett stared across the room for a long time, confusion and hurt taking root. He didn't think. He just felt, and it wasn't good. After a while, he cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the mattress. He put on his shorts and then crossed the room for his glasses. He grabbed the TV remote from the table and flopped back on the bed but realized that he didn't want to watch anything. He only wanted one thing—and she'd walked away from him. Because he hadn't fought for her. He'd let his own insecurities tear down what had happened between them, and he'd been an asshole. She might have stayed if he'd tried harder, but she'd definitely left because of the way he'd treated her.

Georgia had said once that she had a thing for athletes. She liked his cockiness. But he'd bet his batting average that she didn't like his weakness, because that's what he'd shown her. There was a big difference between being cocky for show—for laughs—and being a complete prick.

“Shit.” He threw the remote on the bed. Whatever was bothering her, even if it was her fear of getting too close to him, he had to know. He felt the same fear. He felt a lot of fear, actually, about a lot of things.

That's what all of his hang-ups were all about, weren't they? Not lack of focus. Fear. Fear of being judged. Of coming up short. Fear that his talent could only lead him so far and that someday he'd come up against a big wall—a wall he couldn't scale—that blocked his future. He'd be stuck on the shitty side, and if he looked behind him, he'd see that shitty shotgun house where he'd grown up and—

He shook his head. Georgia was a lot more important than his own fears, and he had to go to her. He put on his shirt, slid his feet into tennis shoes, and reached for his phone.

W
HEN
G
EORGIA GOT
back to her dark room, she walked to the window and stood there looking out at the lights of the Vegas strip on the horizon. She didn't want to look at the bed, much less crawl into it. The memory of what had just happened was too fresh. Her joy, and the joy in Brett's eyes as he'd joined himself with her; his tenderness as he lay next to her; and then his pain—and hers—as she'd left were too new in her mind. It wasn't as if she were going to be able to sleep anyway, and crying her eyes out on a pillow wasn't her style.

So she stood, completely dry-eyed, and squeezed her hands together until the bones in her fingers ached. She was sure that what she'd shared with Brett was special. Different. She was so consumed with him that she hadn't seen it coming when he'd treated her like just another jersey-chaser out to screw a ball player.

Maybe if she hadn't walked away so fast, he wouldn't have acted that way. She knew with certainty that he hadn't been after only a conquest. The truth was written in every expression on his face as he'd made love to her.

Sure, a little part of her—a younger, more vulnerable part of her—had worried for a split second that she'd just repeated her past like a complete dummy, slept with an athlete who'd blown her off the minute they were finished, but she'd been the one to poke a giant hole in the intimacy with Brett. She'd been the one who'd caused that fearful look in his eyes. Why had she done that?

Georgia raised her hands to her forehead. She felt like utter shit for hurting him, but she'd been petrified about what might come next. Afraid of what would happen when he moved out of her life and up to the big leagues. Afraid of finishing her internship and moving into the unknown without him. So she'd bolted. It wasn't like her at all, but really? She hadn't been herself since the moment she met him. She'd never really opened herself up until she met him either.

She had to go back to him.

But just as she reached for her phone, it rang, lighting up the darkness in the room. Her heart leapt when she saw his face on the display.

She answered it. “Brett?”

“I'm at the elevator on your floor. Courtney stopped me. Can I—”

“Yes,” she said in a rush of breath. “Yes, tell her I said yes.”

“She said you have to tell her.”

“Oh, right. I wasn't thinking.”

“Neither was I, sugar.” His tone was remorseful.

“Hang on just a sec, okay?” Georgia didn't wait for his answer. She hung up, and a moment later, Courtney called.

“Brett Knox is requesting permission to—”

“Let him down the hall, Courtney, for the love of—”

“Okay, okay.” Courtney chuckled.

Georgia hung up on her, too, and threw the phone toward her purse. She ran to the door and unlocked it. There stood Brett, tall, handsome, and frowning.

“I'm so sorry,” she blurted out.

“Not as sorry as I am,” he countered.

“I beg to differ,” she shot back.

“Beg?” He gave her a devastating smile. “I like the sound of that.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and walked into the room.

As the door shut behind him, he rested his hands on her shoulders and guided her, backward, toward the bed. When her knees hit the mattress, she sat on the edge.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She nodded. “I think I freaked out back there. It just—I had no idea that being with you would make me feel that way. I've never felt that way before.”

“What way is that?” He sat next to her.

“I felt so . . . cherished. As a woman.” Though she said the words and meant them, they felt uncomfortable coming out of her mouth. “I think the last time I had sex, I was nowhere near a woman.”

“You definitely are now. And you are cherished, believe me.” He took her hand.

“It scares me, though.” Georgia leaned against his shoulder, sinking into his strength. “For all of my confidence about my intellect, Brett, the truth is . . . I don't have a lot of real-life experience. What we did was very, very real. It meant everything to me.”

Brett's shoulder rose and fell against her cheek as he took a deep breath and let it out. “You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that. I thought I'd driven you away.”

“By pretending to be a dick?” She raised her head. “I knew that wasn't real. We haven't known each other for long, Brett, but . . . I know you.”

He grinned. “Yes, you do.”

“And I'm thrilled about it.”

“Me too, sugar. You have no idea. Well, maybe you do, since you're well aware of my celebrity crush on you.”

“I actually hadn't thought about that all day until you mentioned it just now.”

The smile fell away from his face. “And I've been thinking about it too much. I tend to do that, Georgia—let stuff stack up in my head, get all jumbled up in there, both good and bad. It's pretty hard to concentrate sometimes. My mood changes. And my playing?” He shook his head. “I don't know how to fix being afraid of not being in control.”

When he looked away from her, Georgia laced her fingers through his. She wasn't sure how to respond, but she knew telling him everything was going to be okay wasn't the right thing to do. “I don't know either.” She swallowed. “There are a few things I do know about you, though. You're smart. You're incredibly driven, and you're fully aware of your capabilities. I think that those things, combined, will eventually kick your fear right to the curb.”

Brett was motionless for a moment, and then he gathered her into his arms. It was the best feeling in the world, being held by him. And when he kissed her—oh God—so sweet. It wasn't a lusty kiss, but at the same time, she'd never felt sexier.

With a sweet smile, she sighed, looking up at him. “How do you feel?”

“Great,” he said.

“I meant, what kind of mood are you in?” she asked.

His grin told her everything she needed to know, and she lay back on the bed with complete confidence. “Take me again?”

“No.” Brett walked around her and laid his head on the pillows. “Take me.”

And so she did.

Chapter Ten

W
HEN
B
RETT WALKED
into the WHAP station the following afternoon wearing his Redbirds uniform, he had a swagger in his step. It was hot as balls outside, but that didn't bother him. It felt good to be hot—in a lot of ways. Yeah, he wasn't so naïve as to think that falling hard for Georgia was going to instantly fix his game, but knowing that she believed in him? It went a long way toward helping him maintain confidence.

Brett ambled down the hallway and peeked into Georgia's office. Though most of her body was hidden behind her cubicle wall, her curvy backside poked out. She muttered to herself, and as she shifted from one foot to the other, her butt shifted too. He whistled. “That's the best view I've had all day.”

A second later, she stepped into view, a sheepish smile on her face. “What view? Of me leaning on my desk trying to uncurse my computer?”

“Yeah. Come here.” He shut the door behind him, and a second later she was in his arms. “Mmm,” he said as he kissed her. “I haven't see you in a long time.”

“It's been four hours since we parted ways at the airport.” She nipped at his neck.

“That's too long.”

Georgia sighed. “And you're leaving again tomorrow morning for the All-Star Game.”

It was bad timing, he knew, given that they'd just taken their relationship to a wonderful new level—but if they were together for the long haul, there would probably be a lot more moments like this. “Sugar, I'll be back.”

“I don't doubt that.” She smiled up at him. “Not sure if you'll want to return after I grill you today in the interview.”

“I trust you.” He did. “Are you ready?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“Now who's the cocky one?”

Georgia giggled and blatantly looked at the front of his uniform pants. When he shook his head, she gave him a wink and walked back to her cubicle. “Oh good! My WHAP e-mail finally decided to cooperate and send the interview questions to my iPad.”

Brett heard the sound of a desk drawer opening and slamming shut, and she reappeared with an iPad and . . . a makeup bag? He pointed at it. “What's that for? You look great.” She did, too, in a tailored skirt and cute blouse, with her hair swept up in a twist.

“Thanks, but the makeup's for you.”

“The hell it is!” Brett's eyes widened and he fumbled for the door knob.

Georgia burst out laughing. “Come on now, slugger. You can't be all shiny on TV. I'm not going to put eyeliner on you or anything. Just a little powder.”

“Aren't you the woman who smeared lipstick all over my face?” he said doubtfully.

“That was for a good cause. Wouldn't you agree?”

He watched as she unzipped the makeup bag. “Yeah. Best first kiss I've ever had.” It occurred to him then—it was the
last
first kiss he'd ever have if he had his way about it.

“Come here,” she said. With a long-suffering sigh, Brett leaned down and let her brush powder onto his face. “The producer told me that since you're so tan, there's no need for full makeup, and I asked if I could handle it so you wouldn't be embarrassed. That's something, right?”

He grunted.

Laughing, she led him down the hallway to a smaller studio. There were two chairs set up and a table between them, on which someone had arranged a Redbirds display. Georgia sat opposite him and crossed her legs. Brett stared as she shifted in her seat and crossed them the other way. A smile tugged at his lips. God, how he loved those legs. So soft and smooth and—