Writing Mr. Right (6 page)

Georgia stared at him. If this woman had something bad to say about Douglas MacCready, she’d spit at her feet. “What about him?”

Garrett shrugged. “No sure how to say it.”

Georgia waited for him to find words, and couldn’t fathom this. Douglas was perfection to her, and those sex scenes were many of her fans favorite parts. She’d written Douglas as a strong man who didn’t want a submissive woman, but who could dominate nonetheless. A man who could take what he wanted, toss his lover around, give as much as he demanded, and always with the utmost concern for his woman. She wrote about ass slapping, hair pulling, forcefully dirty talking, sure, but at its center was a loving, funny, generous, kind, and courageous beast of a man, and she loved every god damn word she’d ever written about him.

To each his own, she thought.

Garrett exhaled. “I shouldn’t be so shy with ye, should I? Ye write some randy stuff. I imagine you’ve heard god knows what from people -”

She guffawed in his face. “Oh, you can’t even imagine!”

He smiled. “No?”

“And it’s often the middle aged grandmothers with the randiest tales to tell. Stuff to keep you up at night. And not in a good way!”

Garrett shuddered, laughing. “Well, alright then. I’ll tell ye.”

Georgia smiled as he scratched his nose, then looked at his hands. “She hated the sex scenes because they reminded her of me.”

Georgia stared at him. “What?”

“Everyone of ‘em. All the randy bits in your stories, they – ye know -”

“They what?” She betrayed more than mild curiosity, and felt her face growing hot for it.

He shrugged. “That fella of yours, he behaves in a manner that is quite, err – familiar to me.”

“No!”

This wasn’t helping her little crush. As Garrett tried to muscle up the courage to admit that he liked shagging the way she liked writing about shagging, she began to imagine what this tall fellow’s bedroom voice sounded like, what sort of things he might say – things she now realized she very well may have written.

“I’d never behaved like that with her, mind. She weren’t interested in any of it. She was a ‘lights off, missionary, get it over with - once a year - on your birthday’ kind of woman – Christ. Listen tae me? Baring my darkest secrets over here.”

Georgia reached for his hand, but couldn’t bring herself to touch him. “Believe me, it happens to me every day. Though, it’s not usually handsome men who are divulging their secrets. Nice change, actually.”

Garrett gave her an appraising smile and she shook her head, blushing. “Handsome, ae?”

Georgia swallowed. “Shut up. You know you’re beaut -”

She cut herself off.

Shit! Stop talking, Georgia.

He grinned at her and she averted her eyes. He took the book from beneath her hand, skimming through the pages. Garrett found what he was looking for.

“This was it.”

Georgia glanced down at the words, ready to remember which scene he referred to. She took a breath, fighting to hide the inappropriate places her mind wandered. Georgia knew the scene well; a passionate, almost violent act of lovemaking between two people who are desperately in love with one another, and furious beyond measure with each other. It was a chased down and ravished kind of scene, and the thought that this handsome man’s mind harbored such desires made his green eyes seem all the more spellbinding.

“I read that scene because it was where she decided tae stop readin the bloody book. Didnae read further, sadly. Packed up my things and was gone.”

Georgia swallowed, steeling herself to meet his gaze as she crossed her legs, tightly. “You left after reading this scene?”

He shrugged. “Aye. A few days later.”

She stared at the stubble that grew in around his jawline. “Can I ask why?”

He leaned his head back and exhaled. “Well, we weren’t intimate any more. And when we were, we’d never had anything close tae that,” he said, gesturing to the book. “But I’d always wanted it. I mean, shaggin is grand and all, but tae have it with someone ye trust so implicitly?”

“She
does
trust him, implicitly.”

“Nae, I’m talking about him.”

Georgia stared at him a moment, confused. The scene was aggressive, almost violent in its passion, but Deirdre Calhoun, the fiery lead character of her best-selling novels, hasn’t an ounce of fear that Douglas MacCready would ever hurt her.

“She trusts him, aye, but there’s something very intimate about letting a woman see your darker side. Giving yourself like that; knowing you’re safe, even as you’re being dangerous. She trusts that he won’t hurt her, aye? Enough tae let him pretend that he will. That’s powerful stuff - tae feel safe enough with a woman tae go that far? You have tae truly trust each other.”

Georgia stared at him a moment. “I never thought of it that way.”

He smiled. “Oh, I did. Nicola’s reaction tae that scene was the moment I realized I’d never be able to make her happy in that way – or any other for that matter. And more importantly, she’d never make me happy. So I finally left. Been on my own ever since.”

“You have?”

Georgia cringed. She’d asked that question with a little too much girly excitement. Practically sounded like a pre-teen at a One Direction concert. Still, the notion that Garrett was single pleased her enormously. Maybe he would go for a drink with her, after all.

Garrett reached for his water, took a sip, and handed the book back to her. “The lad that inspired these tales is one lucky man, I can tell ye that.”

She blew air out through her nose. “He would be if I’d ever met him.”

Georgia opened the front cover of the book, snatched up her pen, and began writing his name.

To Garrett,

The perfect man. Glad to know there’s one out there.

Victoria Mason

She closed the book, patted the cover, and stood up from the table.

He stood to meet her, and she held the book out to him, swallowing. “So, is there any chance you might know of a good pub, nearby? Maybe you’d like to get a drink with me -”

The book fell from her hand as Garrett pushed into her. His fingers grazed up the line of her jaw, coming to rest behind her ears, and he kissed her. His lips were soft and cool, with just a touch of moisture from his drink. She gasped against his touch, startled and sparked by it, nearly sweeping her knees out from under her as she realized what was happening. She grabbed hold of his shirt, as much to hold herself up as to touch him. He felt electric, like warmth burning from inside her very bones. It left her completely breathless.

He pulled from her lips just so. “Sorry. Don’t know why I did that.”

Georgia didn’t let go of her hold on his shirt. They both stood there a moment, searching each other’s face, quiet. Her heart was racing and her chest was as tight as a ball of knotted fishing line, but she fought to keep steady. Finally, Georgia leaned into him. He braced against her, holding her up.

“Is this ok?” He whispered.

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. She tried to find words, but could only nod. He took another step toward her, forcing her back with him, still gripping the fabric of his button down shirt in her hands.

“Look at me,” he said.

Georgia opened her eyes and met the piercing glare of green. She fought to keep their gaze, despite the burning sensation it caused in her bones.

“Do ye want me tae kiss ye again?”

Georgia stayed with her lips just inches from his, parted in wait, and frozen in shock. No one had touched her like this in so long. She hadn’t wanted anyone to. So many men crossed her path, many handsome, many charming, but none gave her the butterflies like Garrett did. None of them could make a smile break on her face just by smirking at her.

“Georgia?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

His lips drew close enough to graze her chin. He reached his fingers further into her dark curls. “Would ye like me tae kiss ye again?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

He grazed his lips against hers. “Would ye like me tae do more than kiss ye, Georgia?”

She inhaled sharply as one of his hands found her waist. He pushed her back slowly, her thigh rubbing along the table ledge. She was wordless, because the truth was, ‘yes.’ She desperately wanted to say, ‘Yes.’

He stopped a moment and watched her face, waiting. She swallowed again, and nodded.

He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her backside up onto the long, wooden table. He pushed his legs between her knees and gripped her hair in his hand, tugging her head back gently.

Her mouth opened to him. “Oh my god.”

He kissed her then, and her whole body melted against him. His hand held at her waist, his mouth testing and teasing hers. The marrow in her bones was singing. She could barely breathe as he pressed his body against hers.

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve never done anythin like this before.”

Georgia smiled at him. “Me neither.”

“Nae? Good. Don’t feel so bad, then.”

He kissed her again, yanking her toward the edge of the table so their bodies were pressed to one another. She could feel the pressure of him between her legs, and it drew helpless whimpers from deep in her throat.

He stopped at the sound of them, his stern gaze growing darker with each passing moment. “If ye keep makin those noises, I dinnae know what I’ll do.”

Georgia took a shallow breath, her nose against his. “I can’t help it.”

This was happening, she thought. This moment, these sensations – of being touched and held - they were real, and they were overwhelming. Yet, beneath the shock of sudden intimacy was something stronger. Georgia wanted him to keep going in a way words couldn’t have expressed with all the languages in the world – and she didn’t even know his last name.

He kissed her again, and the touch shifted. He squeezed her backside and her hips, letting the kisses break as he touched his lips to her face, breathing her in. Then he kissed her jaw, her neck, hooking his hands under her knees to wrap her legs around him. She almost cried out from the sensation of his solid form pressing between her legs with such intention. Still, the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to stop.

He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing over her ear. She shivered in response, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her hands.

“Tell me ye want me.”

She opened her eyes, feeling him lean into her as he whispered in her ear.

“I do,” she said.

“Say it. I want to hear ye say it.”

There was such need in his voice, this soft ache that played under the gravelly texture of the sound.

Georgia took a deep shaking breath, almost terrified of the words herself. “I want you, Garrett.”

He straightened, meeting her gaze, his nose touched to hers. They both inhaled, as though they might breathe the other in.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

She planted a hand onto the table behind her, pushing books aside as Garrett leaned into her. By now, there was a pulsing ache between her legs so intense it was becoming near painful.

She swallowed. “I need you.”

He shoved the books off the table and planted his mouth on hers, devouring her as his hand ran up the outside of her thigh. Her legs shook at the touch.

The sound of laughter startled her from his lips. She turned toward the sound, finding the wide windows of the shop, glowing gold from the street lamps overhead. A small crowd of people were passing by outside

Her eyes darted upward, realizing the book shop was still fully lit. “Oh god, they could see us.”

Garrett scooped his hands under her knees and yanked her toward the end of the long table, pulling her legs up with enough strength to force her onto her back. She squealed at him, turning frantically to look at the store front. She was on her back now, most of her prone body hidden by the bookshelves toward the front of the store. Still, she could see the window down the central aisle; her face would be visible to passersby, and Garrett’s upper body certainly would be, too.

God, what if someone sees?

She felt the soft grazes at her thigh, then her hip, and suddenly her underwear were sliding from beneath her backside. She scrambled to grab his hands, and he stopped, her black underwear now stretched across her bare thighs.

My god, this is really happening!

“Do ye want me tae stop?” He asked.

She pursed her lips, her heart racing. Did she? Did she want this complete stranger whose touch made her body hum like a tuning fork to stop? “No. I just -”

He ran a hand down her calf, propping her leg over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

She took a breath. “It’s just that – I haven’t done this in a really long time.”

He chuckled. “Well then, I’ll no feel so bad. That makes two of us.”

“Really?”

“Aye. It’s been a good long while. I apologize for takin it out on ye,” he said, and winked. Then he tugged her underwear down the rest of her legs and tossed them to the floor.

“What if someone sees us?”

He hooked his hands into her hips, pulled her to the very edge of the table, letting her ass slam into him. She could feel him hard under the fabric of his jeans.

“Ah, all they’ll be able tae see is your face. Just pretend you’re sleeping. You’ll be fine.”

With that, he tore her legs apart and dropped his mouth to her aching sex, giving her no time to protest or prepare. His mouth was warm, his tongue slick and firm, and he attacked her with a fervor she’d never experienced before. She screamed in shock, only to feel him chuckling from between her legs.

“Oh, they’ll have definitely heard that,” he said.

“Oh my god!”

“Woman! It’s called acting. Pretend I’m no even here.”

She laughed and shrieked as he returned to her, pressing into her with his open mouth. She reached down, running her fingernails across his scalp. He hummed his approval, and she began to move beneath him, letting her hips rock as she showed him her rhythm. He responded instantly, meeting the sway of her hips with the pressure of his whole mouth, the quick darting of his tongue. He slid a hand up under her dress, running his palm across her stomach. She shivered at the touch, meeting his hand with her own. He quickly intertwined his fingers with hers.