Writing Mr. Right (8 page)

Georgia pressed her lips to his shoulder. “Really? Well, then -” She squeezed him tighter, and he let out a satisfied groan. She released him and pulled her hand from his, dragging her nails over his back in a soft scratching motion. He fought to remember any other woman who had given him a back scratch of her own accord. It seemed this was a morning of firsts.

“Christ, that feels good.”

She scratched him for a couple more minutes, then slumped back onto her pillow, releasing him. He felt almost cold.

“Alright, you’re turn,” she said, and began ruffling the covers as she made a grand show of rolling over onto her side. She watched him over her shoulder as he groaned in submission, turning over to slide up behind her. She wriggled back into him, and he almost winced as her backside pressed against his usual morning erection. She pulled his arm around her, politely pretending not to feel it.

Georgia held his hand over her breasts, pulling him as close as she could, groaning and fidgeting in a show of morning discomfort. He laughed, pushing her hair out of his face. She smelled like soap and shampoo – and something else; jasmine, he thought. He mirrored her legs with his own, making sure as much of his bare skin was touching hers. Finally, she settled in his arms.

“What time do ye have tae catch the train?” He asked.

She gave an almost whining sound. “Do you have to bring that up so early?”

“I’m sorry, love.”

He rubbed his stubbled chin against her shoulder, thinking about the things he was doing to her the last time he had her in his arms like this. He was glad his groin was pressed to her backside. Otherwise, his cock might’ve jumped.

“My assistant said by eleven.”

“Ah grand, it’s only half eight. We’ve plenty of time, then.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Time for what?”

“Time for me tae make ye a nice, full Scottish breakfast. Can’t have ye leave The Highlands without it.”

Georgia began to wriggle against him, rocking her ass from side to side. His cock reacted instantly. “Really? That’s how you plan to spend your morning? Cooking?”

He pressed his forehead to her shoulder and let his hips match her rhythm, pressing himself into her as she moved. He smiled. “Careful, woman. You’re gonna get me goin again.”

“God forbid.”

“How many times will this be? Six? Seven?”

Georgia gave him an unimpressed expression. “Oh please. Grandstander. This is only number five.”

“Christ! We best get moving if we’re gonna crack a half dozen.”

He tossed back the comforter and slapped her ass, relishing in the yelp and giggle that it drew. Then he lunged for her, taking her by the full light of morning pouring through the open windows.

They took their time. Garrett basked in the pleasure of lazy morning sex with Georgia as though they’d been lovers for years. Something about her was so easy – her easy laugh, her determination to please him and to help him please her. There was no clumsy hair pulling or awkward repositioning. When she wanted something different, she damn well asked for it. Yet, unlike any other woman he’d ever been with, Georgia seemed to love everything he did.

And they laughed; God they laughed constantly.

“Will ye consider this a failure if we don’t make it tae eight?”

Georgia was sitting up against a mound of pillows as he finally rose from the bed.

“No, you’re still the perfect man, either way.”

“Am I still? Bloody fantastic.”

He curled her fingers with his, turning his hand over to kiss it. She stopped, her lips just a few inches from his hand as she ran her fingers over a long forgotten scar there.

“How’d you get this?”

Garrett lifted his head to look over her shoulder, glancing at the white mark on the back of his hand. “Ehm, ye don’t want tae know.”

She turned back to glance at him. “I do want to know.”

Garrett raised his brows, inhaling through his nose. “I took a fish hook to the hand when I was young.”

Georgia hissed, shuddering at the thought. He didn’t blame her. His cousin Scott had swung his rod in Garrett’s direction, catching the hook on the back of his knuckles and ripping across his hand before Garrett’s Uncle Ross grabbed the rod from Scott’s hands and settled in to pry the hook from Garrett’s tiny hand.

Georgia cringed again, hearing this.

“Wasn’t pleasant. Learned never tae go fishin with idiots, though. Life lesson.”

Georgia ran her finger along the line, then pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the scar.

He smiled, kissed her shoulder, and rose from the bed.

Georgia pinched his bum as he climbed over her. “Next you’ll tell me your name is Douglas MacCready.”

“Douglas MacCready? Why would I say that?”

The studio was bright and open, the sun glowing off the high white walls. There were no partitions in the apartment. His bed sat against one wall, looking directly across to the kitchen, with the raw wood based counters and the stainless steel refrigerator. He could cook her breakfast while staring across the apartment, chatting with her all while she still sat in his bed, her hair tussled and wild above her head. She was oblivious to her morning hairdo as he sauntered across the room, bareassed and cold. He couldn’t take his eyes off her a moment.

She gave a half laugh and shook her head. “Well, because it would – it would just be uncanny, I guess.”

“Well, my name is Garrett, as ye know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But Douglas is one of my middle names.”

Her skin was glowing, surrounded by white sheets and pillows. Her hair was an absolute mess, and she looked beautiful. Even moreso than the poster he’d been captivated by two days previous. Garrett chuckled as he watched her try to flatten her hair on the top of her head. That poster of Victoria Mason did the reality of Georgia Kilduff no justice.

“Your middle name is Douglas?”

“Aye, and my surname is MacCauley, no MacCready.”

She stared at him a moment. “You’re kidding.”

“Nae, lass. Garrett James Douglas MacCauley. Good, long Scottish name for ye.”

Her face went blank as she watched him. He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t gave her an eyebrow wag. “Why? Who’s this
Douglas MacCready
, then?”

“The perfect man.”

Garrett snuck into the washroom for a piss. “Who’s this guy like? I’ll kill ‘im.”

Garrett shook himself, and flushed before washing his hands. She didn’t respond. He came out of the bathroom to find her staring at her hands.

What’s the matter, you?”

She shook her head. “Your middle name is Douglas?”

“Aye, it is. Almost had three middle names, but my mum told my dad tae stuff it. Ye hungry then?”

Georgia sat there on the bed, silent a moment. She seemed to be transfixed by her fingers. Garrett stopped at the corner of the bed, watching her. “Ye hungry, love?”

“What? Yes. Yes, I am. So what does a full Scottish Breakfast entail?” She asked, her hair still a mess, but a slightly smaller one.

Garrett made his way into the kitchen, putting the kettle on as he passed the counter. “You’ve never had one? What were they feedin ye in Edinburgh, the bastards?”

“I don’t know. All I remember of Edinburgh is an old, gray haired lady giving me an in depth description of her first experience with anal sex.”

“Yer jokin!”

“I’m not. Sadly.”

He shot her a glare from the kitchen, and quickly realized he was still bareassed and freezing against the winter air, even in his apartment. He hustled over to his bureau for a pair of boxers and slipped them on. “Jesus, why do these people think ye want tae know that shite?”

She chuckled. “Because I write about it, I guess. I think a lot of people are desperately looking for someone else who isn’t afraid to talk about the things they wish they weren’t afraid to talk about.”

“Ye write anal sex in those dirty books of yours? Christ, woman! I need tae start reading more romance novels.”

“They’re not romance. They’re fiction. They just have romance in them.”

“And anal sex,” Garrett said, bracing as she smacked him with one of her many pillows as he snuck past. “Is this where I’d find this Douglas MacCready, then?”

“It is.”

He rounded the kitchen counter, collecting a few choice items from his fridge. If there was one great blessing he’d gained from his mother, it was his cooking. “Good. Was beginning to worry. Is this Douglas the one riding through the hillsides havin anal sex, then?”

Georgia laughed and made another attempt to tame her hair, scolding him still. “Hey, if it happens, I’m gonna write about -”

She stopped a moment, and Garrett continued setting his items across the counter, waiting for her to continue. He’d cracked two eggs into the hot pan before she’d said another word. He glanced up, finding her staring at him with an almost serene smile on her face.

He felt his face grow hot. “What?”

He didn’t think it possible, but she smiled even wider. “Nothing.”

“What do ye mean, nothing? You’re staring at me like a loon over there, hen.”

And he was smiling right back. He wondered how much longer he could hold her gaze before he cracked like one of the eggs on the counter.

“It’s not my fault,” she said, covering her smile with her hands.

“Then whose fault is it?”

“Yours. You’re cooking half naked.”

Garrett laughed. “That I am? Though no bacon, I assure ye. Does that do it for ye, then? A man cookin ye breakfast in the buff?”

She shook her head, still covering her smile. “I guess so. God, you are -”

He waited again, but she wrinkled up her nose and didn’t finish. “Come on, woman. Out with it. What?”

She took a deep breath. “I think you might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The exact words he’d fought not to say all morning came from her lips with such fearlessness that it almost frightened him to hear them. He took a moment, the only sound between them that of the eggs sizzling in the pan. He glanced down at them. They were perfectly over easy. He shut off the stove top, moved the pan to a cold burner, and rounded the counter without a word.

Georgia had only a second to brace for him as he lunged down into the bed, his lips on hers.

Inverness station was only a twenty minute walk down the way, but by the time their morning round of aggressive shagging finally passed, it was half ten, the eggs were cold on the stove, and Georgia still hadn’t collected her things from the Premier Inn. By the time he pulled up outside Inverness Station, it was quarter past eleven, and they hadn’t even glanced at a train schedule.

Garrett parked outside the station, assuring Georgia that he had no intention of just leaving her there to wait alone. “That’s simply no how the Burns Book Shop does business, lass.”

Georgia laughed as she fought with her bag in the small trunk of his car. “Oh, I’ve seen how the Burns Book Shop does business, thank you very much. My ass still stings.”

Georgia turned for the station, and Garrett grabbed her ass, giving it a brutal squeeze as he walked her toward the station. She swatted at his hand, pressing her skirts down around her as he chased her across the parking lot.

They went inside, Georgia scanning the massive hall for the ticket kiosk. She hustled over ahead of him, quickly punching in her destination and yelping slightly at the sight of the price tag. “Fifty five pounds! Jesus, Scotland. What are you doing to me?”

“Come on, now. You’ve sold a million bloody copies of your books! That’s nothin!”

“A million point five, thank you very much,” she said, sticking out her tongue as she slipped her credit card into the machine. “That doesn’t mean
I
have any money, though!”

“What? Ye lose it all on liquor and prostitutes?”

“No, but I plan to.” She winked at him as her tickets printed. “I haven’t received the royalties for any of that, yet.”

The trains bustled suddenly with a surge of people arriving from the south. Georgia scanned around the place, searching for platform numbers.

Garrett watched her, smiling. “Wait, none of it?”

She shook her head, glancing down at her ticket. “I’ve received a bit from the first book, but this whole ‘massive best-seller’ thing? Haven’t been cut a check yet. Not for another month at least. Oh god damn it, what did I do?”

“Are ye serious?”

Georgia’s face flushed and she turned toward the platforms and began plowing ahead. “Not only am I not rolling in the cash right now, I’m also fucking homeless.”

“Are you alright, love? What’s wrong?”

“I mistimed my ticket!” She exclaimed, and her voice sounded pained.

Suddenly the speakers overhead announced the departure of her train. Garrett’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t ready for her to leav
e. “Is this you? Ah fuck, love, already?
”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. I would’ve -”

The voice overhead announced final boarding, and Garrett moved without thinking, grabbing Georgia around the waist and pulling her to him. He planted his lips on hers, breathing her in as much as he could in those final seconds that he would have her. She settled into his arms, clutching his jacket as tightly as he did hers. He breathed deeply, her hair still wet and smelling of his own shampoo. God, what he wouldn’t give to keep her there.

“If this is you, dear, you’ll be wantin to go now.”

Garrett pulled from her lips to acknowledge the conductor as he bustled past. Georgia grabbed up her bag, stood on tip toes to kiss Garrett one more time, and was gone.

“You’re jokin me! You are, aren’t ye?”

Garrett shook his head less than a half hour later, tucked into the corner of Costas. Barry was there at his usual table, getting his work done for the day. He’d spotted the strangeness to Garrett’s demeanor, demanding to know why he looked like a cat that’s been in the cream.

“Of all the writers – what’s she look like?”

“Bloody gorgeous,” Garrett said sipping his caramel latte, a drink he’d never thought to try until he was ordering four of them in a day for his sleep deprived author.