I wrapped my suit coat around her as much as possible. Her tangerine scent was branded into my head, filling my nose until it was all I could focus on. I expected her to smell muskier. Not so fresh. Not similar to the tart sweetness of citrus.
I should have known better.
When had Georgia Barrows ever fit the slots I tried to place her in?
Her hand slid under my shirt and widened against the curve of my spine, then traveled higher. The low hum in the back of her throat rumbled through my chest and went straight to my dick.
I was a dead man.
She was going to know.
She tipped her head back, those huge brown eyes full of something I couldn’t identify. Not fear. Not like before. There was a wildness there that echoed inside of me. I wanted to answer it.
With every breath in my body, I wanted to answer it.
Timing, son.
The timing was so wrong.
She slid one hand out from the back of my shirt to lay flat against my chest. At least we didn’t have skin to skin contact now. She curled her fingers into the buttons and up to my neck.
She pulled me lower. “What’s wrong with me?” Her gaze bounced from my neck, to my mouth, to my eyes and repeated the loop until I was ready to beg for mercy. She licked her lips. “I can’t focus on anything but touching you.”
“It’s the adrenaline talking.”
“Is that what this is?”
“Intense circumstances produce all sorts of hormones in the bloodstream.” I groaned as her lips buzzed along my neck. “It’s just a chemical reaction.”
She pulled my shirt tighter until I had no choice but to lower my head and our lips lined up. Neither one of us moved any closer. At least not our mouths. The rest was another matter. “I want it. I like it. I’ve never felt anything like this.” She traced my lips with the pad of her finger. First my upper lip, tracing over the divot at the center then swiping across my lower lip until the tip grazed my teeth.
She went up on her toes and flicked her tongue over my lower lip. All the while she watched. Her eyes were brutally honest. Open and guileless as she studied my reaction.
Like I was a goddamn test subject.
“If you go any further, I won’t be held accountable for my actions, Georgia. I’ve got just as much lust and adrenaline surging under my skin as you do. I watched him manhandle you. Touching what isn’t his.”
“I’m not yours either.” The defiance in her eyes heated my blood. As if I didn’t want her enough to begin with. Now I had to see this side of her.
The answering dark that lived in my heart.
“Then why are you touching me like this?” I challenged.
She tried to yank her fingers back, but I wouldn’t let her. I lifted her hand so I could swipe my tongue over the racing pulse at her wrist. I nipped at the fragile flesh then sipped along the delicate web of veins under her skin.
“This, what you’re feeling between us, is the same thing that rescue workers, cops, and firefighters feel. When the danger is gone and only the adrenaline remains, what else are you supposed to do with it?” Her eyes widened as I lowered my mouth. “Tell me, Georgia.”
Her breath came fast, her chest lifting and falling as if she’d run miles. “I don’t know. I’m not a rescue worker.”
“No. You were almost a victim.”
She gasped. “Not a victim.”
“You were robbed and he violated you. He touched you.”
She scrutinized my face, my mouth and neck, then returned to my eyes. Our gazes locked. Did she see my hate? My anger?
Did she feel my need to brand?