“Georgia.”
He reached for her as if he thought she might bolt, run away, and hide. Her fear lingered, refusing to dissolve because she’d offered him a glimpse into what haunted her, but she was done pulling away from him.
“The mirror’s starting to fog up,” she said. “I think the shower is trying to tell us something.”
“What is it saying?” His fingertips brushed her cheek. He lowered his mouth to hers. This kiss—it was a gentle caress, so unlike the way he’d claimed her mouth in the pond. Her desire stirred, slowly smoldering, responding to him. And then he released her.
“I think it’s inviting us in.” She let the towel fall and took his hand, leading him to the glass door. She stepped inside. The warmth surrounded her, the steam hitting her first and then the spray from the shower.
Eric followed, pressing up against her. His erection rubbed her low back. Water ran between them, lubricating his movements as he flexed his hips, lightly thrusting back and forth, teasing and taunting.
“Reach your arms up.” His hands captured hers, lifting them, positioning her palms against the wall. “Hold them there. Don’t let go.”
His fingers ran down to her shoulders. Georgia closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensations, his hands on her breasts, her stomach, and finally between her thighs, exploring, experimenting with movement and pressure. His touch warmed her from the inside while the water worked on the outside.
He slipped a finger inside her, his thumb working slow circles over her clit. She wanted to explode, craved the orgasm more than her next breath, but not here, like this.
“I’m warm now.” She released the tile wall, turning to face him.
Eric raised an eyebrow. “Is the shower kicking us out?”
Georgia nodded as he turned the knobs. The water stopped. There was nothing between them. No place to bury her feelings. And this time, she didn’t want to leave them behind.
Running her hands up his powerful arms, she rose on her tiptoes, interlacing her fingers at the back of his neck. “I’m ready for bed.”
Palming her bottom, Eric lifted her. “Wrap your legs around me.”
Georgia obeyed, running her mouth and tongue over his neck as he carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed. She kept her eyes open, watching as he pulled out the drawer in his nightstand and withdrew a condom. He covered himself and joined her on the bed, his body hovering over hers.
Holding his weight on his forearms, he stared down at her silently, searching her expression. What did he need? What was he looking for? Whatever it was, she hoped he found it. For the first time, she felt as if she were giving him everything she had to offer.
“Please, Eric,” she whispered, “make love to me.”
She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his erection, guiding him until the tip touched her entrance. She let go, moving her hands to his hips. Her fingers pressed against his skin as her body lifted, taking him in. She didn’t look away.
“I need more,” she pleaded.
“Me too, Georgia,” he said softly. “Me too.”
He moved—thrusting again and again in a relentless rhythm, pushing her closer and closer.
“Eric,” she gasped.
“Now, Georgia,” he demanded, his jaw tight. “Now.”
The orgasm ripped through her. Above her, Eric tensed, holding himself still, deep inside her, finding his own release.
She clung to him, letting the emotions overwhelm her from head to toe. Her love for him swelled and fear followed, but this time she didn’t retreat. She held tight, trusting he’d be there to catch her if she fell apart.
ERIC WOKE TO an empty bed, the smell of breakfast drifting through the closed door. His body felt refreshed, renewed by the potent combination of sex and sleep, but his mind spun in ten different directions—the DOF investigation, Liam, Nate, Georgia.
He stood and took a quick, cold shower, his body responding to the memory of Georgia standing there, wet and slick with her hands against the wall. She’d let him in, allowing him to touch and explore. But he didn’t have time to remember.
He dressed and headed for the kitchen. Stepping through the archway, he focused on Georgia. She stood in front of the stove, shoveling eggs onto plates beside buttered toast. She wore her everyday uniform, jeans and a T-shirt. He read the words written across her chest. “Why Hug a Tree When You Can Hug a Logger?”
He wanted to draw her close, wrap his arms around her. Instead, he settled for leaning down and brushing a kiss over her lips, inhaling her sweet, freshly showered scent. And then he stepped back, knowing Nate would be down soon. Plus Eric had to get to work.
“Morning to you too.” She smiled at him. “You look fancy today. You’re probably the only logger in the county who owns a three-piece suit.”