Fix Her Up

“We wouldn’t actually be . . . you know.” She shifted. “Doing it. Obviously.”

Travis scoffed. “You’d be the first to want to date Travis Ford without the perks.”

Her eyelids fell to half-mast. “It didn’t sound like you were offering them.”

He moved into her personal space, his voice emerging harsh. “I’m not.”

“Fine,” she said, so low he almost didn’t hear. “I wouldn’t know how to take full advantage of them anyway.”

Virgin. Alarm bells went off, but he stayed right where he was, listening to their rapid breaths. Reminding himself she was his best friend’s little sister didn’t help when she was this near, close enough to touch. To taste. He could no more move away from the approach of Georgie’s lips than he could take on a thousand-man army. If he didn’t kiss her, someone else would claim that first kiss. No. No, he didn’t want that. Fuck. That.

Their mouths met.

Parted for two surprised beats.

And melded back together.

Chapter Eleven

Oh. Whoa.

Clearly Georgie had been drugged by Boutique Tracy and this was a hallucination. She’d been silly to think Tracy forgave her so easily. Her organs were probably being harvested while she dream-kissed Travis in his bedroom. Okay, but how to account for the texture of his mouth? Texture had never been a factor in her fantasies, unless one counted those few times she’d practiced on her own hand. But she hadn’t done that since age thirteen.

Fine. Sixteen. Whatever.

In the past, she’d watched them kiss from an almost third-party standpoint, as if it played out on a movie screen. This? Right now? This was a drastic shift.

I’m kissing Travis Ford.

He tasted Georgie the way someone eats their first bite of tiramisu in a restaurant. A slow, savoring mouthful, followed by a gruff, appreciative groan. His head tipped to one side, eyes narrowing with suspicion as if maybe the kiss was a trick and she would harvest his organs if he gave in and enjoyed. But he gave in anyway, his eyes flickering with hunger. Surprise. He slid his fingers into her hair and took control of her head, angling it for himself. Their thighs pressed together . . . and he licked right in, stopping midtaste to flick their tongues together . . . before sweeping his through her mouth like a sensually destructive force.

And it definitely had that effect. For sure. Her legs turned the consistency of water; a rash of heat wove in patterns all over her skin. God, he was a lot taller than her. She’d always known that but hadn’t considered how it applied to the mechanics of kissing. Now Georgie knew his hair fell forward and mingled with her bangs, a soft intrusion in startling contrast to his mouth, which had started to move . . . faster. Oh God. Stop thinking and keep up.

Stop thinking about what the shudder in his chest meant. Or how he moved into her, until she had to balance on her toes to keep the kiss going, her head tilted all the way back, exposing her throat, making her so vulnerable. Vulnerable to the hand that left her hair and trailed down that exposed throat, a work-roughened thumb circling in the hollow—

God. That one little movement of his thumb set off fireworks below her waist. And he knew it, too, because he made an encouraging noise in his throat. One that said, Let it happen, baby girl. And she was. She was letting herself kiss Travis. How had she gotten here? Was he kissing her because he liked her? Or because she was the only one available? So many questions and all of them were being swallowed up by the sensations firing her blood, the give of Travis’s lips and how his tongue seemed to know exactly where hers would be, so he could rub them together.

Travis broke the kiss, his harsh pants leaving condensation on her mouth. “Let’s slow down some, baby girl. We didn’t, uh . . . fuck.” He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and eyed her mouth, shaking his head. “I think there’s supposed to be more buildup to what we just did.”

“You think?” Sweet Lord, his body heat was like being wrapped in warmed cashmere in front of a roaring fire. “You’re supposed to be the expert.”

He puffed a humorless laugh. “Not on kissing.”

In other words, his talents lay in the more serious sexual arts.

“Oh.” Jealousy crackled in Georgie’s belly, surprising her. She’d never been enough of a masochist to get jealous over Travis Ford. What was the point in living her life in constant flux between shades of green? This jab of unpleasantness was new but sharp. Real. Maybe it had something to do with how he looked at her, brow furrowed, a muscle bobbling in his throat. The lines of their relationship had just been irrevocably blurred, but Georgie hated the thought of him looking at someone else like that now that she’d been on the receiving end. There had been no reason to be jealous over a man who was basically an untouchable movie star to her. This man, though . . . he was just her star for now. No one else’s.

Adding the stroke of envy to this morning’s uptick in confidence . . . and Georgie found herself anxious to leave a mark. She could wake up from this dream at any moment. Or, let’s face it, Travis could lose interest, reject her fake-dating proposal, and go after someone more like Tracy. Chalk up the kiss to momentary insanity. Why shouldn’t she reach out now and grasp this chance to achieve a fantasy she’d been playing out mentally since she hit puberty?

“Show me what you’re an expert in.”

Travis stopped breathing, his hands dropping to her elbows. Holding tightly, but not pushing her away. “Georgie.” He expelled her name on a breath, but she saw something primal flare to life in his eyes. “I’ll eat you alive. No.”

“You won’t.” She tugged her arms out of his grip and—saying a prayer to whichever saint bestowed courage—reached back and unzipped her skirt. “Oh.” She frowned. “In my head, the skirt was going to drop and I was going to cock a seductive hip.”

His lips parted. “How do you do that? Make me this hot and want to laugh at the same time.”

“See, I’m teaching you something new.” She was painfully aware of the vulnerability written in her every feature. “Your turn.”

Hesitation battled with need in his expression, and it was so intoxicating up close, Georgie’s knees wobbled. “Once we find out how this feels, though . . .” His hands stayed fisted in the air beside her hips, hesitating, clenching and unclenching, before finally settling on them. “We won’t be able to forget.”

“You’re worried I’ll never forget how bad you were. I understand.”

His right eyebrow went sky-high. “Are you employing reverse psychology to get me into bed? I’m impressed.”

Georgie shrugged a shoulder. “Not bad for a virgin.”

“There it is.” He dropped his head forward. “Christ. I had a feeling you were a virgin. But I wasn’t positive.”

“Glad I could clear it up. We don’t have to—”

“We’re not.”

“Cool. But we are . . . ?”

“On-top-of-the-clothes stuff only.”

“Do panties count as clothes?”

“I don’t know. Yes.”

“Sweet.” Before she could lose her nerve, Georgie wiggled the skirt down over her hips and nudged it aside, feeling her face turn pink but staunchly ignoring it. “I’m ready.”

The world tilted when Travis picked her up by the waist, tossing her into the center of the bed like she weighed less than a feather. He crawled slowly up her body. “No. You aren’t.”

“I lie corrected,” she breathed.

“Stop being cute.” Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttoned her blouse. The entire thing in seconds with quick wrist twists. “Your bra counts as clothes, too.”

She gave a jerky nod. “You make the rules.”

“That’s right.” He surged forward and growled against her lips. “I’m no one’s entertainment anymore. You want to play? I decide how.”

Those words cut through the waves of lust plowing through Georgie. That statement was so at odds with the Travis of her memory. The arrogant baseball player who’d strutted to the batter’s box, doffing his hat to the crowd. Taking requests on which part of the outfield he should aim for. She wanted to explore the change he’d shown her now more than once.

His mouth dominated hers, leading the dance, giving no quarter. Almost as if he wanted to scare her off. His body said he needed her, though. To Georgie, inexperienced or not, Travis had all the classic signs of an aroused male. And Georgie was an expert now, because she’d thumbed through the issue of Cosmo today in between fittings at the boutique. Dilated pupils. Harsh breathing. Most importantly, a growing bulge behind his fly. Oh my God. Travis is on top of me with a hard penis. This is happening.

“Goddammit, Georgie. Don’t zone out on me.”

“I’m not. I’m zoning in. Way in.”

His forehead fell into the crook of her neck. The feeling was so nice, her thighs seemed to lift automatically to wrap around his hips. Travis liked that. He gave a closed-mouthed moan and shifted between her legs. “I’ve got no fucking right to be between these legs.”

“You do. I gave it to you.” That last word ended in a gasp when Travis’s teeth grazed her shoulder, his waist rolling into the cradle of her hips at the same exact moment. “Oh wow.”