Page 44 of Devoured By the Forbidden Mountain Man

The simple warmth of that landed somewhere deeper than the obvious effect of having her naked against me.

I brushed my thumb along her waist. “How are you feeling?”

“Very good.” Her gaze moved over my face before she added, “A little sore in places I’m not complaining about.”

I laughed, and Georgia’s answering smile was slow and pleased.

Then she kissed me.

There was no hesitation in it and no awkwardness left over from the night before. She simply curled one hand around the back of my neck and kissed me as though waking up together was something we already knew how to do.

By the time her mouth left mine, getting started on the day had become considerably less urgent.

Neither of us moved far. Georgia stayed tucked against me while the room brightened around us, and I let my hand travel slowly along the curve of her back. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, but water still fell from the branches outside in irregular bursts whenever the wind moved through the trees. Somewhere below us the field-office heater kicked on, the vibration faint through the floorboards.

The loft looked different in daylight after a night with both of us in it. Her burgundy dress hung over the back of a chair. My black henley had landed several feet away from the jeans I’d apparently abandoned without much concern for organization. One of Georgia’s hammered gold earrings sat on the bedside table beside my watch, and the cup of tea she’d abandoned before Meredith’s call still waited near the little kitchenette.

She followed my gaze and smiled against my shoulder. “If you’re judging the state of the room, I would like it noted that your clothes are responsible for at least forty percent of the problem.”

“I wasn’t judging.”

“You have a very judgment-capable face.”

That wasn’t the first time I’d heard the accusation.

Georgia laughed and stretched again, the movement sliding her bare thigh higher over mine. I was hard before I had a useful thought about the rest of the morning.

She felt it.

Her eyes lifted to mine, warm amusement giving way to interest without either of us having to announce the change.

“I’m supposed to help at the Lantern House this morning,” she said, although her hand had begun tracing the line of my shoulder. “The owner wants me to look at the final staffing schedule before tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“He said morning, which is either wonderfully flexible or a sign that he still hasn’t learned not to say vague things to restaurant managers.”

I glanced toward the clock.

“You have time.” The smile she gave me made it clear that was the answer she wanted.

Her kiss this time carried more intention.

I rolled partly over her, bracing one arm so I didn’t put my full weight on her, and she opened easily beneath me. The bed gave a protesting creak when Georgia wrapped one leg around my hip.

She laughed into my mouth. “I think this bed knows too much about us already.”

“It held up,” I said.

Georgia laughed against my mouth, apparently unimpressed by the endorsement.

The humor faded when I kissed the side of her neck. Her fingers tightened at my back, and for another minute the rest of the world narrowed to warm skin, tangled sheets, and the small sounds she made when I found the places that still seemed sensitive from the night before.

I could have stayed there.

The realization came without regret or argument. My normal mornings had been built to get me moving before I had time to think: lift, shower, coffee, work. Georgia had changed that rhythm simply by being in the bed when I opened my eyes.

She finally pushed lightly at my shoulder, still smiling. “If we don’t get up now, I am absolutely blaming you when Case calls.”