by Bird, Peggy
She ought to tell Zane up front that she was Fritzi Field. She had managed to talk herself out of it so far, but the thought had persisted. He could find out at any moment, and when he did, he’d want nothing further to do with her. She ought to tell him now.
But not right away, her heart had cried. Not before she had a chance to feel all the things she now suspected Zane could make her feel.
Perhaps she was just a coward at heart. The fact was she had written a bestselling book, something very few people could do, and she ought to be proud of that fact.
That came home to her when she finally read a few pieces of Fritzi Field’s mail. A few letters excoriated her as a lady-libber with no natural womanliness, but the rest of the letters praised her for bringing into clarity an issue and its solution. Alice Anson had been on target when she’d picked Faking It as a book that would touch a national nerve.
So why was Faking It’s creator so reluctant to receive the accolades due her?
Georgeanne avoided thinking about that. The major reason in her mind right now was because she didn’t want to destroy what she was building with Zane Bryant.
So, was she going to wait and destroy the relationship later, when it would hurt Zane and probably devastate her even more?
Georgeanne decided abruptly that she would tell Zane now. Before things went any further. As she should have done two weeks ago. Zane had a right to complete honesty.
Zane saw her gaze rest upon the book. “Did you deliver your opinion on that book to Denise?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Georgeanne cleared her throat and kept her face averted, ostensibly to lay her purse down on an end table.
She tried to steady herself by looking around his apartment, but she found little to focus her attention on. Zane’s living room was bare of clutter and contained only the pieces of furniture necessary to make it a living room, and even those were of a nondescript, masculine nature. The only personal items present were a stack of Roy Rogers videos and a series of cardboard popcorn containers. And his copy of Faking It.
Georgeanne averted her gaze.
“Well?” Zane asked, evidently amused by her obvious intent to avoid the question.
“Well, what?” She searched her brain to delay what she was about to say for a few minutes longer. “Heavens, Zane, I feel as though I’m in a motel room or something. You need some fancy pillows to give this room character. Or maybe a leafy, green plant of some sort.”
Zane caught her arms and whirled her to face him, laughing. “All right, Georgie. What is it with you and this book? Every time it’s mentioned, you get the weirdest expression on your face.”
“Now, Zane, that’s the way my face always looks.” Georgeanne strove for dignity. Tell him now, her brain shrieked.
“Your nose is going to grow, Georgie,” Zane said roughly, and wrapped her in a crushing embrace.
She melted into the kiss immediately, and Zane groaned aloud. Her heart rejoiced. He had been wanting her the way she’d been wanting him.
Zane somehow managed to shut and lock the front door while they indulged in another deep, searching kiss. The moment the door had been duly locked, he swept her up in his arms and carried her toward his bedroom.
Georgeanne couldn’t believe it. She was no featherweight, but she rode in Zane Bryant’s arms, still kissing him, and she had no doubt what his destination was. To make matters worse, she had no willpower or desire to stop him. The buttery feeling in her knees and the anticipatory pounding of her heart told her she’d get no cooperation from them.
Zane laid her on his queen-sized bed the way he’d place a child on his examination table–with infinite care. He gazed at her intently.
Georgeanne’s mouth went dry. Now, just when she needed her powers of speech in order to tell him about Fritzi Field, she couldn’t have said a word if she wanted to. So this was what the big deal was … the feeling that every human being craved.
Zane gently removed her shoes and dropped them on the floor beside the bed. Then, with great tenderness, he removed her jacket and tossed it over the head of the bed. He removed his own shoes and came down beside her, stroking his hands over her silk-clad arms.
“Oh, Georgie, you feel so good,” he whispered against her cheek, and she felt his long lashes brush her nose. “I’ve been waiting all week just to touch you again.”
Georgeanne’s arms went around him, telling him without words that she felt the same. She closed her eyes. At the moment, she was in the serene state of acceptance, knowing what was about to happen and lacking any intent of fighting it.
“I didn’t mean to do this,” he murmured. “At least, not right off. But I’ve known for the past two weeks that you were the only woman for me. Georgie, talk to me. Tell me you feel the same.”
Georgeanne opened her eyes and found Zane’s intense gaze on hers. She had to try twice before she could speak.
“I’ve known it, too, Zane. I — there’s something — ”
But Zane had buried his face against her neck with a triumphant laugh. “I knew I couldn’t be the only one feeling this way. Oh, Georgie, nothing has ever been like this.”
The longer Zane’s big hands traveled up and down her sides and her arms, the less interested Georgeanne became in telling him about Fritzi Field. She sucked in air when his hands rested over her breasts, fascinated by the reaction of her own body to his barest touch.
“The doctor is in, Georgie.” Zane’s deep voice created a further seduction of her senses. “You’ll have to take off all your clothes for the examination.”
She stared back at him, conscious that the movement of her breasts as she breathed caused his hands to move also. “I will?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “Okay.”
“Do you think you can manage it without moving?”
“Sure.”
She lay still, and he didn’t move either. They basked in their togetherness after the long weeks of separation. Time halted. Even the air seemed golden with promise.
Soon, touching her through her clothes wasn’t enough for Zane. He began the task of separating her from her garments, a task usually facilitated by the fact that his patients were so little, he had no trouble skimming a shirt off, or removing a diaper or lowering a pair of trousers. Georgeanne reflected that her clothes must have approximately one-thousand strange fastenings, none of which Zane understood.
Georgeanne didn’t help him. She felt far more interested in slipping her hands beneath his shirt to examine his chest with her palms.
“Hey, I’m the doctor here.” He looked down at her long, slender hands resting on his bare chest and drew in his breath. “The patient is not supposed to distract the doctor.”
“I’m a little worried.” Georgeanne’s voice was slightly slurred with desire. “You feel as though you could be developing a slight fever.”
“Slight fever, nothing,” he said roughly. “I’m burning up.”
He got her blouse off at last and tossed it over the headboard. Georgeanne wore a lacy brassiere that even Zane’s clever fingers could not detect which direction would unlock the hooks. It came loose at last, and rather than remove it, he simply pushed it up to gaze on her with rapt attention.
“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he said. “I could look at you all day.”
Georgeanne’s laughter strangled in her throat. “Please don’t. I don’t think I could stand it.”
“Lord, Georgie, nothing has ever been like this. Nothing,” he repeated and stroked his palms across her lightly.
Georgeanne moaned as swift stabs of feeling shot through her. If she felt like this just from his barest touch, what was she going to feel like when his lovemaking became serious? Georgeanne moaned again at the very thought of it.
Zane jerked his polo shirt off over his head and tossed it to the floor. “Ordinarily, I don’t approve of patients trying to examine the doctor, but this is one time
I’ll gladly make an exception.”
Georgeanne stared at Zane’s chest. It was broad with muscle and thickly covered with dark, tightly curling hair. “That’s the best looking doctor’s chest I’ve ever seen.”
“How many have you seen?”
“Dozens.” Georgeanne plowed her fingers through his chest hair, loving the way he threw back his head slightly and sighed with pleasure.
“Oh, yes? Well, you must be one of those doctor-hopping patients. I’ve got news for you, lady. You’ve just looked on the last doctor’s chest you’re ever going to see.”
Georgeanne’s eyes widened and she gave a small spurt of laughter. “Really? This should be interesting.”
“It will be,” he said, eyes dark with promise. “I’ll probably find it twice as interesting.”
He leaned over her, taking her mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss, and Georgeanne arched to kiss him back. The action brought her bare breasts into contact with his chest, creating a thousand pinpricks of desire across her sensitized skin.
Georgeanne had never felt anything like it. Every part of her body seemed to have nerve endings, and every one of those nerve endings screamed for Zane’s touch. When they got it, they screamed even louder with pleasure. With all the racket going on, it was a wonder Georgeanne made any sense at all out of the careful examination Dr. Zane Bryant made of her body.
“I’ve always admired a doctor’s hands,” she whispered at one point. “They’re so tender and experienced. No one can touch a person the way a good doctor can.”
“Georgie, for you I’m not just a good doctor.” His hot gaze held hers. “I’m a great doctor.”
“I’ll go along with that.” Georgeanne locked her hands behind his head and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.
What surprised Georgeanne the most was the interest she had in examining Zane’s body. She had never been particularly interested before in a man’s body before, but Zane’s was different. Everything about it fascinated her.
She took her time performing a leisurely examination. Every gentle touch of her fingers, every kiss, and every movement of her hands evoked groans or murmurs of delight. Strange, but she’d never realized before how responsive a man could be to a woman’s touch. Perhaps it was because she had never been particularly interested in spending time touching a man before. She couldn’t get enough.
“If you don’t stop,” Zane whispered, “there won’t be anything left of me.”
Georgeanne laughed wickedly and continued with what she was doing. How could she stop, when there was so much enjoyment in it for her?
The world spun. She lay on her back looking up at Zane, whose eyes were dark with passion.
“Georgie, you’re about to be on the receiving end of some of that. I hope you’ve got a lot of stamina.”
“Oh, I do,” she said. “I do.”
“If you keep saying things like that, you’re going to need twice as much stamina.”
Georgeanne hoped so. She was finding within herself an enormous capacity for passion.
Zane took his time, and Georgeanne’s excitement reached new heights. He kissed her breasts, nibbling at the sensitive tips until they were red and taut.
“Zane, you’re driving me crazy.” Even her voice shook. “Please … ”
“Please keep driving you crazy, or please something else?”
“Everything,” she said. “All of the above.”
His laughter sounded deep and satisfied, and his voice was none too steady either. “Georgie, you’re wonderful.”
All the same, Zane spent a little more time sending her into a frenzy of need before he slid between her legs and joined his body with hers.
By then, Georgeanne no longer entertained any doubts about her ability to please him. She no longer thought at all. The only thing she could do was feel, and she felt every touch, every kiss, and every caress in her very core, where the sensations soon built to a flashpoint and exploded into a fiery cascade of pleasure that rendered her limp and satisfied in every cell of her body.
She observed, as if from a great distance, Zane’s echoing groan of pleasure, and she felt pleased that he had enjoyed their lovemaking.
They lay entwined together and let consciousness return slowly. Georgeanne knew, in every corner of her being, that everything in her life had just altered somehow, but at the moment, she had no great interest in examining the changes.
“What’s that weird sound?” Georgeanne lifted her head off the pillow in search of it. Surely it couldn’t be her heart, although she wasn’t willing to take any bets.
Zane groaned. It wasn’t the sort of groan Georgeanne enjoyed hearing, because it sounded more like, “Oh, no,” than it did, “More, please.”
“It’s my pager,” he said. “I have to call in.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?” Georgeanne couldn’t believe it, in spite of what she knew about doctors.
“Probably.” He rolled to the edge of the bed.
His pager was attached to the waistband of his trousers, and Zane had to search a moment before he found it and touched the button that revealed the telephone number he was to call.
After a short, grim, conversation, he turned to Georgeanne. “Believe it or not, I have to go. There’s been a bad car wreck, with several people badly injured, including two children. I’m sorry, Georgie. I should have known better than to start something when I knew this could happen.” He admired her nude body a moment. “However, I can’t regret it, in spite of all the plans I had not to jump on you the minute you walked in the door.”
Georgeanne sat up and reached for her blouse, conscious of the smile she could not help that spread across her face. “Dare I say I’m glad you did? Just imagine if that page had occurred a mere ten minutes ago.”
Zane laughed. “I might not have heard it for the roaring in my ears. Here.” He pulled on his shirt and reached for his robe, which lay across the back of a chair. “You don’t have to get dressed right away. Put this on and let me remember how you look in it while I’m at the hospital.”
Georgeanne understood the grim expression doctors developed when their patients weren’t doing well, and she knew Zane’s mind was already at the hospital with the two injured children. She obligingly slipped her arms into the blue velour robe and belted it around her waist.
Zane, fully dressed in the time it took Georgeanne to put on his robe, reached for his car keys and took a moment to stare longingly at Georgeanne. “That robe was made for you. Be comfortable, Georgie. And save me some of that popcorn, okay? I don’t know what time I’ll be home.”
He kissed her, one hard, lingering kiss, and then left, half-running down the stairs to his car. Georgeanne stood in the door and watched him drive away then went back inside, feeling lost.
She saw only one thing to do. Georgeanne marched to the refrigerator, which had been well stocked with cold drinks, poured herself a soft drink over ice, then came back to the living room and put a Roy Rogers video on.
Zane’s robe was far more comfortable than her outfit, and it smelled of his favorite crisp spicy aftershave. She snuggled into it and curled up on the sofa, where she sampled some of the flavored popcorn while she watched the movie in a desultory fashion. Since she didn’t want to provoke comment, she left Fritzi Field’s book where it was, merely shoving two popcorn containers in front of it to screen it from her view.
Someone knocked smartly at the door. Georgeanne started and leaped to her feet. She was not about to answer Zane’s door dressed in his robe.
“Open up in there.”
It was Zane. Thrilled, Georgeanne rushed to the door, looked through the peephole to be sure, and hastened to unlock the door and pull it open. Just as the door swung open, she remembered Zane had gone to the hospital wearing dark trousers and a white polo shirt topped by a blue wind breaker. This man wore khaki trousers and a plaid shirt and carried a leather traveling case.
“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here
?” He remained on the doorstep, staring at her with deep interest.
Hunter Howell had picked today, of all days, to pay Zane a visit. He was amazingly like Zane, except for certain nuances of expression and the more backswept style of his dark hair. She looked closer and realized that where Zane’s expression was open and interested, Hunter Howell’s was closed in and wary. The contrast showed all too clearly the differences in their upbringing.
“You must be Zane’s brother.” She couldn’t turn him away, not when he probably didn’t see Zane very often. “Please come in. Zane had to go to the hospital. He should be back … sometime soon.” She stepped back, checking to see that Zane’s robe was securely wrapped.
“Right.” Hunter strolled inside with an attitude Georgeanne had often seen in young boys trying to impress the clinic staff with their fearlessness. “I was just passing through on my way to New York, and thought I’d stopover in Houston. But if he already has company, maybe I’d better not stay.”
“Only for the day,” Georgeanne interrupted hastily. “Please sit down. I hope you like Roy Rogers and flavored popcorn.”
Hunter surveyed the cartons and the shoot-out taking place on the television screen. “The popcorn, yes. Roy Rogers is a pleasure I’ve missed until now.” He looked at her, and his gaze suddenly went hard and assessing. “I don’t care to interrupt anything. I’d better check back later.”
Georgeanne realized two things; one, that Hunter had probably taken a taxi from Houston Intercontinental and had dismissed it, and two, that he fully expected her to make a pass at him. He reminded her so much of a truculent little boy, she couldn’t be angry.
“Actually, I’d better be the one to leave,” she said. “You probably don’t get to visit with him very often, whereas I live nearby. Please make yourself comfortable.”
She didn’t give him a chance to reply and fled to Zane’s bedroom. Fully dressed, she entered the living room and found that Hunter had made himself at home with a beer and the popcorn, and stared in amazement at the movie, although he rose immediately when he saw her.
“This isn’t bad,” he said, indicating the popcorn. “Did you make it?”
