Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

  “Georgia, if I go to that wedding, you’ll be my date.”

  “You couldn’t possibly want to take—”

  “Promise me. Don’t abandon me to those terrible people.”

  “And by terrible people, you mean your friends and family?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed, but he could tell she’d been surprised by his request. “I don’t do fancy weddings, Monty. I don’t do fancy anything.”

  “This place is pretty fancy.” He smirked. “I’m pretty fancy.”

  Georgia’s hand paused near the top of his thigh, her grip tight enough to stop the arterial blood flow. At least, it was tight enough to stop the blood flow to his leg. “That proves my point. Look how well this turned out.”

  “Who said anything about being done?” He nuzzled the back of his hand against her breast, and her nipple hardened almost immediately at the touch. “The way I figure it, we’ve got a few more hours of diligent effort in us.”

  “Diligence isn’t required.” She gasped as he flicked his thumb over the tip of that enticingly pink nipple. “I can, ah, finish things myself after you leave. It’ll probably be faster that way.”

  “The devil you will.” He lifted her out of his lap and tossed her to the bed, covering her body with his own. Once again, she unleashed barbarian tendencies he didn’t know he possessed. “Is it really that simple when you do it on your own?”

  “Well, kind of.” She scrunched her nose as color bloomed across her cheeks. Like most of her gestures, this one was exaggerated, highlighting her already generous features, but he found nothing to fault in it. Her smile was captivating, her eyes flashing, her expressions priceless. It was difficult to remember a time when he’d found her anything less than perfect.

  “Would it be like the other day on the phone?” he asked, unwilling to let her rosy cheeks go to waste.

  “Um, yes?”

  “And will there be icebergs?”

  She blushed deeper. “It’s not always an iceberg. Sometimes I like to mix things up with other natural disasters.”

  Unable to resist any longer, he pressed his mouth to hers for a kiss, using the force of gravity to prolong the twining of tongues and the tangle of legs. By the time he pulled away, she was back to wriggling underneath him—and he was back to appreciating her wriggle.

  He brushed a strand of damp hair out of her face. “So how does it usually work for you when you take matters into your own hands? Walk me through it, step by step, and leave nothing out. For science.”

  She buried her head in his shoulder. “I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”

  “Georgia, you straddled me in a chair while I had your nipples in my mouth. I think you can manage it.”

  “Okay. Fine. But only because you said nipples without hesitating.”

  Now it was his turn to color up. “Start talking,” he said, his voice gruff. Damn if he’d ever be able to say nipples with a straight face again.

  “I usually conjure up one of my favorite fantasies first,” she said, her head still buried. She added her hands into the mixture, her fingers stroking lazy circles along his biceps.

  “Icebergs and natural disasters?”

  “Yes. And before you mention how weird that is, I already know. I watched a lot of disaster movies as a horny, unsatisfied teenager. I think I got confused about which parts were causing all those feelings.”

  His laughter shook them both. He could readily picture a younger Georgia salivating in equal proportions over Hollywood movie stars and the explosions trying to kill them. “Could you conjure one up right now? Even if it’s you and me and a luxury hotel room and not the real deal?”

  “Yes. I think I could manage.”

  “Could you do it while I touch you?”

  “I can try.”

  She closed her eyes, and it was all the invitation he needed. Without waiting for her to overthink things, he slipped a hand between their bodies. He started at the top, his fingers swirling lazy patterns over the tight pucker of her nipples. “Okay,” he murmured, fighting the urge to take her breast into his mouth. He didn’t want to pull her too far away from her head, so it was probably best to stick to slow movements and low tones. “You’re inside your fantasy. What happens next?”

  “I need a minute to set the stage. Hang on.”

  He gave her a minute, and then another, losing himself momentarily in the soft, pale expanse of her skin. She had very clear tan lines on her torso from her work outdoors and her sporting activities, but he loved the juxtaposition of colors, of all that soft skin waiting for his touch. He managed to make his way down from her breasts to the swell of her lower stomach when he realized he’d been at this for quite some time. “Um, how elaborate is this stage of yours?”

  “Very. I’ll need a bit longer. You’re about to be burned alive.”

  “Wait—your fantasy puts me in mortal danger?”

  “Yes. You went inside a burning building to rescue a kitten, but the ceiling fell and you can’t get free. I have to come rescue you.”

  She sounded serious, and the serene expression hadn’t left her face, so he decided to roll with it. If he had to die to close this deal, then into the flames he went. “It’s nice of you to come get me. What am I wearing?”

  “Mmm, good question.” Her sleepy voice had him daring to move his hand lower, brushing lightly over the top of her mons. “You went in with a suit, but you had to take the jacket off to bundle up the kitten, and you used your regular shirt to cover your mouth. You’re stripped to the waist and sweating like a beast.”

  “I usually wear an undershirt too,” he pointed out.

  She opened one eye. “It’s my fantasy.”

  “Fair enough. What are you wearing?”

  “It’s not important. All that matters is that I get to you before you succumb to the smoke. You’re terribly weak.”

  He paused. “This isn’t what you normally fantasize about, is it? Me facing death?”

  “Always. You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve had you up against. Does it bother you?”

  He wasn’t sure yet. He’d always assumed there were people out there who wished him dead—certainly ones who wished him into a dark hole where they wouldn’t have to interact with him—but this was different.

  “Is it that you like it when I’m powerless?” he ventured.

  “No. I like it when you need me. I like it when I’m the only one who can save you.”

  Without stopping to think or agonize over words or wonder if he was doing things wrong, he lifted her hand and placed it on his erection. The pressure of her fingertips was an agony, and he felt a tightening in his testicles that strung his entire body like a live wire. “I do need you, Georgia.”

  This time, when her eyes flew open, they stayed that way.

  “What happens once it becomes clear you’re my only recourse?” he asked, his breath coming hard and fast. He would have liked to say he was asking out of motives of pure chivalry, but she’d started moving her hand up and down his length, and it was all he could do not to rut against her hand. “What then?”

  “Showerhead, vibrator, fingers,” she murmured. “Whatever’s closest.”

  “Would you let me watch?”

  “Right now?”

  “I’m here. You’re here. I’m already nearing an untimely demise. It seems like a waste of a perfectly good kitten otherwise.”

  “You’d like that?” She sounded hesitant.

  He lifted her hand from his erection and placed it between her legs, gently nudging one of her fingers between the damp folds. Her moan was a shock through both their systems. “I wouldn’t like that. I need that.”

  She nodded and opened her legs, giving him a glimpse of her wide-open sex, pink and enticing. His view was almost
immediately impeded by the movement of her hand. Two fingers slipped neatly along the line of her opening, and she bucked her hips to gain more traction. He would have liked to rub his own aching dick in time to her movements, but he was too busy studying, watching, learning.

  True to form, she was efficient and focused. She didn’t tarry long over the task, her fingers deft and sure as they moved in what had to be a familiar pattern to her by now. In this, as in all things, she knew what she was doing, and she did it well. He wouldn’t have had time to take notes even if he wanted to.

  When her cries became more pronounced, he slipped a fresh condom over his length. She moaned and her movements became jerky, and he could tell when she peaked by the way her whole body stilled, arching against the bed, before moving back down into a posture of rest.

  He wasted no time in moving over her, bracing himself with his arms so as not to crush her with his weight. His erection nudged at her hand, and he paused only long enough to ask, “May I?”

  She nodded and helped guide him inside, where the ebbing contractions of her vagina pulled him in and made him feel immediately at home. It wasn’t the same—it wouldn’t be the motions of his ocean bringing her over the edge, and her satisfaction was only a lingering memory as he took his own—but at least she could get used to equating this glowing purr of contentment with his body inside her.

  “Is this okay?” he asked as he moved against her. Orgasm had given her body a pliability it lacked before, and she smiled dreamily as she opened her legs to allow him better access.

  “It’s fantastic.”

  It was fantastic. Georgia felt so right and so comfortable, and he felt a kind of power at having helped bring that smile to her face, even if he wasn’t quite up to traditional sex god standards. He was just sex god enough—and that was enough for him.

  He came quickly and without ceremony, too busy enjoying her pleasure to linger on his own. And he refused to let her go as he rolled them both to the side. This moment—these few minutes of liquid, languid intimacy—was what he’d really been waiting for.

  “Well, now I feel kind of bad,” he said, speaking directly in her ear as he wrapped his arms under her breasts and pulled her close.

  “Don’t feel bad. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy. That was almost like the real thing, wasn’t it?”

  “It was the real thing,” he said firmly, and planted a kiss on her neck. “But that’s not what I was talking about. I was actually wondering what happened to the kitten while we were busy working off all that adrenaline from the rescue.”

  She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, the poor kitten. I totally forgot about him. He probably burned up.”

  He made the motion of the cross over Georgia’s chest. “May he rest in peace.”

  “I wonder if what I needed all along wasn’t a strapping hero to save, but an animal sacrifice. Maybe next time you should try to rescue a goat. Imagine the possibilities with a goat.”

  He just shook his head and relaxed further into the pillow, listening as Georgia outlined all the animals she was willing to burn at the altar of ecstasy. There were quite a few.

  Although it hadn’t been his intention to stay overnight, he found himself sinking into the mattress with heavy limbs and heavier eyelids. It was dark and warm, and he felt more at home in this hotel room than he’d ever thought possible.

  A few hours of sleep wouldn’t kill him. A few hours of Georgia in his arms wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

  “I thought you were going to have to get back to work,” she said, her words reaching him almost as he was about to drift off.

  “Fuck work,” he said, and held her tight.

  Work had never done anything but fuck him right back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Georgia woke to a plate of breakfast meat, a clean pair of coveralls on her pillow and a kiss from her knight in shining armor.

  Okay, that last one was a touch melodramatic, but she’d have knighted any man who ordered her a double side order of bacon. With sausage, he could be king.

  “I wasn’t sure whether or not I should wake you before I leave.” Monty looked an apology down at her before gesturing at the bedside clock, which warned her it was rapidly approaching six. “I had your clothes sent down to be cleaned, and there’s coffee and food. I wasn’t sure what else you might need.”

  “Oh, shit. Is it that late already?” She bolted upright, flashing her bare torso and only feeling mildly embarrassed by it. She wasn’t normally the saunter-around-nonchalantly-naked sort, but she also wasn’t the snuggle-through-the-night sort either, and that had worked out pretty well in her favor. “I can’t believe I slept in.”

  Somehow unable to recognize that this was a genuine emergency, Monty remained standing and staring. “You think six o’clock is sleeping in?”

  “Judge not, my friend. I don’t see you lolling about in bed either.” She threw back the rest of the covers and grabbed her clothes. Gone were all traces of green, ocean-smelling muck. Gone was the oil stain that had stubbornly persisted on the knee area. In its place were creases. Someone had actually ironed her coveralls. “Wow. I could get used to this kind of thing.”

  And then she realized how much of a long shot something like that was—magical nights of cuddling while tiny elves pressed her clothes—so she ducked her head and ran to the bathroom to change. There was no need to let Monty see how badly she wanted this, how painfully aware she was that it could never be.

  She wasn’t sure whether to expect him to be around when she emerged five minutes later, but he was waiting on the other side of the bathroom door, his hand extended.

  The fact that he waited for her was enough to weaken her knees, but he’d also managed to wedge most of the bacon inside a biscuit and was holding it out. “For the road,” he said, and watched as she jammed it in her mouth while she pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She’d fallen asleep with the strands still damp from the shower, so she looked an awful lot like she’d been caught in a wind tunnel, but time was running short. Wind-tunnel hair would have to do.

  “I’m sorry for not waking you,” he said, still watching. “It didn’t occur to me that you probably start your day as early as me.”

  “I do.” She bit off a large chunk of the bacon biscuit and swallowed. God, she could get used to that too. A lifetime of meat and affection and laundry—she was that easy. “I’ve got inspectors coming out today to see how things are coming along. I need time to hide all the exposed wires and shoddy craftsmanship on the roof.” She saw the look of guilt that statement caused and laughed. “That was a joke, by the way. The roof is great.”

  He flushed and lifted his chin a fraction. “Is my tie straight?”

  She reached up and tugged the knot—with three older brothers, tying a tie was one of the few fashion-related things she was good at—and took a moment to smooth his lapel. She didn’t realize, until his eyes met hers with an almost shocked look, how nauseatingly domestic this whole situation had become.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, and dropped her hand.

  He caught it. “Don’t be. This is kind of nice, isn’t it? Having someone to see you off in the morning?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, though she didn’t care to dwell on how nice it felt. Because this was nice. This was wonderful. This was what people meant when they talked about being in love.

  Unfortunately, it was starting to appear as though there was no magic penis cure for what ailed her, which meant that as soon as this thing with Monty was over, she’d be right back to square one. Alone and sexually defunct. Making her own breakfast. Maybe even investing in an iron.

  “Come on. I’ll walk you down.” Monty released her hand. With one careful perusal of the room to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind, they were out the door and on their way back to reality.


  * * *

  Georgia saw them first.

  She wasn’t sure what compelled her to look toward the fireplace, where a couple stood quietly conversing over a coffee cart, but she and Monty only made it halfway through the lobby before she almost toppled over a marble end table.

  Maybe it would have been better if she had. Maybe she would have knocked herself unconscious so she didn’t have to see the contorted grimace that passed over Mr. Montgomery’s features before he plastered on a familiar smile and strode their way.

  Georgia didn’t believe in fainting—a few deep breaths and a slap to the face were every woman’s best friend—but she would forever be grateful for the way Monty placed his hand under her arm and moved closer to her side. He was allying himself. He was choosing her.

  Thank God. They were both going to need it.

  “John, Georgia—I’m so glad I caught you before you left for the day.” From Mr. Montgomery’s pleasant voice and easy smile, you’d think he was happy to discover his son and heir escorting a handywoman in neatly pressed coveralls through the lobby of his hotel. “I was afraid you might have checked out already.”

  “No, you weren’t. I’m sure you already confirmed everything with the front desk clerk.” Monty turned to the woman with a tight smile. “You must have wrapped up your business quickly, Jenna. I didn’t expect to see you for a few more days.”

  Georgia knew Monty’s sister, Jenna, of course. They couldn’t have shared more than a dozen conversations in the past decade—Jenna was in charge of the hotel chain’s international operations, so she was rarely in residence at the Manor—but it was impossible not to recognize the gorgeous redhead. If Georgia and her brothers looked like hot-off-the-presses facsimiles of one another, Jenna and her brothers were more like opposite sides of the same coin. They were all crafted of the same gilded metal, but her side contained nothing except perfect curves and delicately formed features.