Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “Thanks. Just a little, please.”

  Georgia watched her fill the mug. “Pearl, is there something going on with this town?”

  Pearl tilted her head. “What are you trying to say, honey?”

  “Well, look at everyone.” Georgia adjusted her position, gesturing to the packed restaurant. “Every person in here looks like they’re having a good time. And there are so many couples.”

  “Are you asking me if everyone is getting laid in Lonesome?” Pearl chuckled. “Is that what you’re trying to get at?”

  “No.” Georgia laughed. “I mean, maybe—who knows? Everyone I know in my neighborhood is a grump. Come to think of it...” she giggled, looking up. “We’re also all single.”

  “Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Pearl bent closer to her ear, keeping her voice low. “And I’m only telling you this because you’re with Harlan, which means you’re good people.”

  “Um, I’m not exactly with Harlan. I’m here doing a story on Boone.”

  “Well, whatever you say.” Pearl turned and started to walk away.

  “No, please tell me,” she begged. Pearl turned back and smirked down at her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, thinking it over.

  Georgia leaned closer. “Please,” she whispered, “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Well, you better not or I’ll come after you myself.” Pearl leaned down and whispered in Georgia’s ear. “The town of Lonesome has the lowest divorce rate in the country.” She harrumphed, straightening, holding the coffee pot up as if to toast. “What do you make of that for a town called Lonesome?”

  “Really?” Georgia, surveyed the jovial faces in the diner again. “I have no idea what to make of it, but I guess it makes sense. Although I don’t know why.”

  “Psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, drug manufacturers, all kinds of people have tried to figure out why. But luckily no one knows, and the secret hasn’t spread, or this place would be busier than a wedding chapel in Vegas. Now I have to help Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery over there, but let me tell you one more thing before I go.”

  “Please do.”

  Pearl nodded. “You are one lucky lady to be sitting here having breakfast with Harlan Beckett.”

  “Oh? How’s that?” Georgia coaxed, smiling back at Pearl’s kindly, middle-aged grin.

  “Harlan hasn’t brought anyone here for as long as I can remember. And we look out for each other here in Lonesome, that’s another secret.”

  “Small town life must be lovely.” Georgia, mumbled, not knowing what to say while she watched Pearl help the older couple at another table.

  What on earth was she implying? Pearl didn’t have to look out for Georgia, or worry about Harlan being harmed by her in any way. On the other hand, the comment put a smile on Georgia’s face. Harlan didn’t take just anyone to Pearl’s.

  Harlan took up the whole room when he sauntered back to the table, leaving everyone’s head turned on a trail behind him.

  Georgia couldn’t help rubbernecking him too, while trying to concentrate on getting the coffee cup to her mouth without spilling.

  “Miss me?” he asked, zeroing in on her, flashing his dimples. Harlan settled into his seat, kicking back as far as someone six-five could do in a small chair.

  Georgia was hesitant, afraid she’d blurt something that would lead her down a path of no return and into his arms. She was already heading there. She felt it with every cell. The effect of Lonesome was probably rubbing off on her, too.

  “I’m going to have to include you in Boone’s story. Colt, too,” she explained, chaperoning her brain back to business. “You’re all so close, I couldn’t do the story justice if I left either of you out.”

  Harlan sipped his coffee, those piercing blue eyes of his appraising her face, neck and breasts over the rim of his cup. “Have you given any thought to our story?”

  “Our story?”

  Nodding coolly while setting his cup down, Harlan leaned in. “I think we’re writing it now, our story. I know you can feel what’s happening between us.”

  Heat raced to her neck. Feeling a full-body flush coming on, Georgia looked down at her plate, buying time for an answer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She avoided his sizzling stare. “You know, I’m thinking of changing the subject and ordering more waffles.” She laughed nervously. “You're right, they're absolutely the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t tasted everything, darlin’. Give it another day, and then decide,” he purred, calling her out on everything she already knew, taking her breath away in the process.

  Georgia scanned the room, trying to suck air back into her lungs. “Where’s Pearl when you need her?”

  “Fine. We’ll play it your way for now, but there’s no use fighting it.”

  Georgia took another sip of coffee, hoping to settle the swarms of butterflies in her stomach, and shifted gears again. “Boone’s story isn’t going to be in a question and answer format. It’ll be more in-depth, with a narrative—”

  “Oh, like the Tim McGraw piece you wrote?” He asked, licking his lips, throwing her a mischievous smile.

  “Wait.” She swallowed, frowning while she tried to figure out if he was joking. “You read my interview with Tim?”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He leaned back, beaming at her. “As a matter of fact, I read every word.”

  “So you did Google me…”

  He rested his cup on the table and shifting closer to her, whispered, “I didn't Google you last night. There were all kinds of things I thought about doing to you last night, but Googling wasn’t one of them.”

  Which didn’t answer her question, but did come pretty close to derailing her. “So you knew who I was the whole time?”

  Harlan shook his head. “No. I Googled you this morning, but I have read you before, many times. I just didn’t know it was you I was reading. Fresh, funny as hell, perceptive.” He leaned across the table. “You’re a great writer, Peach.”

  Georgia let the words settle. It was like a lightning bolt flew in from out of nowhere and zapped her with a beam of sunlight.

  Harlan Beckett liked her writing.

  He’d taken the time to put his feelings about the press aside and give her a fair chance. His eyes met hers, and Georgia’s heart flipped over. “Do you trust me now?” The question meant so much, she could barely get the words out.

  Harlan tilted his head, taking a moment. “I learned a lesson about trust a few years ago. I think trust is something that needs to be earned. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do. One hundred percent.”

  “But I can see now why Boone trusts you, and I didn’t find anything on the internet about you except raves from people I know aren’t quick to praise anyone.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Well, that’s it, then.”

  “You’re going to let me kiss you now?”

  “No.” Although this new information made kissing him more of a distinct possibility. Georgia eyed him, letting her eyes pause on his gorgeous lips. “I think I’m going to need a pair of cowboy boots to wear to Boone’s show.” She flipped the edge of the tablecloth and frowned down at the eyesores she’d been walking around in for days. “No self-respecting journalist would be caught dead in this town wearing these crusty disasters.”

  “I’d have to agree with you there, Peach.” He grinned. “They’re not only ugly, they’re the wrong size. I’ve been wondering how you’ve managed to look so delicious walking in those things.”

  Georgia gave him a double take, stunned for a second by how much fun it was to hear Harlan talk that way about her. She felt giddy, confident now that she’d be able to finish Boone’s story without Harlan fighting her.

  She slapped the table. “And a hat.” Georgia held her chin high. “I seem to be the only person in Lonesome without one. Do you mind if we do a little shopping before we go back?”

  “To find you a cowboy
hat?” Harlan straightened. “Woman, you have no idea.” Harlan reached for his wallet and flagged down Pearl. “Check, please.”

  13

  Glancing down at Georgia, Harlan took in the sight of her blonde hair swinging while she strutted with purpose down Main street beside him in her big boots.

  The sidewalks weren’t crowded, and there were plenty of parking places to be had up and down the street. It was a normal early spring day in Lonesome, nothing special, just regular people taking care of business. The most abnormal aspect about Lonesome at that moment was Harlan. He couldn’t remember the last time he went shopping in town, certainly not with a woman, but he was proud to be seen with Georgia.

  He’d spent hours that morning reading her articles, becoming more delighted after each one. Boone was right to give her an exclusive, and now Harlan had the green light to relax. He was not only attracted to her, he liked her—liked the way her mind worked, the way she looked in blue jeans with her hair down and no makeup.

  Liked the way she wrote, talked, walked and smelled. But the two things Harlan liked the most were how she didn’t throw herself at him, and how she kept trying to deny her attraction to him.

  Georgia would be his, all right. It was just a matter of time.

  He started humming.

  Georgia perked up, her big brown eyes meeting his. “Is that the song from last night?”

  He tipped his head down, eyeing her directly. “You caught me.”

  She kept her gaze locked on his. “It’s Just a Matter of Time.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Such a catchy tune,” she said, with an expression that told him everything he needed to know. The woman was simmering for him in those jeans and just didn’t know how to deal with it. “Hold my hand, Georgia.”

  “What?” She seemed genuinely surprised.

  “You heard me,” he said gently, trying not to scare her, and extended his hand without making a move to touch her. A car alarm sounded in the distance, and the seconds he waited ticked by slowly, but he wasn’t in any hurry.

  Amused, he watched Georgia consider taking his hand as if struggling with an internal war. He noted how her shoulders relaxed when she sighed, making her decision, and caught himself holding his breath like a teenager. Finally Georgia grinned up at him, melting his heart in the process, and reached for his hand. She laced her delicate fingers through his, and the touch of her velvet skin against his callused musician’s fingers awakened every cell to possibilities he thought had long passed him by.

  Harlan glanced at the door to Belle’s Boutique and thought twice about going in. Gripping Georgia’s hand firmly, he led her away from the entrance, but only made it a few feet before the temptation overwhelmed him.

  Questioning him silently, Georgia tilted her head up to his. Feeling the heat and desire coming from her, Harlan leaned down without a word, inhaling her intoxicating scent, and kissing her once, twice, and again along her cheekbone.

  “I know I could make you sing,” Harlan whispered, and it wasn’t just a line. He could clearly imagine how they’d be in bed together, how he’d make Georgia come.

  He could hear her calling out his name in ecstasy, and it sounded like music.

  The blush started at her neck and rushed to her cheeks. Georgia stepped back. “I...I.”

  “Don’t say it,” he commanded, gently running his index finger across her lips. “Don’t say no. Let’s just think about how we’d be together.”

  And with that, he clasped her hand and led her to the store. “In here,” he said, opening the door for her, knowing she now had something a lot more exciting on her mind than shopping. “I’ll bet you’ll find everything you need in here.”

  He’d take all the time in the world, and flirt with Georgia all day if that’s what she wanted.

  A little bell chimed, announcing their entrance to the packed boutique, but Harlan didn’t need an introduction for people to turn and say hi. He grew up in Lonesome and knew everyone in the place. By the looks of the busybody proprietor, Tommy Smith’s grandmother, Belle—who peeked over the jewelry counter with her jaw hanging to her knees—it was a fifty-fifty bet this shopping spree would wind up in the paper.

  Let everyone gape and gossip. Georgia didn’t deserve to be hidden. After checking out all the accolades and awards listed on her Wikipedia page, Harlan was amazed she wasn’t a snob.

  “Anything you want.” He tucked down close to her ear, nuzzling in her soft hair for just a second before whispering again, “I’ll give anything you want.”

  Georgia spun around. “Anything I want?” She gave him a half smile. “Why do you make it sound like I want something more than a hat?”

  Playtime with Georgia. This was about to become one Harlan’s favorite activities. He leaned down low again, this time brushing his mouth against her earlobe. “Because I can read your mind Peach, and what you really want can’t be done in this store—not discreetly, anyway.”

  She tipped her head back, turning pink from her neck to the tips of her ears, making him chuckle. “You’re so sure of yourself,” she harrumphed, wiggling her round ass over to a rack of hats.

  Folding his arms and leaning back against a column that separated the clothes from the accessories, he watched Georgia in action while she tried on hats in front of a large mirror.

  “May I help you, miss?” Belle, the boutique owner, chirped, flitting past him. “Harlan, you’re looking fine today,” she called back over her shoulder on her way to Georgia.

  “As do you, Belle,” he responded with his standard reply.

  “What do you think?” Peach asked, turning to face them wearing a Stetson three sizes too big. “Oh, here, darlin’, that’s not the hat for you.” Belle took her arm and ushered her to another display.

  But no one was going to escort Georgia away from him. He straightened, stepping in immediately. “I can take it from here.”

  Belle frowned, indignantly tipping her nose up in the air. “Associate degree from the Tate Institute of Fashion,” she muttered under her breath, whatever that meant. She leveled a squinty stare. “You sure?”

  Harlan stayed silent but nailed the shop’s owner with a look that convinced her, beyond a doubt, that he knew for damn sure.

  “Well, then.” Belle tucked a strand of mousy brown hair back in her bun. “Just holler if you need me.” She raised her brows at Harlan before tottering off.

  “Will do,” Georgia replied distractedly, squatting for a better look at the hats on a low shelf.

  “That one,” Harlan interjected.

  “Which one?” Georgia asked without turning.

  “The one right under your hand will look good with your hair color.” Harlan moved a little closer to inspect.

  “But it’s beige,” she muttered, feeling the hat’s wide brim. “I was thinking of a black one, something badass like yours.”

  This woman. “What are you, a gunslinger now?” Harlan chuckled. “You don’t need to worry about anything making you more…anything. You’re perfect the way you are.”

  Georgia straightened. Hat in hand, she stood silently, eyebrows raised. Then, “I’m perfect?”

  Well, right then and there Harlan had stepped in it, deep and wide. There was no turning back now, but he didn’t care. He could only play games for so long, because Georgia would be gone in days.

  He’d wasted enough time, and wasn’t one to sit around analyzing his feelings. “You are. And your ass, by the way, is entirely badass. Put that on,” Harlan pointed to her hand with his chin. “I want to see how it looks on you.”

  Georgia took such a large gulp of air, he watched her chest move as the air went down, right before his eyes roamed down her flimsy T-shirt and locked on her pointed nipples.

  Thank you, Jesus, for air-conditioning. Harlan shifted, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure against his zipper. He licked his lips, studying her reflection with rapt attention as she tried the hat on, turning this way and that, until she ang
led the brim just right. Then she eyed him from under the brim in the mirror.

  And shit. His cock almost jumped out of his pants at the sight. He’d been living with a semi-hard-on since the first day he laid eyes on her, but this—her standing there with her hard nipples, tight jeans and that hat—was about all he could handle.

  She swung around grinning. “I think I found the one.”

  “Oh, I think you have,” he agreed, his voice hoarse. “You have absolutely found the one,” he added, edging closer, and closer, forcing her to walk backward until she hit a wall. “I’m gonna eat you up,” Harlan growled, leaning down, wrapping his arms around her small waist, feeling her curves under the paper-thin T-shirt. Nuzzling into her hair, kissing the tempting dip between her neck and shoulder, he moaned “so good” into her silky skin, inhaling her sweet scent, wanting to get lost in her, with her, for days.

  Georgia made a half-hearted attempt to squirm out of his arms, and he let her go. “But I have to include you in Boone’s story.” She said it so earnestly it caught him off guard. “Don’t you think it’s kind of inappropriate for us to...you know, flirt and kiss?”

  Harlan chuckled. “Totally inappropriate, but I’m shooting for indecent, darlin’. I’m way past inappropriate.” He approached her again, pulling her in close, and she didn’t resist. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” he kept his voice low, with his mouth next to her ear. “I’ll bet if I snuck my hands down your jeans and slipped my fingers into your juicy peach, you’d be so wet for me I could make you come right here, right now.”

  Her breath hitched. Georgia tipped her head back, her eyes wide with shock under that sexy brim, a reaction that made him realize no one had ever talked to her that way, and she loved it. She reached up on tiptoe, cupped his cheeks in her hands, and pressed her luscious lips against his.

  It was like two stars collided and skyrocketed him to a whole new planet. Soft and slow, tasting of warm syrup, slick butter, and lightning.