Various States of Undress

by Laura Simcox

  The knock sounded again, and Brett groaned before hauling himself up, throwing the remote on a table, and walking to the door. He opened it with a scowl on his face.

  Georgia stood in the carpeted hallway, barefoot. She wore a loose sundress, and he spied the strap of her siren red swimsuit peeking out of the neckline. In spite of his mood, he couldn’t help but grin at her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” He peered up and down the hall. “Where are your agents?”

  “Guarding the elevators and stairwell. Can I come in for a sec?”

  “Uh, yeah. Where’s Joan?”

  “Hell if I know, and hell if I care.” Georgia smiled and breezed past him.

  “Okay,” Brett said with a chuckle. He followed her in and shut the door. “You planning on swimming?”

  “I was hoping I could convince you to come with.” She sat on the sofa in the corner. “We had fun last time, at your place.”

  “That’s true.” Thinking about it made Brett’s body tingle with the memory of her slippery curves underneath his hands. He’d kissed her again and again in the pool, until she’d let her legs float up and wrap around his waist. He’d been consumed with the sensation of her sweet mouth, her warm body—much warmer than the water—and the little sounds she’d made when he’d rolled his hips against her. He wanted that again. He wanted so much more than that.

  But swimming in a hotel pool wouldn’t be that fun. Somehow, Joan and her freaky Georgia radar would know where they were, and she’d make sure the rest of the media did too. And when that happened, Georgia would get pissed.

  Things would be a lot easier if Georgia just relaxed and accepted that there was no way to completely avoid the paparazzi—or her own boss. It was a weird situation, but it was complicated—too complicated to sort out in the short time Georgia had left on her internship. The short time they had left together.

  He frowned. “I thought you wanted to avoid being seen with me socially.”

  She grimaced. “It sounds so awful when you say it out loud like that. I don’t mean it as if . . . as if I’m embarrassed by you.”

  “I know that. You’re trying to protect your internship. Your future.” His frown got deeper.

  Georgia surveyed him but didn’t comment. “You’re tense,” she commented. “When I was watching you play today, it occurred to me that your work would be a lot easier if you’d relax.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  “Why, because of Joan?”

  “Yeah. You ought to let it go, sugar.”

  Georgia shook her head. “I’m sick of her hanging over my shoulder like a vulture. She’s been at every pregame interview here, watching me work but not actually mentoring me. Every time you and I have been together here, it’s been professional, and still the media has managed to twist those appearances into stories about celebrity dating. I’m sure that it’s been easy for them with her help.”

  Georgia got up and paced in front of the closed drapes, her voice rising. “Tonight after I got back from the game, I checked the headlines online, and do you know what I saw?”

  Brett watched her. “What?”

  “A picture of you and me standing by the Redbirds bus, not even looking at each other, which somehow qualifies as news. In the same article, which was on celebrity couples, by the way, there were descriptions of awards show fashion and whether showing side boob was trendy or nasty.”

  “Side boob?”

  “You know, when a dress is open in the back and you can see half a boob on the side, which, personally, I think is nasty, but . . .” She trailed off. “I don’t want to talk about side boob. I don’t want to be in the same article as side boob or anything else that makes me look like a fool.”

  Brett crossed the room and took her shoulders. “Nobody thinks you’re a fool.”

  “They might if this continues.”

  “What continues? Us?”

  “No.” She gazed at him. “How the paparazzi is making us look. I want to take control of that.”

  “What do you propose to do it about it?”

  “I’m trying to be a journalist, Brett. I’m aware that the more I try to hide, the more interested the media will get. We fly back tomorrow morning, and our interview taping at WHAP is scheduled for the afternoon. Once that interview is aired next week, the speculation about us will only increase. It took me too long to realize it, but, after what I saw online today, I made a decision. I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to play right into Joan’s hands. She suggested that I not admit to being in a relationship with you because it will keep the viewers guessing—and the rumor mills turning.”

  A relationship? Is that what she wanted? Deep down, he knew that’s exactly what he wanted, though he had suppressed the idea for fear it wouldn’t come true. No matter what, he didn’t want to let her go, despite the uncertain future. He took a long breath.

  “So are we in a relationship?” he asked.

  She gave him a hesitant smile. “I hope so.”

  “Then it’s true.” He lifted her hair from her shoulders and smoothed it back. “What do you really want, Georgia?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You.” She gazed up at him.

  Warmth spread through his middle—some of it lust, but most of it a feeling he couldn’t quite name. A wonderful feeling. He smiled slowly. “What about swimming?”

  “Being with you right now means a lot more to me than trying to control whatever the media says about us,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving his face. “I mean, obviously I care what’s being said, but would you mind if I decided not to deal with it tonight?”

  “Not at all.”

  “So swimming can suck it.”

  He took a step closer and traced his fingertips over her shoulders. “I like hearing that.”

  She smiled. “Good. Besides, I can’t resist a guy who looks so . . .”

  “Hot?” he supplied.

  “I was going to say smart.” She lifted her hands to his chest. “Hot and smart.”

  He breathed in as her fingers crept up to his neck. “I could describe you the same way.”

  “Even though I don’t have glasses?”

  “Glasses?” Brett’s head rose. “Oh shit.” He grabbed his glasses and threw them onto the sofa.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “They’re nerdy.”

  “So? I’m nerdy.” Her fingers trailed back down his chest, and lower, until her hands rested low on his hips. She paused there for a moment and then slid her hands over the front of his gym shorts. His heart sped up.

  “What you’re doing isn’t a bit nerdy,” he said in a choked voice.

  Georgia lifted the hem of his T-shirt and placed a kiss on his abdomen. “What I’m doing is what I want to do,” she replied against his skin. She opened her mouth and kissed her way to his chest, pushing the T-shirt up as her hot tongue sent tendrils of fire racing through his body. That fire pooled low in his belly, and his cock began to swell.

  “Mmm.” She blew against his chest.

  He pulled the T-shirt over his head and dropped it, watching her as she gazed at his torso, her eyelids heavy. When she glanced up at him, he reached for her, his hand cupping the back of her head. He buried his tongue in her hot mouth.

  She swayed against him, her arms at her sides. As he kissed her deeply, his mind—and his body—rejoiced in the incredible knowledge that she was his. Brett couldn’t get close enough to her, and he lifted her from the floor, wrapping his arms around her.

  Georgia sighed into his mouth, her hands wrapping around his shoulders. She squeezed them and broke the kiss. With a wicked smile, she ran her hands down between their bodies. His breath caught. When her fingers slid into the waistband of his shorts, teasing, he groaned. A second later, her hands were on him, stroking, and he almost lost it. She wiggled against him, tugging at his shorts, and they fell to the ground.

 
“Georgia,” he said on a groan. “Slow down.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” she answered, breathless, but she allowed him to put her back down.

  Brett wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered her onto the bed, kneeling between her legs. The hem of her dress bunched around her waist as her head sank onto the pillows. She stared at him with glassy eyes. “You make me so happy,” she said softly.

  His heart swelled. “I’ve never been happier in my life than I am right now.”

  She smiled. “That’s evident.” Then she lowered her lashes. “Would it be a cliché if I asked you to take me?” she whispered.

  He gave her a slow smile. “I know how you hate clichés, but I won’t tell.”

  “Then take me. Please.”

  He leaned down and rested his forehead next to her cheek, breathing in the warm sweetness of her hair. “I’m going to take you,” he whispered. “I’m going to take you slowly. Every inch of you.”

  Georgia shuddered underneath him, her breasts soft beneath his chest. He sat back and reached for a slim ankle, raising it up and settling his lips on her silky skin. He placed kisses along her calf, at the back of her knee, and on the even silkier skin inside her thigh. She drew in a sharp breath as he passed across the most intimate part of her, and he kissed the other thigh, lingering there. His actions were worshipful, he realized—and it was exactly what she deserved.

  When her breathing became faster, he lifted her sundress up and off. She lay beneath him, her red suit iridescent in the glow from the bedside lamp but her eyes shimmering even more. Brett gazed at her and reached for the thin, stretchy straps on her shoulders. He pulled them down slowly, exposing her round breasts inch by inch.

  It was his turn to take a deep breath when the lush curves of her breasts were completely revealed. They were amazing, and it was torture for him to take his time. All he wanted was to fill his hands with them, but he waited, watching, knowing it would increase her anticipation.

  At last, he lifted them up, massaging her nipples with his palms. She closed her eyes then and her mouth fell open. Brett couldn’t resist—he bent to kiss her deeply and then dragged his mouth away, down the column of her throat and over a collarbone. He cupped her breasts and raised them again, kissing every inch until she was gasping, her hips rocking against him.

  “Brett,” she said, her head rolling to the side. He smiled against her skin. His hands slid to the top edge of her suit, and he pulled it down gently with one hand. The other hand he settled on the sweet curve of her belly, pushing her back onto the bed as he removed the suit completely and dropped it.

  He took a long moment to gaze at her—all of her—his fingers still splayed on her belly. The sight of her gazing back at him with such openness, such joy, was a dream come true. No—it was better than anything he’d ever dreamed. When he smiled at her in wonder, she caught her lower lip in her teeth.

  After a moment, he let pleasure take over—both hers and his. Slowly, he began massaging her skin, lower and lower, until his palm was at her very center. He glanced up, expecting her head to be thrown back and her eyes closed, but she was watching him. When she met his eyes, she went completely still except for the rise and fall of her chest. Fascinated, he locked gazes with her as his hand settled more intimately around her, cupping her. When he moved his thumb into her wet heat, she let out a shaking breath.

  “Oh God, Georgia. You’re so beautiful.” His eyes never leaving hers, Brett turned his hand and slowly slid a finger inside of her, his thumb moving in little circles. Almost instantly, her thighs began to tremble and her head fell back, but she raised it again, gasping. “Take me,” she said.

  He ignored her request and moved his thumb again, increasing the pressure, gently circling.

  “Please. I need you, Brett.”

  At her raspy, pleading words, a thrill went through him, and he slowly removed his hand and leaned forward, his chest pressing into her breasts. Reaching into the bedside table, he pulled out a condom. “I brought some just in case.”

  She nodded. “So did I. They’re in my room.” As he rolled it on, she watched, which made him even harder. Going slow was going to be torture, but her pleasure—and his—would be all the sweeter for it.

  It was pure pleasure just to cover her body with his and lift her hips, but pushing gradually forward, burying himself in her tightness, was the most exquisite sensation he’d ever experienced. For a moment, it was all he could do to stay in control, and when he was fully sheathed inside of her, he paused for a moment, gasping. He glanced down at her through half-closed eyes, and the look on her face—the wonder, the worship, mirrored exactly how he felt. For the first time, he didn’t have her on a pedestal. They were standing on one together.

  When Georgia rolled her hips against his, he rolled back, moving within her, his gaze locked with hers. Reaching up, he laced his fingers through hers and rocked against her slowly. When her sighs turned into moans, he quickened the pace, watching the pleasure steal across her face. Her head thrown back, she wrapped her free arm around his waist. Her fingers moved up his back, pushing against his shoulder blade, urging him down until their lips met.

  Brett kissed her. She whimpered into his mouth, the soft sound urging him on, making him want to give her ultimate release. To his delight, she cried out, her thighs raising against his sides, her hands clutching at his back. She cried out again—his name on her lips—the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. In an instant, she tightened around his cock, her entire body enveloping him in passion, an unbelievable intimacy as he came, pushing against her, sinking into her softness, into her arms.

  He lay there, his heart racing as Georgia trembled beneath him. After a long moment, she relaxed, and her legs drifted to the bed. Still he stayed inside of her, not wanting to let go, even as he shifted to the side, taking her with him. They lay facing each other, her thigh resting on top of his, her hands curling on his chest. She didn’t say a word, and neither did he. They didn’t have to.

  He felt as if he were home. Not at his place—but truly home. As that thought took shape, he let it rest there in his mind, a new thing. An amazing, precious new thing. A scary thing, though, too. If she didn’t feel the same way . . . if she didn’t want all of him the same way he wanted all of her . . .

  “Brett?” Her voice was soft.

  “Yes?” He reached out and pushed a tumbled lock of hair from her forehead.

  “I need to go.”

  He stared at her for a moment longer, his tender thoughts rapidly receding. “You don’t want to stay?”

  “I do, but I can’t. My agents . . .”

  His arm tightened around her waist. “They can wait.”

  “Not all night.” She lowered her leg from his and looked away. “They’ll start to wonder.”

  “Your agents wouldn’t let the paparazzi find out about this.”

  She sighed. “I know, but I can’t just . . .”

  “What?”

  “I need to go.” When she pushed gently against his chest, he moved his arm and rolled onto his back, a discomforting feeling seeping in and stealing what was left of the sweetness. Had he misinterpreted what had just happened? Let his obsession with her fool him into thinking that she’d truly given herself to him?

  “Please stay.” Brett realized that he was close to begging. He didn’t want to let her go. But she wanted to go and wouldn’t explain why. Did she think that he wouldn’t understand her? That he was incapable of it? Or was she trying to spare his feelings because she didn’t want to tell him that he . . . he wasn’t good enough for her?

  “All right, sugar,” he found himself saying easily. “That’s fine.”

  “Brett . . .”

  He glanced at her, still curled up, her knees raised. “It’s fine,” he repeated. “I need to get some sleep, anyway.”

  She closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt a minute ago.”

  “No big deal. We had fun, right?” He gave her a winning smi
le, even as his heart began to ache. “Sex is generally entertaining, especially with a couple of weeks of foreplay.”

  “Entertaining?” she echoed, opening her eyes.

  He winked at her.

  Without a word, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, got up, gathered her clothes, and went into the bathroom. A minute later, she walked out the door.

  Brett stared across the room for a long time, confusion and hurt taking root. He didn’t think. He just felt, and it wasn’t good. After a while, he cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the mattress. He put on his shorts and then crossed the room for his glasses. He grabbed the TV remote from the table and flopped back on the bed but realized that he didn’t want to watch anything. He only wanted one thing—and she’d walked away from him. Because he hadn’t fought for her. He’d let his own insecurities tear down what had happened between them, and he’d been an asshole. She might have stayed if he’d tried harder, but she’d definitely left because of the way he’d treated her.

  Georgia had said once that she had a thing for athletes. She liked his cockiness. But he’d bet his batting average that she didn’t like his weakness, because that’s what he’d shown her. There was a big difference between being cocky for show—for laughs—and being a complete prick.

  “Shit.” He threw the remote on the bed. Whatever was bothering her, even if it was her fear of getting too close to him, he had to know. He felt the same fear. He felt a lot of fear, actually, about a lot of things.

  That’s what all of his hang-ups were all about, weren’t they? Not lack of focus. Fear. Fear of being judged. Of coming up short. Fear that his talent could only lead him so far and that someday he’d come up against a big wall—a wall he couldn’t scale—that blocked his future. He’d be stuck on the shitty side, and if he looked behind him, he’d see that shitty shotgun house where he’d grown up and—

  He shook his head. Georgia was a lot more important than his own fears, and he had to go to her. He put on his shirt, slid his feet into tennis shoes, and reached for his phone.

  WHEN GEORGIA GOT back to her dark room, she walked to the window and stood there looking out at the lights of the Vegas strip on the horizon. She didn’t want to look at the bed, much less crawl into it. The memory of what had just happened was too fresh. Her joy, and the joy in Brett’s eyes as he’d joined himself with her; his tenderness as he lay next to her; and then his pain—and hers—as she’d left were too new in her mind. It wasn’t as if she were going to be able to sleep anyway, and crying her eyes out on a pillow wasn’t her style.