Page 68 of Any Luck at All

Releasing a soft moan, she slid her hand down his neck to his chest.

He wove his hand into her hair and kissed her deeply.

She melted into him, needing to be closer, needing more. Her fingers spread across his chest, feeling the hard muscles she’d gaped at when he’d changed his shirt on Friday, and now that she had that image in her head, she wanted to see them again. She wanted to know the feel of him without any barrier between their skin.

Reaching for the hem of his shirt, she tugged up, and River quickly caught on, taking a moment to pull it over his head and toss it onto the floor.

He leaned over to kiss her again, but she backed up a step, giving him a sexy grin. “Let me look first. I’ve been thinking about your chest since you ripped your shirt off in the tasting room. I might or might not have peeked earlier too.”

His eyes hooded as his breath hitched. “And I’ve been thinking about those sexy bras and panties spread all over Flint Street.” Then he added with a shake of his head, “About themon you. Not on the street.”

She laughed, loving that she knew he wouldn’t be offended, that he was laughing with her…and she stripped off her own shirt to reveal the lacy navy-blue bra underneath.

“God, Georgie. You’re even more beautiful than I’d imagined.”

Her own breath caught, realizing that no man had ever told her that before and meant it. She could tell he did. Would she really be able to walk away from him and go back to business as usual? She wasn’t sure, but she had two options: stop things right now or see this through, and now that she’d had a taste of this, she wasn’t stopping.

“Let’s shower together,” she said. The thought of him wet and naked, his skin slick against hers, made her knees shake.

He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I intend on learning every inch of your body.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The first thing River did when he woke up was reach for her. He could still taste her, could still feel her moving against him. It had never been like this with anyone else—it was almost as if they’d anticipated each other’s movements, as if they were perfectly in sync. They’d moved seamlessly from the shower to the bed, and there’d been no first-time awkwardness (or second or third time). He hoped to hell she would consider a quick round four since it was still sort of, kind of dark outside.

But he didn’t feel the curve of her next to him anymore, didn’t hear her soft breathing or smell the shampoo she’d used in the shower. That meant she’d been gone a while.

A hollowness formed in his chest, a familiar ache that made it no less painful. The pain of being left.

You idiot. You knew the deal.

Yes, and he’d known it would feel like this, but he’d decided it was worth it. And it was—or rather it had been—but knowing her in that way had made him want her more. Of course it had.

He turned to look at the empty pillow next to him and saw a crisply folded note.

His mouth ticked upward just a little as he opened the paper and saw the embossed monogram.

I’m sorry I left, River, but I thought it would be easier this way. Last night was—

The pen trailed a little, as if she’d thought about writing something different but had changed her mind.

—amazing. But it’s time to put it in that box we talked about. We didn’t discuss your usual hours yet, given it certainly qualifies as work talk, but I’d appreciate it if you’d come at 9. We have a lot to discuss.

As a love letter, it left a little to be desired, but he found himself smiling. Because it was so Georgie, and because he hadn’t totally given up, not really. He hoped they’d find a way. Because two people who fit like this?

It was kismet. And that didn’t come along more than once in a lifetime.

* * *

When River turned on his phone, twenty notifications instantly popped up.

He took a fortifying sip of coffee before he started scrolling through them. The majority were from unknown numbers, but he’d received a text from Maisie at 5:30 a.m.

Either puke bugs are transferable between dogs and humans, or you should consider this a retroactive warning about the food I brought over tonight. I won’t be able to do lunch. You’ll have to give me the crazy story later, although the accounts on Nextdoor really do paint a picture. ;-)

Huh. Maisie sounded like herself, not like she was pissed or anything, but what was the likelihood she’d come down with a bug the same night he threw her out of his apartment? He and Georgie had eaten the takeout Chinese sometime around midnight, and his stomach still felt fine.

He couldn’t shake the thought that Maisie was upset he hadn’t followed her advice about Georgie. But he didn’t want to make assumptions.

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