Page 50 of Blindsided By You

“Jen, the plan sounds good in principle, but I’m not sure…”

“It’s theonlyplan.”

A pause. Then, “OK, let’s do this.”

I swipe the toy from beneath Andy’s paws while he’s taking a moment to gloat. One hand poised on the door handle, I speak softly against the wood.

“Geordie. Are you ready to go?”

I hover the wee haggis toy just out of reach of Andy’s delighted bouncing. Right now, I’m grateful for his terrier high prey drive. He’s totally focused on the toy, not the voice of the man in the bathroom.

“As good as I’ll ever be,” Geordie mutters back.

“Got all your clothes?” We’ve only got one shot at this. There won’t be a second.

“Yep,” he says.

“OK, stand back so I don’t wipe you out with the door.” I ignore the leaping dog. “On the count of three.”

I waggle the toy at Andy.

“One…two…three!”

I fling the door open, and lob the haggis toy right across the bathroom. The deft throw is as good as those of my childhood rugby playing days. It bounces and lands, a grey shadow tucked beneath the toilet.

Andy zooms past me, a black arrow in full flight. He skitters to a stop by the toilet, pounces on the haggis and turns to show off his catch, his feet pattering in a triumphant dance.

The few seconds are enough for Geordie. He comes flying out. Andy spins, eyes wide with betrayal. But the moment passes. His toy-obsessed brain takes over, and he drops to the floor, chewing at his prize with glee. The haggis toy won’t survive, but its sacrifice is in a good cause. A life for a life.

Pale-faced, Geordie balances, pulling on his jeans. I can’t help but admire his bare torso, all golden in the lamp glow. Nicely sculpted pecs invite the memory of my hands flowing over them. A decent set of abs—not washboard, but still enough to beg a girl’s lips to kiss their way down them. The delicate fuzz of curls on his chest that I’ve already love burying my nose in, inhaling his musk.

However, if I want to enjoy these delights again, it’s important we develop a second plan—how to get him the hell out of my bedroom before Dad finds out. I regret my impatience encouraging him here tonight. By this time tomorrow, Geordie will have his own room at Nathan’s place up at MacFarlane’s, and we will be safe—physically, at least.

What we’re not safe from is the feelings I get swirling inside of me, telling me I want more than just the touch of Geordie; more than his lips on mine; more than his fingers flickering at my clit, lighting up my body; more than the length of him inside me, the powerfulthrusts igniting a fire. I’m greedy and undeserving, but I want all of him.

Crazy bastard that he is, he wants me like that too. I can see it in his eyes, as he leans in to press a kiss on my tender bruised mouth.

Well, he thinks he does, but it’s early days, and like Adam before him, the more Geordie knows me, the less he’ll want. He’ll see that our arrangement is best for both of us. Me with no expectations and him with no commitment.

Despite my dark thoughts, I can’t help but smile into the kiss as he says, “Wish me luck.”

With quiet footsteps, he moves to the curtained window. Drawing back the drapes, he opens the sliding door and steps out onto the small Juliet balcony. It looks like my Romeo has an escape plan. I rise and move to stand at his shoulder.

“Are you sure?” I whisper. “It’s a long way down.”

“Dead easy,” he replies, leaning in to press a final farewell kiss. I melt into it, savouring his lips so warm in contrast to the wisps of chill night air brushing across my cheek. At least I’ll have this memory if he kills himself plummeting from my balcony.

Geordie levers himself onto the railing. He swings one leg over, then a second, before gripping the steel and twisting around to hang from the side, long arms stretched like an orangutan, legs dangling. It’s effortless, his upper body strength perfect for this.

For someone with his length of leg, it’s only a small drop to the ground below. He lets go and lands in a half-crouch, with a solid thud.

Grinning up at me, Geordie stands, offers a wave, and jogs off down the driveway. Thank god he had the sense to leave the van down the side road. I hope he’s going to make it that far. Securitylights fire into life as he passes each sensor, and I hold my breath, waiting for the front door to fling open and my father to appear. That’s absolutely not the thing I want because Dad’s the sort of guy who believes he could still run down and tackle an intruder.

With Geordie’s rugby-honed speed and agility, I doubt Dad would catch him, but he’d get close enough to identify a certain lanky blindside flanker with a mop of golden curls and no good reason to be on our property at nine-thirty on a Wednesday night.

I brace myself. No door bursts open. No yelling. The only sound, besides the thumping of my heart, is the rhythm of cowboy boots, echoing down the driveway and fading into the dark.

Chapter 26

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