The Millionaire Takes A Bride. Kate Little

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      “I have no intention now, nor have I ever wished to marry your brother,” she answered honestly. Though she could not deny that for the purposes of throwing Jackson Bradshaw’s private investigators on the wrong scent, she, Will and Faith had done all they could to create a convincing, false trail, including taking out a marriage license in town and printing a phony engagement announcement in the local paper. All in the hopes of luring Jackson to Texas while Will and Faith were off to some mystery location, tying the knot.

      “Don’t lie to me—” he replied in a low, threatening tone.

      He moved even closer and Georgia tipped her head back to look up at him.

      “I know,” she said, interrupting. “I’ve been warned. You can’t stand pretense—especially from a female.”

      He didn’t say anything. Just continued to stare down at her, a grim, unreadable expression on his face. Deep in his eyes she saw a flash of fire—was it anger? Or desire?

      When she felt his large hands grip her upper arms she wasn’t surprised. His hold was firm, and she felt the warmth of his hands through her robe. She had the sense that if she struggled against him, his grip would tighten. But somehow the thought didn’t scare her.

      “I can’t see you with my brother,” he said in a low, intimate tone that made her heartbeat race. “You’re not his type. Not at all.”

      “Oh, really?” Georgia replied, vaguely amused. “Am I too tall do you think? Too…brash?”

      “You’re a handful. The kind who needs a stronger man than my brother at the helm, I’ll tell you that much.”

      “But we’ve only met, what…? Ten minutes ago? How could you have any idea what type I am?” Georgia insisted.

      “Oh, but I do,” he assured her in a deep, quiet voice. “I know all about you, Georgia Price. All I need to know. Believe me,” he promised.

      Had he pulled her imperceptibly closer? Georgia couldn’t be sure. Yet she was suddenly conscious of his nearness, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin.

      She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and suddenly looked away. She felt in over her head. Way over her head.

      “Are you blushing?” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward his so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hmm, you are. How charming,” he said sweetly. “Didn’t take you for the blushing type. Or is this some further performance? Hoping to find my sympathetic side?”

      “Your…sympathetic side?” she stammered.

      “You sound surprised. Don’t you think I have one?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.” Once again, she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held her firmly, forcing her to look directly in his eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to sound calm and unmoved, she thought, despite the tremors that shook her within. His face was so close to hers, barely a breath away, and as his gaze dropped down to her mouth some inner alarm sounded, warning that he was about to kiss her.

      “Ridiculous…yes, of course,” he murmured in a husky tone, still staring hungrily down at her lips. “I assure you, Ms. Price, I’m trying very hard not to be…”

      Then his dark head dipped toward hers, and his hand lifted her chin. Georgia thought to pull away, to make some forceful protest, but all she could do was lift her hands and press them again his chest. The sensation of his firm muscles against her fingertips wasn’t the dash of cold water she needed at the moment. To the contrary, making contact with his hard, warm body had just the opposite effect, shutting down her powers of reasoning completely.

      Georgia sighed and closed her eyes—as much a sign of pure frustration with herself as a sign of her surrender. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed, and in a heartbeat she felt herself pulled into his hard embrace, her mouth covered by the seeking, seductive touch of his lips.

      It was shocking.

      It was wonderful.

      It was a pure revelation.

      Despite all rational and moral objections Georgia might have voiced in saner moments to kissing a man she barely knew—especially this man—she found herself swept away by the moment, giving herself over to the wave of sensual pleasure that suddenly crashed over her, body and soul.

      Her arms moved up to circle his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the thick, damp strands of his hair. His mouth glided over hers, coaxing, tasting and teasing until she couldn’t help but respond. She moaned quietly in the back of her throat, and the small sound inspired him with a new surge of ardor.

      Heavens, it had been months—no, years—since she’d been kissed like this. Had she ever been kissed like this?

      Then, just as Georgia began to call a halt, she was saved. A small voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Georgia heard it as if it echoed from miles away.

      “Mommy?”

      Noah. He’d woken up.

      Georgia sprang away from Jackson’s hold as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod. She ran over to the staircase and started up, toward her son, some part of her mind reflecting that it was funny how a child might sometimes sleep through a tornado—then wake up to the sound of a toothbrush dropping on the floor three rooms away.

      “It’s okay, honey. Everything’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”

      He rubbed his eyes sleepily but didn’t budge until she reached him at the landing. “I heard voices. It sounded like you were talking to someone…. Is someone here?”

      Georgia wondered for a moment if she should tell one of the little white lies that help adults survive parenthood, for she could make Noah believe all he had heard was the TV. Then she thought best not to, realizing that Noah could easily get out of bed again and see Jackson Bradshaw.

      With a hand on Noah’s shoulder she gently guided him back toward his bedroom. “Mommy has a visitor. But he’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

      “A visitor?” Noah sounded confused. And rightly so. Georgia rarely dated and never had men over for the night, out of consideration for her son. “Who’s here?”

      “Just a man who got lost in the rain on the road,” she said. The explanation satisfied her as it wasn’t a total fabrication, from what Jackson had told her of his journey. “His car broke down near our house and he needs to call up for a ride to town.”

      There, that should appease even Noah’s eight-year-old, insatiable mind, she decided.

      She flipped back the comforter on Noah’s bed. “Okay, back to bed now.”

      “How is this man going to get a ride to town?” Noah protested as he climbed back under his quilt imprinted with the infamous Curious George. “He’ll never get a ride into town in the middle of the night, Mom,” Noah assured her.

      “Hmm, we’ll see.” Georgia tugged the quilt up over his small body and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

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