Sara Stone - Full Exposure

“Eric, look at me.”

He set the monitor on the bedside table and turned to her. Wearing a towel like some men wore kilts, low around his hips, highlighting the sculpted path down his stomach to what lie below, Eric stood with his feet apart and planted firmly on the floor. His hands moved to his waist as he watched and waited, following her orders.

“Watch my hands.” Her fingers shaking, she tugged at her towel. It fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. Her fingers brushed her breasts, drawing soft, teasing circles.

“Georgia,” he growled. He closed the space between them, tossing his towel aside, pulling her into his arms, and holding her tight against him.

“I thought you liked to watch,” she teased.

“Not tonight. I need to touch you.” He skimmed her low back, up her waist, and around to her front. He palmed her breasts, his hands caught between them. “But Christ, you’re still shaking. You’re cold.”

She reached for him, holding him close. “Warm me up.”

“I will.” His hands moved to her shoulders while every part of her screamed, touch me lower. “But first, a hot shower.”

He took her hand and led her into the attached master bath. He pulled a dry towel from the chrome bar with his free hand and draped it around her shoulders. He turned to the walk-in shower, opened the glass door, and adjusted the knobs. “It will take just a second to warm up.”

Georgia looked around the room. When stationed overseas, she’d dreamed about having this much personal space. Not to bathe, but to live and sleep. It was easy to forget sometimes how far Eric had moved from the life they’d lived growing up. He’d always been a step above her on the economic scale, but she’d figured her happy home life with two loving, still-married-to-each-other parents evened the score. Or at least it had back then.

She ran her hand over the marble counter, devoid of clutter except for his razor and, at the far edge, a stack of magazines with a book on top. She scanned the title. Soldiers with PTSD: A Case Study.

She turned and found Eric an arm’s length away, watching her, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Attempting to figure me out?” She tried for a light and playful tone—and failed. The more she thought about Eric reading this book, the more she wanted to scream. She held the towel tight, as if it could keep her cries bottled inside.

“Liam gave it to me,” he admitted without looking away.

“Have you read it?”

He held up his hands, palms out in a universal sign of surrender. “I want to understand, Georgia.”

She looked down at the cover. Four different pictures, all men in dress uniform, stared back at her. “I don’t think it is that simple. I have a hard time believing there is a textbook answer to how people cope with war. Everyone who serves and returns home has their own story and faces their own, very personal challenges.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

“Good.” She released her white-knuckle grip on the towel, but didn’t let it fall away.

“Georgia, for what it is worth, I’m sorry.”

Steam from the shower filled the room, warming her skin. But the sincerity she saw in his blue eyes sparked a feeling of heat and need deep inside. He cared. It was there in his expression, in his actions. “For reading a book? You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Georgia.”

He reached for her as if he thought she might bolt, run away, and hide. Her fear lingered, refusing to dissolve because she’d offered him a glimpse into what haunted her, but she was done pulling away from him.

“The mirror’s starting to fog up,” she said. “I think the shower is trying to tell us something.”

“What is it saying?” His fingertips brushed her cheek. He lowered his mouth to hers. This kiss—it was a gentle caress, so unlike the way he’d claimed her mouth in the pond. Her desire stirred, slowly smoldering, responding to him. And then he released her.

“I think it’s inviting us in.” She let the towel fall and took his hand, leading him to the glass door. She stepped inside. The warmth surrounded her, the steam hitting her first and then the spray from the shower.

Eric followed, pressing up against her. His erection rubbed her low back. Water ran between them, lubricating his movements as he flexed his hips, lightly thrusting back and forth, teasing and taunting.

“Reach your arms up.” His hands captured hers, lifting them, positioning her palms against the wall. “Hold them there. Don’t let go.”

His fingers ran down to her shoulders. Georgia closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensations, his hands on her breasts, her stomach, and finally between her thighs, exploring, experimenting with movement and pressure. His touch warmed her from the inside while the water worked on the outside.

He slipped a finger inside her, his thumb working slow circles over her clit. She wanted to explode, craved the orgasm more than her next breath, but not here, like this.

“I’m warm now.” She released the tile wall, turning to face him.

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Is the shower kicking us out?”

Georgia nodded as he turned the knobs. The water stopped. There was nothing between them. No place to bury her feelings. And this time, she didn’t want to leave them behind.

Running her hands up his powerful arms, she rose on her tiptoes, interlacing her fingers at the back of his neck. “I’m ready for bed.”

Palming her bottom, Eric lifted her. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Georgia obeyed, running her mouth and tongue over his neck as he carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed. She kept her eyes open, watching as he pulled out the drawer in his nightstand and withdrew a condom. He covered himself and joined her on the bed, his body hovering over hers.

Holding his weight on his forearms, he stared down at her silently, searching her expression. What did he need? What was he looking for? Whatever it was, she hoped he found it. For the first time, she felt as if she were giving him everything she had to offer.

“Please, Eric,” she whispered, “make love to me.”

She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his erection, guiding him until the tip touched her entrance. She let go, moving her hands to his hips. Her fingers pressed against his skin as her body lifted, taking him in. She didn’t look away.

“I need more,” she pleaded.

“Me too, Georgia,” he said softly. “Me too.”

He moved—thrusting again and again in a relentless rhythm, pushing her closer and closer.

“Eric,” she gasped.

“Now, Georgia,” he demanded, his jaw tight. “Now.”

The orgasm ripped through her. Above her, Eric tensed, holding himself still, deep inside her, finding his own release.

She clung to him, letting the emotions overwhelm her from head to toe. Her love for him swelled and fear followed, but this time she didn’t retreat. She held tight, trusting he’d be there to catch her if she fell apart.

ERIC WOKE TO an empty bed, the smell of breakfast drifting through the closed door. His body felt refreshed, renewed by the potent combination of sex and sleep, but his mind spun in ten different directions—the DOF investigation, Liam, Nate, Georgia.

He stood and took a quick, cold shower, his body responding to the memory of Georgia standing there, wet and slick with her hands against the wall. She’d let him in, allowing him to touch and explore. But he didn’t have time to remember.

He dressed and headed for the kitchen. Stepping through the archway, he focused on Georgia. She stood in front of the stove, shoveling eggs onto plates beside buttered toast. She wore her everyday uniform, jeans and a T-shirt. He read the words written across her chest. “Why Hug a Tree When You Can Hug a Logger?”

He wanted to draw her close, wrap his arms around her. Instead, he settled for leaning down and brushing a kiss over her lips, inhaling her sweet, freshly showered scent. And then he stepped back, knowing Nate would be down soon. Plus Eric had to get to work.

“Morning to you too.” She smiled at him. “You look fancy today. You’re probably the only logger in the county who owns a three-piece suit.”

“Another meeting with the Department of Forestry today,” he said. “I need to head out now. Can you take Nate to school?”

“Of course.” She held out a plate. “Do you have time for breakfast first?”

He shook his head. “Tell Nate I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to him this weekend. He’ll be in bed by the time I get home tonight. You OK to work late again?”

“Sure.” She moved to the table, setting the plate in front of Nate’s booster chair. “I’ll cancel my hot date.”

Eric froze, his briefcase in hand. The pond. The shower. The look in her eyes as she came beneath him on his bed. The images paraded through his mind. She’d been right there with him, open, trusting, and completely his.

“I’m kidding, Eric,” she said. “I don’t have plans. No hot dates. Go kick butt in your meetings today. Don’t worry about us. I’ll take care of Nate. We’ll be fine.”

He nodded. “Thank you. If you’re still up, maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“You will,” she said. “Count on it.”

Eric headed for his car, trying to focus his thoughts on work. But Georgia’s words, the soapy smell of her skin, and the mental picture of her smiling up at him, stayed with him as he drove down the drive and turned onto the main road.

Last night, Georgia had shared pieces of herself that she’d kept buried for the past few months. Her trust was like a living, breathing thing, right there beside them as she’d looked at the book Liam had given him, and then back at him. It had followed them into the shower, and into the bedroom.

But was that enough? Would it keep her from walking away?

Eric parked his car in front of the Department of Forestry building, mentally leaving his uncertainty at its side. Right now, he needed to focus on the investigation threatening his company and his best friend, and have faith Georgia would be waiting for him at the end of the day.

ERIC HEARD THE knock on his office door and lifted his head, glancing out the window. The last time he’d looked up the sun had been dipping behind the mountains. Now it had vanished. He’d been going over crew logs and paperwork ever since he’d left the meeting with Caroline Smith, the DOF director leading the investigation. If she’d been interested in a dinner date at some point, she wasn’t today. She’d been 100 percent professional. Not that Eric had offered. He was following the straight and narrow when it came to their investigation. He wanted to find out what happened as much as they did. It was his land and his responsibility.

“Come in,” he called.

Liam walked into the room, still dressed in his work clothes after pulling a long day in the field. Eric had assigned him to a BLM land harvest, but that was government property. Caroline Smith had pretty much told him to sideline Liam, especially when it came to Bureau of Land Management projects, until he was cleared of wrongdoing. She’d said if, but Eric wanted to believe it was a when.

“I got your message. What’s up?” Liam said, pausing in the doorway.

Liam never seemed comfortable in the office. And Eric could relate. It was hard to transition from working outside to a clean, refined office space. When Eric came in from a job, he often felt out of place in his boots and work clothes.

“Want a water or a beer?” Eric asked, pushing back from his desk.

“Water’s fine.”

Eric went to the minifridge he kept in the corner of his office and pulled out two plastic bottles. Handing one to Liam, he sat in one of the two leather chairs on the other side of his desk. Liam took the other.

“I heard the DOF was rough on you yesterday,” Liam said.

Eric nodded. “I met with Caroline again this morning. They received an anonymous tip that our crew was running the equipment and felling trees past one in the afternoon on the day the fire started. It was called in yesterday afternoon.”

“Shit.” Liam shook his head. “We weren’t. You know that. I was pushing the crew to get as far as we could so we could focus on loading the trucks. I had the guys from B&B Trucking waiting. We started loading by twelve forty-five that day.”

Eric nodded.

“It had to be the lightning that passed through the night before,” Liam said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.