Sara Stone - Full Exposure

Eric stopped by the tree line, chatting with a few of the firefighters. He had changed into clean jeans, a Moore Timber T-shirt, and cowboy boots for the picnic. In one hand, he held a beer. To most people, he probably looked relaxed, having conquered a forest fire hours earlier. But even from a distance Georgia could see the tension in his body, in the way he gripped his beer and scanned the crowd every few minutes while listening to his friends.

Leaning against the thick trunk of a pine tree, Georgia looked away, focusing on Nate. She didn’t have a clue how long she’d been standing there when she heard footsteps crunching the pine needles and fallen leaves. Her muscles tensed until she spotted Eric. He’d slipped into the trees and was moving toward her, his steps intent and determined.

“Are you all right?” Despite his broad shoulders, all six feet plus of him managed to stand in the tree’s shadow, virtually hidden from the people on the grass.

She nodded. “Fine.”

Eric stepped closer, transforming the open-aired space into something intimate. Their shoulders were practically touching as they both watched Nate play with the dog. Being this close to Eric, she could feel the tension she’d sensed while watching him. He was like a caged lion waiting to pounce. But just like the other night when she’d burst into his bedroom and dropped her towel, he held back.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

She shoved her hands into the pocket of her jeans to keep from reaching out and touching his jean-clad leg or company T-shirt hugging tight to his muscular arms. His presence sent her common sense rushing into battle with the need burning through her body to touch him, feel him, kiss him. She wanted to peel away his clothes to reveal the rough and rugged man beneath. She wanted—

“You’re avoiding the party,” he added.

“I wanted to keep an eye on Nate without the crowd distracting me,” she said.

He turned and she felt him looking her over, head to toe. “I think you’re the distraction,” he murmured, his deep voice pushing hard against her resolve to keep her hands to herself. “I thought I told you to put a shirt on.”

Georgia glanced down at the loose tank top draped over her purple bikini. The neckline rested low across her breasts, revealing part of her bathing suit. The sides were open. A strong breeze could literally blow her shirt away. But that was the style. Cutouts were in. At least according to the magazine she’d picked up in the grocery store. After more than a year of wearing the same uniform day after day, she’d wanted clothes that made her feel young and feminine.

She shrugged. “It’s a cookout.”

“It is.” He shifted his gaze away from her shirt, looking to the clearing between his stone patio and the pond. “But if you wanted to hide, you could have chosen a better camouflage.”

“I’m not hiding. Just taking a break. Too many bodies in one place makes me nervous.”

Eric frowned and stepped back. One minute, he’d appeared ready to press her up against the tree. But now? Desire had given way to concern.

“I didn’t realize crowds were a problem,” he said.

Georgia shrugged. Sometimes she didn’t know herself until she walked into a situation what would happen. After living in a constant state of high alert, it was hard to shake the feeling that a threat was always there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

She stared at Nate and the retriever. “Crowds are unpredictable. That’s one of the first things they tell you when you step off the plane over there. They drill it into you. And now? Too many people in one place . . . it feels like an easy target.”

“You’re not a target, Georgia,” he said quietly. “Not anymore. You’re safe here.”

“I know.” Why was it so hard to escape the lingering fears now that she was home? She wanted to package these feelings up and ship them back to the war zone she’d left behind. It was time to move on. And it was up to her to make that happen.

Georgia turned, pressing her back against the tree. She could still see Nate playing and laughing with his new four-legged best friend, but her focus turned to Eric. Shifting against the tree, she allowed the rough bark to catch her shirt, drawing it up in the back. The front of her tank drifted down, revealing more of her breasts.

Eric followed the shirt’s movements, his blue eyes narrowing. He looked as if he were one step away from reaching for her with a wild growl. But he stepped back. Georgia caught his hand before he moved outside the tree’s shadow, lacing her fingers through his, holding tight.

“Are you here, checking up on me, as my boss or my friend?” she asked.

He squeezed her hand. “Your friend, Georgia. Nothing changes that, OK?”

Georgia nodded. “Good.”

The promise that she would not upset their friendship cut away at the barriers. Maybe, just maybe . . . Her hand, still entwined with his, gave a gentle tug. But Eric didn’t budge. It was as if his feet were locked in place by his strong moral code.

I’m your boss, your friend, and Liam’s friend. And Georgia, that’s where we need to draw the line.

His words from the other day echoed in her mind. But knowing he would always be her friend, part of her wanted to step across.

“Eric?” A man’s voice cut through the trees.

He released her.

“Hey, there you are.” Paul Smith, one of the local firefighters and a friend of hers from high school, approached. He walked through the trees, his sandals crunching the fallen leaves. Like the other guys who’d worked alongside Eric the past few days, Paul had taken the time to shower and change—in his case, into cargo shorts and a T-shirt—before driving over.

Eric nodded. “Checking in with Georgia. You need something?”

Paul raised his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck. Georgia’s gaze went straight to his right bicep, her eyes widening. When he flexed his arm—holy cow. Paul, the kid who’d been a shrimp in high school, now had the muscles of four men. She’d met some ripped men in the army, but Paul put them to shame. But while she could admire his physique, looking didn’t make her want to touch. Not like with Eric.

“Actually, I was going to ask you where I could find Georgia.” Paul turned to her. “Hey. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, her fingers brushing the bare skin in the cutouts.

Georgia focused on Paul, doing her best to pretend Eric didn’t command her attention just by standing nearby, towering over them. “How’s your family? Is your mom still raising llamas?”

“She is,” Paul said, his face transformed by a boyish grin. “My sister moved home and is helping her.”

“Georgia,” Eric said tightly. “You might want to check on Nate. I need you to make sure he stays away from the pond.”

She looked past Paul, scanning the open grass for her charge. Since she’d taken refuge in the trees, Nate had moved closer to the house, and away from the pond.

“Before you take off,” Paul said, stepped forward, reaching for her. But a quick glance at Eric and Paul dropped his hand without touching her. “I heard you’re into outdoor sports. I’m off tomorrow night and was planning to hike the Columbia River Gorge, see the waterfalls, maybe camp out. I’d like the company if you’re interested.”

“I—”

“She can’t.” Eric moved to her side, placing his palm on the small of her back. It felt as if every nerve in her body rushed to greet his hand and beg him to stay, to keep a hold on her. “She has plans. I need her tomorrow. To work.”

Georgia reached for anger. He didn’t have a right to claim her, to steal her away from an adventure and demand that she work overtime on a Friday night. But his hand on her, and her body’s needy response, said otherwise.

She struggled to find her righteous indignation. But it wasn’t there. She walked into his space the other night. She’d invaded, demanding that he pay attention to the desire burning between them. He was fighting hard against it. But in this moment, he’d let it rise to the top.

“Sorry,” Georgia said to Paul. “Maybe some other time.”

Eric’s fingers pressed into her back, a silent hell, no.

Paul backpedaled, moving out of the trees, his eyes darting back and forth between her and Eric. “Sure thing. I’m going to grab another beer. Take care, Georgia.”

Paul disappeared into the crowd, and Eric’s hand fell away. Georgia grabbed it, holding tight to keep him from vanishing into the open space.

“I have plans?” she asked. “Is that true or were you just trying to save me from an adventure?”

Eric frowned. “A long walk uphill through the woods doesn’t sound exciting.”

Georgia looked over at where Paul stood, fresh beer in hand, talking to his buddies with his broad back to them. “He’s a firefighter. He works search and rescue in these mountains. I bet he could have carried me up the gorge.”

“You’d never let him.” His tone was clear and decisive.

Georgia opened her mouth to object and then closed it.

“You’re right,” she said finally. “I wouldn’t. Not when I’m perfectly capable of reaching the top on my own two feet. And I think a climb sounds like fun.”

“Georgia—”

“Maybe I should find a sitter for tomorrow and take him up on his offer.” She released him and stepped toward the cleared, fresh-cut grass.

Eric grabbed her arm and she froze. “Find a sitter and I’ll take you out. Hiking, climbing, whatever you want.”

Georgia looked down at his fingers wrapped around her bicep and then up at his face. His blue eyes burned intense and unwavering, making her feel as if she were the only person for one hundred miles. She saw darkness and desire—as if she were seeing another part of the career-focused, do-the-right-thing man she’d known forever.

The corner of her mouth lifted, and her pulse sped up a notch. “Why?”

“Just being a good friend.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? I think you crossed the line.”

“Not yet, Georgia.” He let go of her arm, turning toward the group of men gathered around the beer. “Not yet.”

ERIC TURNED INTO his driveway. As the house came into view, he could no longer ignore the fact that he’d agreed to an adventure with a woman who was living and working for him. A woman he was supposed to keep out of trouble. He could tell himself he was playing the part of the concerned friend until he was blue in the face. It wouldn’t change the fact that when someone else offered to take Georgia hiking, he wanted to scream: she’s mine.

But Georgia didn’t belong to anyone. And judging by the way she’d reacted to the crowd, she needed a friend more than anything. Georgia had a mountain of issues to work through. She was like a wildfire, burning out of control. He wanted to help rein her in, but he didn’t want to get burned in the process.

Eric tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Whatever he felt for her, he had to bury it. Deep. As he had for the past decade.

He pressed the button on the remote. Waiting for the garage door, he glanced to his right. In the grassy area beside the house, Georgia stood in a pair of form-fitting blue jeans, cowgirl boots, and a flowing white tank held together in the back with a panel of lace. Between the boots and the frilly top, she was a picture-perfect farm girl. Holding a gas can.

Eric’s foot hit the break. With the nose of his car in his parking space, he watched her fill up one of his four-wheelers. When she finished, she turned to the second. On the back of that one, he saw a picnic basket, two bows, and a quiver of arrows bungee corded to the rack.

Eric drove into the garage, stepped out of his car, and went to find Georgia. “Four wheeling to dinner?” he asked.

She turned the cap on the second gas tank before glancing up at him. “I thought a picnic would be more discreet. And this will ensure we’re home before dark.”

He raised a brow. “Turning into a pumpkin when the sun sets?”

“I don’t want to ruin your reputation, Mr. Straightlaced.”

She headed into the garage and Eric followed, watching as she rose to her tiptoes and reached for a high shelf. Her shirt rode up, revealing a slim section of her back. Mr. Straightlaced? He wasn’t so sure.

His mind traveled back to the other night when she exploded in a rush on his bed. He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want to stop there. The things he wanted to do to her . . .