Sara Stone - Full Exposure

“And I don’t want being at war to be the last big thing I do with my life,” she said softly.

“It won’t be,” he said, his voice firm, as if issuing a command.

“Making the declaration and putting it into words are two different things,” she said ruefully.

Eric stared at her, his gaze unwavering. For years, she’d craved his attention, hoping he’d look longingly at her. Not that his expression held a hint of desire right now. He was assessing, analyzing. “Do you remember when you were eight and your class adopted a child in Africa?”

Georgia’s brow furrowed. “Yes. She was from a small village, and her parents were struggling to feed her and her family. She wanted to go to school.”

“After school that day, Liam and I rode home with you in the carpool with Marshall Thompson. You declared that you were going to become president of the world and once you were elected, you’d make sure every girl in Africa could go to school and grow up to be a doctor. Marshall laughed at you and told it was impossible.” Eric sat up, reaching for a napkin. “You tried to take a swing at him in the backseat of his mom’s station wagon.”

“Yeah, but we’re not kids anymore, remember?” she said. “It’s not that easy. And Marshall Thompson was right. You can’t run for president of the world.”

Eric smiled as he wiped his hands clean and set the napkin aside. He sat across from her, so close she could reach out and touch his arms, his shoulders, his chest . . .

“Maybe you’d be the first,” he said, his blue eyes locked with hers. “I have a feeling you can do anything you put your mind to, Georgia.”

His smile and the laughter in his eyes faded, eclipsed by burning intensity.

“Anything?” she said softly, her gaze dropping to his lips.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. She watched as tension rippled through his muscles. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch before catching himself, his hands forming fists, pressing into the picnic blanket.

Georgia looked up. Heat, wanting, it was all there in his expression. Her heartbeat went a notch higher. But this time, the parts of her body begging to respond to that look weren’t the same ones that felt the rush when she shot arrows.

“If I can do anything . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she felt him intently studying her mouth. But then he shifted away, as if adding physical space would help. And heaven help her, she wanted to close that gap.

Georgia inhaled sharply. Her courage ran deep. She knew that. She just hoped it wouldn’t fail her, because right here, right now, she wanted to kiss him. One kiss. It wasn’t too much. She knew she shouldn’t, but that didn’t quiet the need, burning bright, ignited by years of wishing she could touch her mouth to his.

Leaning in, she captured his lips, kissing him lightly. Not enough to taste him. But that simple connection—her mouth pressed to his—sent shock waves through her body. Nothing else touched. She kept her hands firmly planted on the picnic blanket, and his remained at his side. She felt his lips part as if he wanted to take control of the kiss. But he held back.

His jaw tightened, his lips closing tight as he pulled away. Georgia didn’t move. The firm line of his mouth, the way the muscles in his forearms tensed against his rolled-up shirtsleeves—Eric was the picture of self-restraint. But his eyes told a different story. In their deep blue depths, she saw how close he was to setting his unwavering moral compass aside and taking what he wanted.

Her.

A thrill ran through her body. Damn it, she yearned for it to, not wanting to think beyond this moment and the rush of physical desire.

“You still haven’t touched me,” she said, letting her words push against his resolve.

“I’m not going to.” His voice sounded strained, as if holding back took everything he had.

“Eric.” She tilted forward, every wild, reckless fiber of her being pushing her to demand another kiss.

His hand touched her face, cupping her cheek, gently holding her lips away from his. She pressed against his palm and closed her eyes. Slowly, she felt him draw near. But his mouth didn’t find hers.

“Eric. Please. I want this.” She kept her eyes shut. They were so close, his breath brushed her ear, teasing, taunting, and stirring her desire. She lifted one hand, wanting to rest it on the front of his shirt, but his free hand wrapped around her wrist, holding her away.

“You think I don’t?” His voice was low and raw. “I want to run my hands over you, Georgia. I’m dying to feel the weight of your breasts. Hold them up to my mouth. I want to lick every damn inch of you. When you come I want you to know it’s because I’m touching you, tasting you.”

He drew back and she opened her eyes. There was fire in his expression—threatening, exciting, and downright primal. In sharp contrast, the rise and fall of his chest remained measured and controlled. But just barely. He was holding on to control by a thread. And if she had scissors, she’d have shredded his resolve along with his shirt.

Eric relaxed his hold on her wrist, but he didn’t let go. It was almost as if he knew she was thinking about undoing the buttons and stripping off the fabric. The man who’d spelled out what he wanted didn’t belong in button-down business clothes.

“I want to touch you, Georgia, but I can’t.” He released her, pushing away and rising to his feet. “It’s not right.”

“Are you sure?” she challenged. “Because it feels more than right.”

Eric turned away, scooped up the bows, and headed for the four-wheelers. “We should head home.”

Georgia nodded. But she didn’t move. Right or wrong, she didn’t want to go back, only forward.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Eric went from dead asleep to awake in an instant, a skill that came with having a toddler in the house. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he heard the door creak.

Georgia. Her name, the memory of her lips touching his, her question—Are you sure?—was front and center in his mind. He’d gone to bed thinking about her, his body still reeling from that simple kiss. He wanted her, had for years, and he couldn’t flip a switch and turn it off, even if that was the right thing to do.

“Uncle Eric?”

Nate’s soft voice cut through the darkness, pushing aside all thoughts of the little boy’s nanny. Eric tossed off the covers, walked over where his nephew stood by the door, and crouched in front of Nate. “What’s up, buddy?”

“My room is dark.” His nephew wrapped his arms tight around Eric’s neck. “And there’s a bear.”

“The bear is back?” Eric stood, lifting Nate with him, and headed for the hall. This wasn’t the first time Nate’s nighttime fears, which often masqueraded as bears, had woken him. But in the past, his nephew had stayed in his room, crying. The sound carried through the monitor, and Eric went in to comfort his nephew. Always. But tonight, Nate had sought him out.

“He is in your room?” Eric asked.

He felt Nate nod.

“OK, buddy. Let’s check it out.” Eric carried Nate up the stairs to the study he’d converted into a child’s bedroom. In the corner, the frog nightlight cast a pale green glow over the blue walls decorated with train stickers.

“Where’d you see this bear?”

“Over there.” Nate pointed to the bookcase. “And there.” His finger moved to the child-size table. He spoke with absolute certainty. Eric nodded, knowing words would not be enough to convince his nephew the room was bear-free. He had to prove it. He gently laid Nate down in his toddler bed and pretended to search.

“The bear’s gone, buddy.” Eric knelt beside Nate’s bed, checking to make sure his nephew still had his stuffed frog.

“Stay with me?” A little hand reached out from beneath the blankets and grabbed his larger one. “The bears might come back. But not if you’re here.”

The words hit Eric square in the chest. This little boy needed him. Tonight, tomorrow, and for the rest of his life. Eric didn’t have the luxury of living in the moment with Georgia. Kissing her, touching her, was more than a question of right or wrong. Hearing those words, he was sure of one thing: he couldn’t risk inconsistency in Nate’s life.

“I’ll stay.”

Holding his nephew’s hand, Eric stretched out on the floor beside the small bed and closed his eyes.

“Thank you, Uncle Eric,” Nate murmured. Judging from his voice, his nephew was on the edge of sleep. “I’m not scared anymore.”

Eric gave Nate’s hand a light squeeze. “Anytime, buddy. I’ll keep watch for the bears tonight. I promise.”

And he’d do the same tomorrow.

Lying in the dark, his thoughts drifted back to Georgia. He pictured her standing with her bow drawn, poised to hit her target. She was an irresistible blend of power and beauty, so damn determined.

Are you sure?

Those words, the challenge in her voice, continued to haunt him. Because as much as he knew he should, he couldn’t let her go.

ERIC WOKE TO sunlight pouring in the windows. His back ached from lying on the hardwood floor for most of the night, and he’d lost feeling in his left hand due to the fact that he’d held it up, clasped to his nephew’s, for hours. Sitting up, he looked down at the still-sleeping Nate in his small bed. The kid looked so damn content, as if everything was all right in his world because Eric had stayed to protect him from the bears that roamed the house after dark. Eric smiled. Maybe Georgia was right. Maybe he was on his way to being a good father figure for the kid.

“Hey, buddy.” Eric withdrew his hand from Nate’s and reached up to brush the hair out of the little boy’s face. “Time to rise and shine. I think I smell breakfast downstairs.”

Nate blinked. “What day is it?”

“Saturday.” Eric pushed up off the floor. “And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“Pancakes!” Nate bounced out of bed, going from sleep to bursting with excitement in an instant.

“Yup,” Eric said. “I’m going to get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Nate was out the door in a flash. Eric followed, pausing at the top of the stairs. He waited until he heard Georgia greet Nate in the kitchen before he took the steps two at a time to his room. By the time he entered the kitchen, the pancakes and bacon were on the table. Georgia stood by the coffeemaker, pouring two cups. She wore her usual jeans and T-shirt, her feet bare as she moved swiftly and efficiently around his kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said.

Georgia turned and smiled at him, holding a full mug. “Just in time. Here’s your coffee.”

“Thanks.” He took the cup, careful not to brush her fingers, and sat across from Nate. He felt as if last night had turned his world on its axis, forcing him to map out, in graphic detail, what he wanted—and then walk away. He’d chosen the correct path, but hell, seeing Georgia, it didn’t feel right.

She stood over his nephew’s chair holding the maple syrup. “You’re on syrup restriction,” Georgia said firmly as she poured a modest serving on top of Nate’s pancakes. “Your breakfast should not be swimming in a pool of sugar.”

“And you”—she turned to Eric—”are on bacon restriction.”

Eric set his coffee down on the table and glanced at the modest serving of bacon, then up at Nate. “She’s bossy today.”

The little boy didn’t look up from his plate. “Because she’s a solider. Soldiers are bossy.”

“She told you that?” Eric reached for the syrup, following Georgia’s movements out of the corner of his eye.

Nate nodded. “When I grow up, I want to be bossy too. But not a solider.”

Georgia set her mug and plate down beside Nate. “He’s going to be the boss of the trains,” she said. “Right, Nate?”

“Uh-huh. Uncle Eric,” Nate said, pushing his empty plate away, “am I still going to Grandma’s house tonight?”

“If you want to,” Eric said. His mother had asked for monthly sleepovers with her grandson, but he never pushed Nate to go. Eric knew firsthand how fickle his mother’s attentions could be, and he didn’t want that hurt to touch Nate. But he couldn’t flat out refuse to let Nate see her when she lived only an hour away. The kid didn’t have much family left. “I can drive you over there today.”

“I want to go,” Nate said. “I want to see if Grandma’s dog had puppies yet.”

Eric pulled out his phone and texted his mom to confirm the visit. Without Nate around, he could catch up on work or sleep, maybe both. His phone vibrated and Eric looked down at the screen. “You’re all set, buddy. Grandma is expecting you this afternoon.”