Nothing.
The text I sent at seven this morning—You okay?— just sits there, delivered but unread.
She’s probably still asleep. But something twists in my gut anyway. A restlessness that has me checking my phone every five minutes.
I bury myself in emails, budget reports, contractor updates—anything to keep me from circling back to her.
The hours crawl by. Still nothing.
Eleven o’clock. Noon. One.
The silence is driving me crazy.
I call her. Straight to voicemail. Her phone’s either dead or off. I try again an hour later. Same thing.
I heard lads staggering home at six this morning, shouting their lungs out. Her door was hanging wide when I dropped her off last night. What if Fee stumbled in and left it open again? What if some pissed-up bastard followed her in?
I can’t sit here a second longer.
I grab my keys, shove on my boots, and head straight for her cottage. I knock hard.
The door swings open, and there she is—green eyes blinking up at me, startled and sleepy.
Air rushes out of me before I can stop it. “You’re okay.”
Her hands fly to her face. “You can’t see me like this!”
I frown. “Like what?”
She peeks through her fingers, voice muffled by her palms. “Likethis!”
Her hair’s sticking up in every direction. She’s swimming in a T-shirt that readsHave you tried turning it off and on again?that’s slipped off one shoulder. No bra—that much is distractingly obvious. Shorts covered in the fucking Periodic Table. There’s a pillow crease on her left cheek.
I’ve had supermodels sprawled across my bed, professionals who’ve turned seduction into an art form. Not one of them has ever affected me like Georgie does right now—standing barefoot in her doorway, wearing an IT support joke and looking rumpled.
This is wrong. My wiring’s completely fucked. Since when do Periodic Table shorts work better than Agent Provocateur?
Last night crashes back—the mirror, her reflection as she came apart on my fingers, the broken little sounds she tried to muffle. The way her whole body trembled, trusting me completely. Something hot and possessive coils in my gut. I was the first man to give her that. It feels almost sacred.
Fuck, how does this even work?
She’s still my employee. Still Jake’s sister. What am I supposed to tell him when he gets back?Everything’s grand, mate. Your sister’s thriving. Oh, and I’ve had my tongue inside her.
The logistics are a nightmare. The morality’s worse.
“I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,” she moans through her fingers. “And I’m wearing my shame pajamas that no one is ever supposed to see.”
“Your shame pajamas have arsenic on your crotch.”
Her hands drop. “That’s silver, actually. Ag. Arsenic would be As.”
“I flunked chemistry.”
“Sorry.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t mean to correct you; it’s just... automatic. My brain can’t help itself. Very annoying, I’m told.”
“Not annoying.” I lean against the doorframe, studying her. “Head a bit sore today?”
She presses her fingertips to her temples, wincing. “Everything hurts. Even my hair hurts. I didn’t realize the Scottish were so wild.”
