It was cluttered, but tidy, with a freestanding, open-backedbookshelf that made one room, two: a living area and a dining area.
The space was roomier than he would have guessed.The couchhad a gallery wall above it that looked interesting enough he knew he’d take acloser look at what she had up there later.The coffee table had a big wickerbasket under it, probably to tuck away throws.There was a chair that wasdefinitely there for looks, not comfort, made of clear plastic.And the lookworked, it was sheer cool.Toss pillows that ranged from animal prints toflorals that somehow worked.
The coffee table was completely covered.Stacked with books,some in a tray.A small decorative bowl, a squat vase with a pink puff of fakeflowers, a single taper candle adding dimension.
The bookshelves were totally books, though artfullyarranged, and not clogged, you could see through to the dining area which was asmall round table with steel-legged, plastic-seated bucket chairs.With thosechairs it was truth, it was kind of a marvel, how she’d made something cheaplook chic.
He’d furnished his own crib, so he knew the cost of shit,and the scale of quality that money bought you, and none of this wastop-of-the-line or even middle-of-the-road stuff.
But she’d made it work, it had personality, and it statedplain there was more to Georgiana.
She dove deep into her job, it meant something to her, andshe was good at it.
Her roommate had abandoned her cat, and Georgie had adoptedit.
She’d blown it with Dutch, liked him, and wentwaythe extra mile to make up for it.
She was loyal to a sister that didn’t deserve it.
She had guts.
She had spunk.
She was hilarious.
She knew how to use her mouth, and almost better, when tostop using it and let Dutch take what he wanted, and in doing it, give hermore.
And she cared about the space around her, made it hers,stamped it with her style, and it was interesting.
He turned his attention to her and finally took in what shewas wearing.
Another black sweater, this one a crewneck.A tan skirt.Pencil, fitting close to her hips, ass and thighs.Black boots, high heels, notridiculous drag-queen high, but still hot.She had a little scarf tied aroundher neck that had a pattern on it that was black and cream with some pinkthrown in.Her hair was up in a messy bunch at the back top of her head, withtendrils floating down.And she had studs in her ears that were little clustersof tiny pearls, and other than a watch glinting from under her long sleeve,that was the only jewelry she wore.
Class.Professionalism.Personality.
Jesus.
Thank fuck Jag and Carolyn blew off picking her up from theairport.
She’d pulled on a lightweight feminized peacoat and wasgrabbing her beat-up, cognac-colored leather backpack.
“Ready,” she said.
He jerked up his chin and looked down at the cat.“We’reouttahere.Catch you later.”
He got a buzzing “mwrr” before heput the cat down.
“Be good, Murtagh,” Georgiana ordered.
Sharing the affront he took at this, Murtagh turned his backon her and jumped on the couch, not bothering to reply.
Outside the apartment, after she made sure the self-closingdoor latched, Dutch took her hand and held it all the way down the hall, whiletagging the button to the elevator, waiting for the elevator, and then in theelevator.
It wasn’t until then that Georgie spoke.
“You’re a hand-holder.”
He looked down at her, starting to let go, asking, “You’renot?”
