“I did,” Keaton replied slowly, making the hair on the back of her neck rise.
He sounded like a man solving a puzzle. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to run back into the other room and lock the door behind her. She stopped herself—the excitement overrode the fear. It bubbled within her, making her want to writhe just as she had done in the abandoned stables in Hyde Park.
“So, let us discuss,” she prompted.
“I owe you an apology for my abrupt manner a few minutes ago. I was brought back to reality and did not like the notion that I might be the subject of gossip among my own staff. Then I wondered if it was contrived that way.”
“What way?”
“As an act of humiliation.”
“I would not!”
“But I do not know you.”
“You know me better than any other man.”
“Do I?” he shot back.
“Yes!” Georgia rose, forgetting her nakedness and the game she played in a moment of anger, “and I find it insulting that you suggest otherwise.”
“I am not trying to insult you—” he strained.
“You are succeeding remarkably well without trying.”
“—well, if you would stop interrupting me…”
“Then do not take advantage of me and then question my honor!” she finished with a stomp.
Now Keaton was on his feet, facing her with that unerring accuracy only he seemed capable of. In fury, his handsome features became terribly contorted, yet somehow more sensual in their beauty. Georgia stood her ground, facing him with chin raised. She wondered if her posture and physical attitude would communicate themselves to him through merely her voice. Or did he imagine her cowering before him?
“I did not take advantage of you,” he muttered, visibly regaining control of himself.
“And I apologize for speaking over you,” she replied.
“You have a habit of it,” he said drily.
“And you have a habit of incensing me to the point of rudeness.”
“At least you admit to the rudeness.”
Georgia was left with mouth open for a moment, realizing that she had talked herself into that trap. She chuckled and saw an answering smile on Keaton’s face. It transformed him from vengeful demigod to mere mortal.
“And I will admit to provoking you,” he extended an olive branch, “now, shall we sit and talk as adults?”
Georgia resumed her seat. Keaton sat too, but this time closer to Georgia than he had been. She put her hand to the chaise. By stretching her fingers, she could just about touch his. She nearly did so, stopping a hair’s breadth from making contact. His proximity was alluring. She wanted to touch him. To be touched by him. Even his prickly nature just seemed to make her attraction to him grow!
“A curious thing...” he said thoughtfully. “I am accustomed to hearing the sound of fabric whenever anyone moves. Particularly women, because of the nature of your garments. It is almost impossible for a fully dressed woman to move silently... But I hear nothing from you.”
Georgia blushed, and suddenly, Keaton reached over and placed one hand against her cheek.
“I think I can glean your color at this moment,” he murmured.
“What are you suggesting?” she replied in a husky voice that she felt sure was giving the game away entirely.
“I wonder what fabric I would feel if I were to move my hand lower…” he whispered.
“There is only one way that you will discover the answer to that question.”
