The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

whipped up some grilled cheese.” She opened the door with her hip, carrying a plate with two sandwiches, and a glass of what I knew was unsweetened iced tea.

“That sounds amazing, thank you.” I took the coaster from the top drawer and had it on the desk before she reached me. Funny how we’d both adapted so easily to the needs of the other over these last few weeks.

“You’re very welcome. Thanks for digging us out.” She put the plate to the side of my laptop, and the tea on the coaster as I wheeled the chair back a few inches.

“My pleasure.” I gripped her hips and pulled her into my lap. God, it felt good to be able to do that—to touch her whenever I wanted. The last two days had cut us off from most of civilization and allowed us to do nothing but indulge in pleasing each other. This was my idea of heaven.

“This isn’t going to help you get the book done.” She smiled, looping her arms around my neck.

“No, but it’s going to help me get my hands on you.” I slid one hand up the nape of her neck and into her hair, then kissed her until we were both breathless. My need for her hadn’t been sated; if anything, it had only grown. I was completely and totally out of my depth with her, with everything I wanted to happen between us.

The first time I’d seen her, I’d known, and every time I kissed her, it only became more apparent—she was it for me. The one. The endgame. It didn’t matter that we lived a thousand miles apart or that she was still healing from her divorce. I’d wait. I’d prove myself. I’d do exactly as I promised and win her over, not just her body, but her heart.

Her tongue danced with mine, and she groaned softly when I sucked it into my mouth. We weren’t just well-matched in bed, we were combustible, constantly catching fire for the other. For the first time in my life, I knew I was never going to get enough. This was something incapable of burnout.

“Noah,” she whimpered, and my body was there, ready. I was hers to do with as she pleased, knowing it would sure as hell please me at the same time. “You’re killing me.”

“It’s a pretty sweet way to go.” I moved my lips down her neck, running my tongue over the sensitive lines and inhaling the scent of bergamot and citrus. She always smelled so damned good.

She sighed, rolling her head back, and I kissed the hollow of her throat.

“What are we doing?” she asked, her fingers gripping the back of my neck.

“Whatever we want,” I answered against her skin.

“I’m serious,” she whispered.

That got my attention. I lifted my head and drew back slightly, studying her expression. Half of what Georgia said never came out of her mouth. It was in her eyes, the set of her mouth, the tension in her shoulders. It might have taken me a few months to learn her cues, but I was catching on, and she was worried.

“We’re doing whatever we want,” I repeated, shifting my hands to her waist, and ignoring the nearly painful throbbing just beneath my belt.

“You live in New York.”

“I do.” It wasn’t something I could deny. “You used to.” My tone softened, the hope I usually kept to myself sneaking in that last bit.

“Never again.” She dropped her gaze. “I went for Damian. I was never happy there. You, on the other hand, love it.”

“I do. It’s home.” Or was it? Could it be my home if Georgia wasn’t there? If I had to leave her in these mountains she loved?

“Your family’s there.” She stroked her knuckles down my cheek. It had been over a week since I’d shaved, and my stubble had moved into beard territory.

“They are.”

She swallowed, her eyebrows knitting.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Georgia. Don’t make me guess.” My grip tightened on her slightly, as if I could keep her from slipping away.

Still, she stayed silent, her turbulent thoughts manifesting in the subtle tightening of her jaw.

Maybe she needs you to go first. Right. Time to tell her just how deep I was in this, how willing I was to make it work, and how unwilling I was to let her go.

“Look, Georgia, I’m wild about—”

“I think we should just call this what it really is,” she blurted.

We spoke at the same time, her words halting mine.

“And what is it?” I asked slowly.

“A fling.” She nodded.

My jaw snapped shut, my teeth clicking with the force. A fling? What the hell? I’d had my share of flings. This was not one of them.

“We’re attracted to each other, working in close quarters… It was bound to happen, and don’t get me wrong. I’m glad it did.” She lifted her brows and her cheeks pinkened. “Really, really glad it did.”

“Me too…”

“Good. I’d hate to feel like this was all one-sided,” she muttered.

“Trust me, it’s not.” And if it was, I was the one on the heavily invested side, which was a first.

“Okay, then. Let’s keep it simple. I’m not ready for anything big. I can’t just jump from one serious relationship right to the next. That’s not who I want to be.” Her nose crinkled. “Even if I did just dive from Damian’s bed to yours—which is much better, by the way. Everything about you is better.” Her gaze skimmed my face. “So much better it’s scary.”

“You don’t have to be scared.” I didn’t bother pointing out that it had been over a year since she’d been in Ellsworth’s bed, because that wasn’t what this was about, not really. Her mother. She didn’t want to be her mother. “We can keep this as simple as you need.”

In that second, staring into those crystal blue eyes, I realized I was head over fucking heels in love with Georgia Stanton. Her mind, her compassion, her strength, her grace and grit—I loved everything about her.