Page 69 of Own the Eights
Georgie narrowed her gaze. “How’d you know he was the guy who hurt me?”
“When you’re not referring to me as the Emperor of Asshattery, you’re calling me a Brice Casey. I put two and two together tonight when he introduced himself. Then, when you were working the runway, he came up to me and told me he thought you were hot—like you were just some object to him—and I hated him because he didn’t see all of you.”
Georgie glanced away. “What do you see when you look at me?”
He smoothed a lock of her hair back into place, knowing what he had to say. Done denying what his heart knew for sure.
“I see kindness, intelligence, and determination. I see you, Georgiana. I see all of you. And I want every part. I want you, and I want anus, a real us that goes beyond whatever happens with the contest.”
She turned to him. “You do?”
“I do.”
Georgie was the first woman, besides his mother, to set foot in his childhood bedroom, and he wanted her to be the last. But could it work? They stared at each other as if contemplating the next move in a game of chess, and she read his mind.
“Do you think an eight and a ten can make it?” she asked just as he remembered one salient data point.
“We do have a sixty-nine percent overlap,” he replied, holding back a grin.
Her lips twisted into a sexy smirk. “So, we’ll be fine as long as we’resixty-nining? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
He was sure as hell ready to sixty-nine her into oblivion, but he wanted more. He wanted her.
He pulled her into his arms and leaned his forehead against hers. “As long as we’re together, nothing can stop us.”
“I agree,” she whispered, her breath tickling his chin.
He wanted to take her, right there, but then he remembered who was waiting at home for her.
“Do you need to get home to take care of Mr. Tuesday?”
She chuckled. “You got his name right.”
“Of course, I know his name. Do you think he’s okay? It’s been several hours.”
She ran her fingertips down his jawline. “I texted Irene while you were with your dad. She brought Mr. Tuesday over to her place. I figured with how late it was, we might crash here.”
“Always planning. That’s a ten quality,” he teased.
“Always conscientious. That’s an eight for you,” she countered.
But he was done caring about numbers, except for maybe sixty-nine.
“Can I kiss you, Georgiana? I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my entire life.”
A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “You can kiss me if you meet my Own the Eights list.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re going to tell me?”
She nodded
“All right, I agree to those terms.”
“Number one. He must be kind to animals and like Mr. Tuesday,” she began.
He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers in a slow, sensual kiss. “You know how I feel about goats, and I did save your dog from becoming a runaway and living on the streets.”
She giggled. “Okay, number two. Must read books.”
