Chapter 4

4

LUCKY

D arby was clearly playing matchmaker earlier when she told us about this. If I had even the slightest doubt about that, it vanished when I saw the setup out back.

“It’s a new thing they’re trying,” Georgia said as we stood just outside the back door looking across the pool area. “It’s one of the ways they hope to attract couples looking for a romantic getaway. They realized nobody comes here for Valentine’s Day.”

She added that last part as though I might still be confused. I got it. My reason for a delayed response was that I couldn’t help but notice the series of cushioned patio chairs around the fire. They were pushed together in sets of two with plenty of space between.

This was definitely something meant for couples.

“Blanket?” I asked, putting my hand on the top of a stack of thick wool blankets in a stand that probably held beach towels in the warmer months.

“Yes, please,” Georgia said.

We’d gone back to get our coats after dinner, then met just inside the door behind us. It was clear from the two couples huddled under blankets that we’d need them. Not only were the couples wearing coats, but two of the women wore scarves and gloves.

Nobody was roasting marshmallows, although as we approached, I noticed that one couple had skewers on the ground next to them. Georgia seemed to know what she was doing, though. She went straight to a small table with a sign reading Help Yourself and came back with two skewers and two bags containing four large marshmallows, a few chocolate bars, and a small stack of graham crackers.

“It’s not a lot, but I can sneak over and get more,” Georgia said as she settled in next to me.

I’d chosen the seats farthest away from the rest of the group. I wish I could say it was to get some quality alone time with Georgia, but in reality, it was an old habit. I always isolated myself from people whenever possible. This time, I just happened to be isolated with someone.

“So how does this work?” I asked, taking one of the skewers from her.

It was hard to concentrate with her so close, and I wondered if she was having to face the same struggle. The tension in the air between us was heavy. It was almost as though some sort of magnetic field were pulling us toward each other.

“Seriously,” she said.

She looked over at me, and that made it worse. Returning her stare, I couldn’t help but check out the light sprinkling of freckles, barely noticeable beneath the thin layer of makeup she wore. Her eyes were big and brown, with thick eyelashes that framed them perfectly. And those lips, plump and full and ready to be kissed…

Who gave a fuck about roasting marshmallows? I wanted to feast on her, kissing her and licking her until she cried out my name.

“What?” I finally managed to force out.

“You seriously don’t know how to make s’mores?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never had one.”

“You never camped as a kid?”

I slept outdoors for a full two weeks once after running away from an abusive foster parent. The last thing I’d do was pop a tent and sleep outdoors for fun, but I didn’t tell her any of that. I didn’t want to spoil the moment by bumming her out with my stories.

“Well, it’s pretty easy,” she said. “You just stab the marshmallow with this, then hold it close to the fire.”

Yeah, I’d figured that much. But I kind of liked her walking me through things. I followed her lead in sliding one of the gigantic white puffs onto the skewer, then holding it just close enough to the flame for it to get “a little scald on it,” as Georgia called it.

“You can turn it like this,” she said at one point.

That was when she reached over to help, her hand landing on top of mine. The contact went straight to my cock, reminding me just how long it’d been since I’d been with a woman. So, so long.

I’d gone through a wild phase in my twenties, sleeping with an astounding number of women in a search for something, but each one-time encounter left me feeling a little emptier than the last. What I was searching for wouldn’t be found in a quick round of lovemaking with a woman I’d just met. No, that hole in my heart couldn’t be filled.

Or so I’d thought until today. But I’d gotten a taste of something that could be exactly what I’d wanted all my life.

“Perfect,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

She removed her hand and returned her attention to her own marshmallow, which had gotten a little too scalded while she’d been helping me. Did that mean our connection had distracted her too? Was she feeling this? I sure as hell hoped so. Otherwise, I was in for a huge letdown.

“Once it’s done, you pull it off the heat,” she said. “Then grab one of the crackers and slide the marshmallow onto it like this.”

She demonstrated, following the marshmallow with the chocolate, then topping it with a graham cracker and smushing it all together. She then began blowing on it to cool it down.

“Oh fuck,” I said, yanking my marshmallow back.

I’d been so busy watching her and fantasizing about what that mouth could do to a certain part of my anatomy, I’d completely forgotten about my own marshmallow. It had definitely gotten too scalded on one side.

I grabbed one of the crackers anyway and slid the marshmallow onto it like she had. It didn’t go nearly as well. Some of the marshmallow dripped onto the blanket, and the chocolate didn’t center right before it started melting. But I topped it with the cracker and squeezed it all together, anyway.

“It was a great first practice round,” she said. “We’ll do another one in a second.”

She punctuated that with a bite out of the chocolate-marshmallow sandwich she’d created, closing her eyes and moaning as she chewed. This woman clearly had no idea what she was doing to me. How was a man supposed to concentrate on campfire cooking with all of this going on next to him?

“It should be cool enough now,” she said.

Her words pulled me out of another fantasy about her. In this one, she had her head thrown back and was lying flat on her back, eyes closed, lips parted as she moaned and whimpered in the throes of an orgasm I’d given her.

I quickly shoved too much of the s’more in my mouth to cover for where my mind had been. That was when I discovered it was indeed too hot for that much marshmallow consumption. My eyes watered as I quickly sucked in air to cool down the food until I finally gave up and chewed and swallowed it as quickly as I could.

“You okay?” she asked. “Did you burn your tongue?”

I moved my tongue around in my mouth, looking upward as I did so. “Nope. Seems fine.”

I probably wouldn’t know until tomorrow, though it did already feel a little numb. This time, I blew on it before taking another bite.

And that was when I really had the chance to see what all the fuss was about. The combination of creaminess and chocolate with the crunch of the cracker made it just about the best thing I’d ever tasted.

Or maybe it was the company that enhanced everything right now. My senses were on full alert.

“Good night,” one of the couples called out to the other couple as they headed toward the door. The man had the blanket over his arm.

I couldn’t help but think, “Two down, two more to go.” I wanted this woman and this campfire all to myself, as selfish as it might seem.

“Ready for another?”

I was once again busted not paying attention. This time, my attention had drifted to the other couple, who were snuggled up under that blanket, eyes closed. Were they sleeping? If so, that didn’t bode well for them getting out of here and leaving me alone with this woman.

“Sure.” I busied myself with getting the marshmallow over the flame, my mouth already watering at the thought of another chocolate-marshmallow sandwich. “I think you’re getting me addicted to s’mores.”

“There are worse things you can get addicted to. Oh, thank God.”

At first, I wasn’t sure what brought on those last three words. But at that very moment, the couple on the other side of the fire breezed past us on the way toward the lodge. They said not a word to us, but that wasn’t really a surprise.

“Thank God?” I asked.

“You didn’t see them making out over there, I assume.”

No, I’d completely missed that. I’d been too busy making sure I didn’t turn my marshmallow into a charred, goopy mess.

But Georgia was relieved they were gone. Was she tired of watching them make out? No, they couldn’t possibly have been at it that long. Did that mean…?

She wanted some alone time with me?

I clung onto that thought—wishful thinking, for sure. But it definitely notched up my already lightning-fast heart rate.

“Want to taste?”

Her question tore my gaze away from my marshmallow. I was sure she’d be all puckered up and ready for a kiss with that question. But no, she wasn’t offering a kiss. Instead, she held up a complete s’more, marshmallow and chocolate perfectly melted together along the edges.

“You’re really good at this,” I said. “That looks like something you’d see in an ad for s’mores.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter how it looks. It’s all about the taste. I’m sure yours tastes just as good as mine.”

I held in a “ha!” at that comment. Mine had definitely included some char, which took away from the sweetness. Curious, I leaned forward and took a bite. That put my mouth in close contact with her fingers, but that wasn’t the only reason the action seemed oddly…sexual. It was also the eye contact we made as I took the bite.

And then the flavors hit my tastebuds. It was similar to what I made, but without the charcoal-like bitterness mixed in. Perfect.

“You’re smoking.”

I was still chewing when she said those words. Her gaze hadn’t shifted from my face, so it took me a second to realize she was talking about my marshmallow. I jerked my attention back to what I was doing and saw that, indeed, smoke was pouring from my marshmallow.

I might be a fail at this,” I said. “No s’more-making badge for me.”

When I glanced at her while pulling my marshmallow from the fire, she wore a confused expression. I reviewed what I’d said and realized where I might’ve gotten a little too much in my own head.

“One of my foster parents had kids who were Scouts,” I said, wiping the goopy, charred marshmallow from the skewer with a napkin. “They were always doing projects to earn badges and I’d help.”

I crumpled up the napkin and set it on the ground next to me, then reached for another marshmallow. I’d get this if it took me all night.

“You were a foster child?” Georgia asked.

The question stopped me in the middle of marshmallow-skewering. I closed my eyes, suddenly realizing what I’d let slip out. It was only a matter of time before I told her, especially if this continued, but it definitely wasn’t something I’d say when I was trying to romance a woman.

“My entire childhood,” I said. “My mom abandoned me as a baby. I finally tracked her down in my twenties…and visited her grave. She died of a drug overdose just a few years after having me. No idea who my dad is.”

“What about aunts? Uncles? Grandparents?”

“I’ve thought about looking into them, but…”

My voice trailed off there. Why hadn’t I looked into it? I’d certainly thought about it, but in the end, I couldn’t see the point. I’d convinced myself that I liked my lonely life where I worked hard and kept to myself. Yeah, holidays were tough, and it did get lonely, but not enough that it made me want to do something about it.

Over the past twelve hours or so, my mindset had shifted. My life seemed so empty as it was. Why hadn’t I tried to fill it with…something? Something like this.

Because I didn’t know something like this existed until now. That was why.

“I’m sorry,” Georgia said. “You deserved so much more as a kid.”

I shrugged. “There were good times. A few foster families were great.”

The majority weren’t, though, and I didn’t want to talk about those. I chose to focus on the good memories and shut out the bad. For me, it was survival.

“We should do all the things you missed out on when you were a kid,” Georgia said.

Her words snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked over at her with a frown.

“Like what?”

She glanced at the fire. “Roasting marshmallows, going sledding, jump rope, hide-and-seek. All the fun things.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re offering to play hide-and-seek with me?”

A smile played at the corners of her lips. “And whatever other fun games you missed as a child.”

I was thinking of a few games I wanted to play with her, but they had nothing to do with a lost childhood. It was just what I needed to pull my thoughts away from the dark side.

“Well, from what we’ve already established, I suck at roasting marshmallows,” I said.

“It’s overrated,” Georgia shot back.

She tossed her skewer to the ground and snuggled up under the blanket. That put her left arm against my right one. It was under the blanket, so anyone watching from one of the windows that overlooked this area would have no idea it was happening. And that took my thoughts to other places.

“It’s not exactly the same, but I missed out on a lot as a teenager,” she said. “I had a great home life, but I sucked at the social stuff.”

I wanted to look at her again, but I kept my gaze trained on the fire. The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel self-conscious about sharing.

“You seem pretty social to me,” I said.

She laughed. “I was always good at it in the context of work. Miss Rosie hired me to work at the diner when I was sixteen, and I guess that brought me out of my shell a little, but guys still didn’t want to go out with me.”

“Well, the guys around here must be blind,” I said.

Once again, the words had slipped out without me really thinking them through. It was too late to take them back, though.

“Thank you,” she said after a brief silence. “But Seduction Summit is an extremely small town, and the schools are even smaller. It wasn’t like there were a lot of guys to choose from anyway.”

“So you didn’t date,” I said.

Why did I like that idea? I wanted this beauty all to myself. It was a ridiculous way to feel, but I couldn’t help it.

“Nope,” she said. “Everyone talks about their teenage years like they were so much fun. I spent them working and studying. I never really lived. I guess all that sounds petty compared to what you went through.”

“Not at all.” I shook my head. “I didn’t date much as a kid, but I made up for lost time in my twenties.”

She was in her twenties now. I didn’t want her to think I was some kind of man-whore who slept around, even though it was technically true. But I also wanted her to know that she could make up for lost time. I’d prefer that makeup work was done with me. But mostly, I just wanted this woman to be happy

“I’ve never even had a real kiss,” she said.

Those words sucked all the air out of my lungs. If she hadn’t had a real kiss, she hadn’t done anything beyond that. Was she a…?

“I’m a virgin,” she said in answer to my unspoken question. “My only kiss was in fifth grade during a game of spin the bottle. Mark Abbott. He was kind of a bully, and I didn’t want to kiss him, but when the bottle lands on you, you have no choice, right?”

Her first kiss was forced? And part of a game? I didn’t like that at all.

“You need a good first kiss,” I said. “The kind that takes your breath.”

Had those words actually come out of my mouth? I thought them, but somehow they’d made it past the filter and spilled right out into the open air.

“Are you offering?” she asked.

I looked over at her then and our eyes met. There was only one answer to that question, but I didn’t give it. Instead, my gaze dropped to her mouth and I began leaning toward her.

Her response meant everything. If she backed away, that would be the end of things. If she didn’t move, I’d wait for her to meet me halfway. If she never moved, the answer would be a “no” too.

But I’d barely made it a couple of inches in her direction before she leaned toward me. This was on.