The Boss and His Cowgirl Read Free Page B

laughing—a deep belly laugh that almost lit up the dark with its happy sound. And just like that, the lights blazed, chasing the shadows away. As she dissolved into more laughter, relieved this time, he joined her. This was a side of Georgie he appreciated—her irreverent sense of humor. Working, she was reserved, thoughtful, erudite. She had a way of boiling down an issue into sound bites. She was knowledgeable and intelligent and he thought of her as his personal... His thoughts trailed off as he stared into her eyes—eyes a shade of green he was currently trying, and failing, to describe.
    With a start, he realized Georgie was no longer laughing. She’d devolved into hiccuping sobs. He hated tears. The women his father married too often resorted to them, but Georgie’s were real and earned. He gathered her close, stroking his palm down her back in long caresses.
    â€œYou’re okay, Georgie. You’re safe.”
    She nodded, fighting for control. “I know. I’m...” She sniffed, looked around for a tissue, then gave up and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. “Sorry, boss. I’m okay. Just...nerves. I hate the dark. Hate small spaces, especially in the dark.”
    â€œWant to tell me?”
    She shook her head but words tumbled out. “I was a kid. Got trapped in our old storm cellar. In the dark. Took my folks a couple of hours to find me.”
    He tightened his arm around her and fought the urge to kiss the top of her head. “Yeah, that would not be fun.”
    Georgie snuffled again so Clay reached for the roll of toilet paper and ripped off a strip. She took it and tried to discreetly wipe, then blow, her nose. Once she appeared composed, he disengaged and stood. “Why don’t you stay in tonight, Georgie? You deserve a night off.” When she nodded, he opened the door and edged toward it. “I’ll get out so you can shower.”
    She nodded so he helped her up, made sure she was steady and once again retreated. He listened at the door until he heard the shower and then met Boone and Hunt in the living area of the suite. He gave his orders, grabbed clean clothes from his room and ducked into Boone’s room to clean up.
    Georgie was still in his bathroom when he was ready to leave for the donor dinner. Part of him wanted to stay, but the practical part, the politician he’d been born, bred and raised to be, marched out of the suite led by his chief of security and trailed by his chief of staff. Georgie would be fine. She had to be. He didn’t stop to contemplate why that mattered so much.

Two
    G eorgie waited in the master bath huddled in her borrowed robe until all sounds diminished outside. She didn’t know what to do about her ruined clothes. Wrinkling her nose didn’t help dissipate the smell of smoke. She blamed her reaction on the Phobia Twins—Nycto and Claustro. When the lights had gone out in the already shadowy backstage area, she’d panicked. Like an idiot.
    When the security guard found her, she’d screamed like the blonde cheerleader in a teen horror movie. She’d lost count of the times she’d fallen and scraped herself up before he arrived. Then there was that whole thing on the loading dock, in the SUV and at the hotel entrance when— She cut that thought off.
    She wanted to bang her head on the nearest hard surface. Her nerves and emotions were caused by fear. Not Clay Barron holding her hand. Or carrying her. Or...nope. Clothes. She had to deal with her clothes because they reeked of smoke and stink bombs.
    Checking the trash can, she found an extra folded plastic sack. She mashed the clothes into a ball and stuffed them into the bag, spinning it and tying it off. She shoved the whole thing into the trash. Georgie briefly considered digging out her bottle of spray cologne and using it to drown the odor still lingering. Considering this was Clay’s bathroom, that probably