Exhaling roughly, I drop my forehead to hers and finally give into the need to wrap her in my arms. Her hands fall between us, tangling in the fabric of my shirt and she melts into me.
“Freckles,” I murmur, kissing her forehead. “You wanna know why I defended you like that?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flit between mine, fingers digging in deeper. “I don’t understand it.”
“How could I not?” I whisper. “You think I could stand there and watch someone put their hands on you? Talk to you like that? Not a fucking chance in hell.”
A deep breath rattles out of me, shaking me down to my bones.
“You walked into my life like a goddamn whirlwind, Georgia. All fire and fight and freckles, and now I can't go a day without thinking about you. Wanting you. Craving you. Worrying aboutyou.” I swallow hard, tightening my grip on her. “You might not realize it yet, but you’re mine, and I’m gonna prove it to you.”
Her breath catches, and for a second, I think I’ve gone too far—but then she exhales in this quiet, relieved little laugh that’s so soft, it brushes right against my ribs.
“That’s really nice. Love the way it sounds.”
“That right?” I murmur, confusion and shock bouncing through my system.
This is one-eighty from the way we left shit last night.
This is the Georgia who wrapped herself around my back and held on tight through my storm. The one who kissed me on the back of that horse, made out with me like we were lovesick teenagers, desperate to never let go.
“Yep.” She wraps a finger around a chunk of my beard and tugs hard enough to make my eyes water, but I don’t stop her, too caught up in the moment, too addicted to the feel of her.
“Your beard tickles.” She giggles. “Feels like fuzzy sandpaper.”
I blink, stunned—and then inhale, catching a wave of tequila so strong it singes my brain. “Drunk, baby?”
She lifts her head and gives me a squinty, slow-motion shrug. “No.” She pauses. “Yes.” A beat. “A little.” Then she hiccups and boops my nose. “I like that name.”
“Baby?”
An adorable nod. “Say it again.Slower.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want me to,” I say softly, grin tugging at my lips when she boops me again. “Think I’ll start withmine, though.”
Her pupils dilate and she sways. “Sounds dangerous, cowboy.”
Christ, she’s fuckin’ cute.
“You like danger?”
“Yes.” She nods, then shakes her head, shoulders slumping as she half-wails, half-sobs, “No! I’m too boring for danger! Abbyalways says I need to jump out of planes, but I don’t want to! I hate heights.”
“That’s okay,” I soothe, petting her hair. “We don’t need to go skydivin’, baby.”
She pouts and hiccups again. “Can we have fries though?”
“Interesting,” Griff mutters, eyes glued to Georgia who’s back to playing with my beard and smiling. He shoots me a wink. “She’s a fun drunk.”
“And she really is hot as hell,” Wilder adds.
My jaw ticks, and I bundle her deeper into my chest like I can keep him from flirting by osmosis or some shit. “Fuck off, asshole.”
“We split this,” Gemma announces, holding an empty tequila bottle like a trophy. “Damn good show, big bro.” She cackles, stumbling. “Oh shit, that rhymed.”
“Nice right hook,” Hazel adds, flicking me right between the brows. “Could’ve stepped in earlier though. I almost had to kill a grown man.” Her eyes narrow, sliding from me to Georgia—who’s now fully snuggled against my chest, huffing me like I’m her emotional support hoodie.
“She drank a lot,” Hazel murmurs, lip lifting in a soft smile. “But she’s good people. Not many people can keep up with an Archer. I like her.”
