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“I had to meet with the exterminator.” She tipped her head to make it easier for him to get to her throat. “We were outside for over an hour.”
This dump had an exterminator? Okay, so he’d never seen any bugs, it still surprised him. “Thanks for taking care of that.”
“I probably need a shower, too.”
“No.” He opened his mouth on her throat, moved his tongue over her, tasting her skin, licking her, then whispering in her ear, “But you could have showered with me if you’d—”
She left his arms so quickly, it took him a second to figure out what had happened.
She had that deer caught in the headlights look about her.
Time to regroup.
Pretending he hadn’t panicked her, Logan said, “You mentioned ordering pizza.” He took a step back, giving her some space so she could breathe easier. “How about I pay, and we can eat here?”
Indecision kept her on the edge of retreat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’d be doing me a favor.” When she hesitated, he handed her his phone. “Go ahead and order it. I’ll get us something to drink in the meantime.”
He walked away, hoping she’d settle down and stay with him—but prepared to go after her if she didn’t.
Then he heard her soft voice ordering the pizza, loaded, just as he liked it.
He got out glasses. “You want a beer or a Coke?”
She looked at his beer with longing, but said, “A Coke, please.”
Another mystery. If she wanted a beer, why not say so? Did she think it unladylike—or did she worry that alcohol, even a simple beer, would lower her resistance, maybe allow her to divulge secrets better kept concealed?
Logan disliked her brother more by the minute. “Over ice?”
She nodded.
“How long for the pizza? I’m starved.”
“Fifteen minutes or so.” She inched closer. “They’re just around the corner.”
“Good to know.”
“You can also get Thai and Chinese pretty quickly. And hoagies or chili only takes half an hour.”
“You do a lot of fast food, too, huh?”
“During the summer I usually grill dinner. You know that. But at night, after it gets quiet, sometimes I…” She shrugged.
“You can’t sleep?”
“I enjoy the peace,” she corrected. “I don’t have a set schedule, so when I want to watch an old movie, or catch up on the news, I do. I think I’m a natural night owl.”
“So you curl up on the couch with some fast food?” It was a cute picture. What type of pajamas did she wear? A granny gown? T-shirt and panties? Somehow he couldn’t picture her in lingerie. “Maybe you can share the numbers of the local restaurants with me.”
“All right.” Though she hung back in the kitchen doorway, she asked, “Can I do anything?”
Oh, hell yeah. She could do all sorts of things. He gave her a smile but said, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll just grab some plates and napkins when it gets here.” He handed her drink to her. “Want to watch TV now, or sit on the balcony?”
She looked toward his balcony but again hesitated, so he took the decision away from her.
“Let’s see what’s on TV.” Taking her hand, he led her to the sofa. He sat down and pulled her down beside him, probably closer than she liked, but not as close as he wanted.
She sat stiff, silent and wary. After setting her drink on the coffee table, she clasped her hands together in her lap, pressed her knees and ankles together, kept her back military straight.
All because he sat beside her? “Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” she said too fast.
After a long look, he grinned at her and shook his head. “I think I’ll have to teach you how to loosen up.”
Her eyes flared, especially when he put aside his beer and reached for her shoulders.
But he only pressed her back against the couch, and began kneading her tensed muscles. “C’mon, Sue. Take out the starch. Inhale a big breath…that’s it. Now let it out nice and slow.”
She tried, but she was still far too rigid.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get there eventually.” He settled back beside her. “That’s a promise, by the way.” Using the remote, he turned on the set and flipped through the channels until he found a movie in the middle of a love scene.
“There you go.” He took a swig of his beer. “Better than suffering more of that broiling sun.”
For a minute or two she watched the movie, her breathing deep and even, until the sex scene faded to dark. When the commercial came on, he flipped channels again, finding a sports update.
She half turned toward him, and, tension mounting, Logan waited to see what she’d do.
Using one hand, she touched his jaw. It was so unexpected, that spontaneous contact from her, that it rendered him mute, immobile and combustible.
“Men do seem to enjoy controlling the remote, don’t they?”
What did she know of men and their preferences on control? He found his voice to say, “You want me to go back to the movie?”
“I don’t care what we watch, but I’m glad you chose to stay inside.” She brushed her fingertips down to the side of his neck. “You’ve already gotten a little too much sun.”
Jesus, how could one simple touch do that to him? “On my shoulders, too,” he said huskily. “Hazard of the job, I guess. Half the time we work shirtless.”
Her gaze drifted to his shoulders, followed by her hand. “Construction is why you’re so tanned?”
“That, and I like the outdoors.” Blindly, he set aside his beer. “Swimming, boating, just being outside. I enjoy nature.” His brother had a very secret retreat on a lake. They’d each used it when they wanted to get away, when even female companionship didn’t appeal.
The log cabin was so rustic that anything more than a five-minute shower used all the hot water. Dishes had to be washed by hand—and so did clothing. The all-wood panel interior boasted three sparsely furnished bedrooms, a tiny kitchen with the barest essentials and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. The massive front deck, flanked by towering trees, overlooked the small secluded lake that was big enough for fishing, swimming and a rowboat or small trolling motor.
“Does it hurt?” she asked softly, teasing the skin of his shoulders.
“What?” He ached with lust, but he didn’t think she meant that.
“The sunburn.” She drifted her hand up to his nape, around to his collarbone.
It was such a bold move for her, so unexpected, that he forgot his plan. He caught her wrist, kissed her palm and then flattened her hand against his chest. “Sue?”
She stared at his mouth with yearning. “Your skin is so hot.”
Fuck it. She begged for a kiss, and God knew he wasn’t a saint. In the end, what did it matter if he made his move now or later? One way or the other, she’d be his.
His to enjoy.
And then his to use.
He put his hand around her nape and pulled her in as he leaned forward. At the first touch of his mouth on hers, she made a sound of pleasure, and Logan knew he was a goner.
CHAPTER THREE
COULD ANY MAN TASTE BETTER, smell better, or be more tempting?
Heat poured off him, and Pepper wanted to feel it all over her body. She pictured him working outside, all macho in jeans and heavy boots, the sun on his bare shoulders and chest, and her pulse raced. As his mouth moved over hers, his chest hair drew her fingers again and again. Using care not to exacerbate his sun-kissed skin, she stroked him, carefully, over his shoulders, his chest—and down to his taut abdomen.
Oh, God, she wanted to feel every inch of him.
He made a sound of approval and somehow, at the same time, lowered her to her back on the couch. The plush cushions gave way to their combined weight, and she sank into them.
Having a man’s solid body over her, pressing into her—she’d missed it. So damn much.
Each kiss grew deeper, hungrier, until they were both breathing hard. He had his tongue in her mouth, exploring, and she just naturally twined her own with his.
He ran a hand down her side to her hip, his spread fingers covering a wide path, touching so much of her. He squeezed at her hip with appreciation, and even through her long skirt and underwear, it electrified her senses.
He moved his hand down her thigh until she stiffened, ready to stop him if he took things too far.
Instead, he brought that seeking hand back up her body, up, up, to her left breast.
Before she could think better of it, she arched her back, pressing into his palm, alive with sensation.
He cuddled her, but his movements slowed, became more of a search than a caress.
Lifting his head but staying very close, he said with a touch of confusion, “What kind of bra is that?”
No, she didn’t want reality to intrude. Not yet. Not now. “Sports bra,” she breathed, and took his mouth again.
A very tight, very restrictive sports bra.
Hoping he might not think too much of it, she caught his wrist and tugged his hand away. Please let me have a little more.
“I want to touch you,” he murmured, and his hand went back to her waist, this time slipping up under her loose shirt.
Sexual frustration mounted, warring against desperation, against common sense. She knew she had to be strong, but then she felt his rough palm at her waist, at her ribs, and her resistance began crumbling—until a knock sounded on his door.
She jumped, at first alarmed, and then, reluctantly…relieved for the jolt back to sanity.
The pizza delivery boy had saved her, because she hadn’t been strong enough to save herself. She’d take the interruption as a warning—to show more care.
Logan pressed his forehead to hers. His heartbeat rapped against her breasts, and the tension in his shoulders amplified.
“Rotten timing.” Using both hands, he held her face, his thumbs stroking her jaw, his breath hot. “I don’t suppose you’d want to put off dinner?”
She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d cave. Staring at his left shoulder, she shook her head.
His sigh teased her lips. “All right then. Pizza it is.” As he sat up, he pulled her up, too.
She closed her eyes with stark regret, and when she opened them again, she encountered his intense scrutiny.
His smile went crooked as he tweaked a long hank of her hair. “You are so sweet.” And with that, he left the couch.
Sweet? What was that about? Pepper checked her hair and felt the way her ponytail had come undone. Worse, her top was all displaced, her skirt hiked up on one side all the way to her knee, and she’d lost one slip-on canvas shoe.
While Logan answered the door, she decided to make a hasty exit to right herself. “Excuse me.” She snatched up her shoe and rushed down the short hall into his bathroom. She closed and locked the door.
Get a grip, she ordered herself. But it was oh-so-difficult after those scorching kisses and exciting touches.
A few deep breaths helped a little. She stepped into her shoe, tugged her shirt into place, and moved away from the door. One glance in the mirror over the sink and she winced. Her hair was more out of the ponytail than in it. Hastily, she pulled the band free and finger-combed her long hair back, then resecured it.
She straightened her clothes again, but could do nothing about her aroused flush. Blast her fair skin.
A tap sounded at the door. “Everything okay, Sue?”
“Yes.” Other than unfulfilled lust, she was just peachy. Head down, Pepper opened the door and walked around him, up the hallway and into the kitchen.
He’d already put slices of pizza on plates, set out napkins, and moved their drinks to the table. Surprising her, he pulled out her chair.
Why, oh, why couldn’t he be wearing a shirt instead of flaunting that awesome body? As to that, why couldn’t he be out of shape instead of so ripped? Or unattractive instead of so appealing? Or—
“It’s just pizza, Sue.” He tipped his head. “I won’t pounce on you while you’re eating, I promise.”
She didn’t want to get that close to him again, but she didn’t want to look overly foolish, either. “Thank you.” She brushed past him and sat.
After trailing the backs of his fingers over her cheek, he took his own seat. “Dig in.”
“Thank you,” she said again.
He thoughtfully watched her as he ate. “You know, I just had my tongue in your mouth, so you don’t have to be so formal.”
Pepper gasped—and choked on her pizza. What was he thinking, saying something like that over dinner? Did he have no sense of propriety at all?
After a bout of wheezing, she caught her breath, looked at him, saw he was still eating while studying her reaction, and decided that no, he did not have any sense of decorum.
