“No, thanks, I think I’ll just head to bed.” Hopefully, not his.
“Have a good night then.” Dougal hurried off toward the kitchen.
Logan didn’t even pretend to walk toward the door; he just turned and ran back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His hand shook as he inserted the key in the lock, and he had to take a few steadying breaths before opening the door.
Agnes stood at the end of her bed, watching him. She’d turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the lamp on. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark. When her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, he almost groaned.
“I turned out the lights in case Dougal came back,” she said, sounding husky. “You should lock the door.”
His breath caught as he did just that. “Are we here to talk about your decision?” If she said yes, he thought he might burst into tears.
She shook her head slowly, her eyes still on his.
There were words to say, but none of them came to mind in that moment. They stood there, just a few feet apart, staring at each other forever, until the world reduced to only the two of them. He was aware of everything about her—the way the light picked up the highlights in her hair, the golden sheen of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. Every curve, every angle, every outline, all of it, was burned into his brain for all time.
Anticipation grew in the air between them. A living, breathing entity that drowned out everything else until there was only Agnes and Logan. And then, anticipation morphed into desperate need, and they moved. Rushing toward one another in an unspoken agreement. They met halfway, slamming into each other—bodies, hands, mouths.
They kissed with a ferocity he’d never experienced, and a silent roar erupted straight from his soul—Yes! He needed this. Needed her. His sweater lifted and soft hands caressed his back as their mouths fed from each other in a desperate frenzy. Tasting. Teasing. Swallowing the mewls of need, the grunts of brutal desire.
Agnes tugged at his sweater, and he broke their kiss long enough to pull it off. She sighed as her hands explored his naked chest, and Logan captured the end of the sigh with his mouth. She tasted of coffee and chocolate, of wicked desires and uncontrolled need. She tasted as though she’d been designed just for him. His special addiction.
Without breaking the kiss, not sure he could anyway, he slid a hand between them to unbutton her jacket. The edges parted, and he met…skin. Warm, smooth, perfect skin. His hand stroked up to cup a heavy breast. Damn, she was perfection. Spilling over his hold, a solid weight of soft flesh in his hand.
She pushed into him, and he rasped his thumb over her taut nipple. A shiver. A moan. She liked that. He did it again and her kiss become more frenetic. He teased the underside of her breast as she swayed in his arms. His Agnes was sensitive, and he loved it. He wanted to spend hours caressing her, teasing her, driving her out of her too-busy mind, making her fly for him.
They tore at each other’s clothes, casting them off in a whirlwind of desperation, until at last they were skin to skin, and their touches slowed. He wanted to know every inch of her. Every detail. He wanted to discover all of her secrets and use them for her pleasure. His head spinning, he felt drugged. But through it all, Agnes was the eye of the storm that engulfed them. An oasis of peace. Paradise in his arms.
Slowly, Logan backed her to the bed and lowered her gently. Pools of emerald green gazed up at him. But still, they didn’t speak. Not with words. The cool cotton sheets a sensual delight against his burning skin, he leaned over her, supporting his weight with his arms as he started the slow exploration of Agnes Sinclair.
He was her servant. His only wish to please and to learn her desires. A tongue twirled around the shell of her ear made her gasp and cling to him. A nip to her lobe educed a moan. His mouth on her breast caused her to arch off the bed, her fingers tangled tight in his hair. So he lingered. Sucking. Nipping. Tasting. Until she writhed against him. Lost in him. Just as he was in her.
Touching kisses to her soft, round stomach, he wriggled lower, wedging his shoulders between her thighs. Everywhere he touched, he found satin pillows of flesh that made his mouth water. She was Venus. And he was happy to worship her.
As the heady fragrance of her sex tantalized him, Logan couldn’t resist tasting her any longer. Taking his time, he lavished long, slow, intimate kisses on her that made her heels dig into his back and her fingers tighten in his hair. Attuned to her now, aware of every hitch in her breath, every desperate little sound escaping her lips, he could instantly tell if she enjoyed what he was doing, or if he had to try something else.
As he teased her little nub of nerves with the tip of his tongue, he slid a finger into her wet depths. A gasp before she held her breath. Her hips lifting from the bed, she tightened on his finger, her little nub grew hard, and she exploded with a wail of pure delight.
Was there any better feeling in the world than making a woman orgasm? If there was, he hadn’t experienced it. And watching Agnes come apart was something he knew he’d never get enough of.
Slowly, he kissed his way up her body, lingering at her breasts before burying his face in her neck and teasing with his teeth. Her legs widened, welcoming him as she pulled him to her. He wanted to be inside of her more than anything else, but in his haste to get to her, he’d forgotten one thing—protection.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said against her throat. “I’ll go get some and come back.” His confession was agony, and his dick would probably snap in two when he tried to force it back in his jeans, but it had to be done.
Clasping his face, she forced him to look at her. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen. So beautiful, it made it hard to breathe.
“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.
His heart actually missed a beat. “I haven’t had sex without a condom since my wife.”
She stared into his eyes for a moment, assessing him, reading something there that only she understood. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I want you now.”
“Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer him with words. Instead, she pulled his head down and kissed him, slowly, deeply, determinedly. Logan didn’t ask her again—his Agnes knew her own mind. Slowly, he slid a hand between them to help guide himself into her.
His head fell back at the sensation of her wet heat surrounding him. He groaned to the ceiling as he slowly, deliberately pressed deeper. Tighter than a fist, she grasped him and pulled him further into her.
A small squeak brought his head jerking back down, assessing if she was okay, ensuring he hadn’t hurt her in any way. He wanted only pleasure for his Agnes. But rather than pain, he saw ecstasy. Her mouth was open, her head angled back—she was glorious. Her eyes burned into his as she grasped his backside and tugged him closer.
And Logan took that as his cue. He surged deep inside of her, joining them completely. Listening to their moans mingle in the air around them, he breathed deep of their combined scent—sweetness and spice. He stilled, arms taut, holding his weight as he hovered above her, making the moment last so he would never forget a second of it. He shifted his weight to one arm so he could cup her cheek with the other, leaning in to take her mouth in a long, sensual kiss. Then slowly, deliberately, his hips began to move as his lips stole the gasps and moans he elicited from Agnes. It was an excruciating pleasure.
“Faster, please,” she begged against his mouth, her voice breathless and needy.
He didn’t hesitate to give her what she wanted, holding her gaze as he did so, never once letting her look away. Wanting to see all of her as they soared together.
His.
She was his.
For now, anyway.
With each surge inside her, Logan lost a little more of himself to the woman in his arms. Together, their breathing became more labored. Together, they clung to each other. Together, they pushed each other higher. Until, with one glorious thrust, his body tightened, his blood boiled
and his thoughts turned to white noise. Nothing existed but Agnes. And together, they broke apart in each other’s arms.
Chapter 15
The weight of Logan’s body pressed Agnes deep into the bed, and she clung to him like an anchor in a storm as the room whirled around them. All she could hear was their heavy breathing and the rapid beating of her heart. Her body was boneless and, for the first time in years, her brain had fallen silent. It was blissful.
Her hands gently caressed his back, his shoulders, his arms, as she floated on a cloud of peace. He started to move away from her, but she held him tight.
“Stay,” she groggily ordered.
“I’m too heavy for you,” he protested.
“Stay.” She made it a command.
He settled in over her, giving her his weight, making her feel secure. She lay there, riding the high of their lovemaking and delighting in her completely relaxed state of body and mind.
Until the buzz began to fade and reality encroached.
As much as she fought it off, it still destroyed her languid peace, and her body tensed.
Logan lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”
Of course, he’d noticed. He was lying on top of her after the best sex she’d ever had. The realization sent a spike of panic through her veins. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She shoved at his shoulders, and he instantly moved from her.
“Agnes, tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was steady, in control, a lifeline if she wanted to reach for it.
But it was too late—she was already drowning. As she scrambled from the bed, she picked up her suit jacket and held it in front of her, covering what she could.
“You need to leave,” she said. “Now.”
The tears were already nipping at her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She never cried in front of anyone. Ever.
Logan’s gaze never left hers as he shuffled to sit on the edge of the bed, indifferent to his nudity, only concern showing on his face.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he said in the same tone people used with scared animals. “Did I hurt you?”
Had he hurt her? Hell, yes, he’d hurt her. Agnes wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the wounds he’d inflicted.
“It was supposed to be terrible,” she wailed.
Logan was clearly confused. “You wanted bad sex? Agnes, love, you need to help me out here, I don’t understand what you mean.”
She paced the room, ranting while she did so and clutching the jacket in front of her, only belatedly realizing her backside was still bare. Oh, to hell with it. He’d seen it all anyway.
“I thought we’d have sex and get it out of our systems. I hoped it would be a letdown, and then I’d be able to shrug it off and move on. But no, you had to ruin everything. You had to make it good. Not just good. Phenomenal. I can’t believe you did this to me!”
“Uh, you aren’t making any sense.” He stood in front of her, getting in the way of her pacing and tempting her with his far-too-sexy body. “Why don’t you calm down for a minute, and we’ll talk this through?”
And just like that, he didn’t look quite so sexy. “Never tell a woman to calm down.” She pointed to the door. “It’s time for you to go. Get your stuff and leave.”
“You’re kicking me out because the sex was great?” He stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.
“Out.” Agnes dropped the useless jacket, gathered his clothes and shoes, and thrust them into his arms. She pushed him toward the door, threw it wide, and shoved him out.
Logan didn’t resist, so he ended up standing in the hallway, stark naked, holding his clothes and gaping at her. “Agnes, be reasonable. If it’s that important to you, we can do it again, and I’ll make sure it’s crap this time.”
“It’s too late now,” she said and slammed the door in his face before bursting into tears.
Nothing was going right. Nothing. First, all of her sisters had moved on with their lives without her. Then, after being blacklisted, she’d ended up working in a hotel where the owner didn’t really want her. Now, she’d had the most amazing sex of her life with a man who had permanent written all over him. Every single thing Logan did made it harder to walk away, even when staying meant giving up everything else. It was too much.
Sniffing and sobbing, she dragged herself into the shower.
She just couldn’t catch a break.
Logan stared at the door, listening to Agnes cry and feeling helpless to do anything about it. He should have been in there with her, holding her while she wept, and trying to understand what she meant. Because having great sex wasn’t a reason to end a relationship. It made no sense. She should have been happy. Hell, he’d been ecstatic until she’d lost the plot on him.
Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings and the fact he wasn’t alone in them. His heart sinking, he peered over his shoulder to find four of the guests staring at him open-mouthed.
Mrs. Edwards gave him a cheeky smile. “I have to say, Logan, you have very tasty buttocks.”
Logan started to turn but immediately stopped when he realized that would only make the situation worse. Instead, he put on his best cop voice and said, “Nothing to see here. Go back to your rooms. Everything’s under control.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Edwards said, her eyes still on his backside, “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
“Are you harassing the manager?” an elderly man demanded.
“I think he was definitely doing something with the manager,” a young Australian woman said with a grin. “But I don’t think you’d call it harassment.”
The older guy’s face turned a deep purple. “Well, you can’t hang around in the corridors naked. That isn’t right.”
Logan was getting a crick in his neck from watching them over his shoulder, so he dropped his shoes, covered his junk with his scrunched-up clothes, and turned.
Mrs. Edwards sighed. “I don’t think I’ve seen muscles like that in real life since I was a teen.”
Another young woman looked over at Mrs. Edwards. “Mr. Edwards didn’t have a six-pack?”
“You mean the muscles?” Mrs. Edwards pointed at him. “Heavens no. If that’s a six-pack, then my dear husband had a keg.”
“As much as I love being objectified,” Logan said, “it’s time for all of you to go back to your rooms so I can get dressed and get out of here.”
“I think I should call the police.” The old man glared at him while tugging his burgundy-colored dressing gown tight. By the look in his eye, any second now he was going to shove up his sleeves and challenge Logan to ‘fisticuffs.’
“He’ll be gone by the time the police get here,” one of the young women said with a wicked smile. “We should take his photo—in case they need it to track him.”
“Do not take my photo,” Logan barked the order, but it was too late. The Australian girls were already snapping away.
“We don’t need photos,” Mrs. Edwards said. “I know who he is. He’s Logan, and he works for Benson Security.”
“Better safe than sorry,” said one of the Aussies, showing the screen to the older woman.
“I see what you mean.” She flushed. “I’m going to need copies of those. Perhaps Logan could turn around again so we can capture the full view.”
The three women stared at him expectantly, as though it was perfectly normal for them to ask him to flash his arse for a photo.
“Leave. Now.” He pointed to the stairs.
Only the old guy moved. “I’m fetching Dougal,” he said, before heading down the stairs.
Great. Agnes would kill him if they roped Dougal into this. He appealed to Mrs. Edwards, “It could affect Agnes’ job if he involves Dougal.”
“I’ll stop him…for a price,” the evil woman said.
Hanging his head, Logan did the only thing he could—he turned and let the women take photos of his backside. “If any of these end up on the internet, I’m pressing charges,” he threaten
ed.
But it was an empty threat, and they all knew it.
“Are you done?” he demanded. “Somebody needs to stop the old guy while I get dressed. Without an audience,” he stressed.
“Breanna,” Mrs. Edwards said, “run downstairs and stop Mr. Thompson. Tell him it’s all under control and there’s cake in my room.”
“This is the best holiday ever,” the young woman said as she disappeared down the stairs. “Scotland rocks.”
Logan stared at the two remaining women. This was not how he’d expected the evening to end.
“We’re going now,” Mrs. Edwards said. “You really do have the most delicious heinie. Makes me wish I was ten years younger.”
And with that, they were gone. Leaving Logan to throw on his clothes as he wondered what the hell just happened.
Chapter 16
“Agnes,” a deep voice snapped. “Are you sick?”
“I was just thinking,” she said, jerking upright.
Damn, she’d fallen asleep at her desk. She was exhausted. Out of sorts. And all because she’d spent every night since she’d kicked Logan out, lying awake and thinking about him. Then she’d spent her days avoiding him. It was draining. And to add insult to injury, she kept bursting into tears. Thankfully, none of her episodes had been in public, but she’d still morphed into something she didn’t recognize, and it was all Logan’s fault. She’d never been this confused over a man. Next thing she knew, she’d be crying because she broke a nail.
She tugged down her suit jacket, her hands stilling mid-motion. It had started—she was turning into her boss.
“Thinking?” Dougal boomed. “With your head on the desk and your eyes shut?”
“It’s my zen place.” She reached up to straighten her ponytail and found half her hair wasn’t even in it. Had she started the day like that? This was humiliating. Usually immaculate in her appearance, she prided herself in being a businesswoman ready for a day at work. Today, she was a mess. All because of Logan. Damn, sexy, irresistible, annoying man. “What can I do for you?” she asked her boss, trying to sound her usual professional self as she continued to fix her hair.
Can't Buy Me Love: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 3) Page 13