Typecast

by Kim Carmichael

  While Mrs. Vermont walked around the kitchen and collected the requested items, he moved the massacred meat to a cutting board and covered it with foil.

  “Mother,” Fern whined from behind him.

  He turned to her. “You are not cooking and you are not taking care of your child, but I can guarantee you will be quiet.”

  “It wouldn’t have been dry if we didn’t spend so much time out on the lawn when you arrived.” Ivy’s mother placed the ingredients next to him.

  “And you think congratulations on a forced engagement would have taken less time?” He put the roasting pan on the stovetop and began to make a proper sauce.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her watching him while he continued making his roux.

  “Where did you learn to cook?” She stepped closer.

  “Well, I’m not classically trained. I first learned from my mother, but then I had to learn on my own.” He gave her a short sound bite to pull her in. The sauce bubbled and began to thicken.

  “What does that mean?” Again, she inched over.

  “My mother passed away when I was sixteen, right after I got scouted by my agent. She was ill.” No matter when he spoke of it, his chest still constricted. “You know, I almost quit the movie. At the time I thought it was a bad omen. All my agent and the director seemed concerned with was that I could play the part, not the fact I had lost my only parent. Do you have a spoon?”

  “Those dirty bastards.” She shook her head and opened a drawer for him.

  “But thanks to the movie and the people around me, I got to stay with my brother. They really helped when I needed it. I think they’re used to dealing with children in bizarre situations.” He grabbed a spoon and took a taste of his impromptu wine sauce. The right bit of earthiness from the meat and acid from the wine danced over his palate. In need of the ultimate approval, he dipped a second spoon in the sauce and held it out to her mother. “Always taste your food. That is very important.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.” She patted his arm and opened her mouth, a genuine smile gracing her face. “That’s delicious.”

  “I’m sorry about your father. He was an incredible actor. I am more than honored and humbled to be staying in your home.” He set the burner to simmer. “My mother always said there was nothing you can’t do with wine and broth. Why don’t you slice the meat really thin while I tend to the root vegetables?”

  “Logan.” She went about her task. “May I ask you a question?”

  Fern backed up when he approached and took the poor side dish. “You may ask me anything you wish. There is trust among cooks.” He found some cream in the refrigerator, then took the blender and moved next to Mrs. Vermont.

  “Are you the reason my daughter didn’t get engaged tonight?” As if she didn’t want to ask, she lowered her voice.

  He proceeded to make a carrot puree. The blender’s buzz took over the room, and he waited until shutting it off to speak. “While I’d like to think I am, I am not. I made my intentions very clear to Ivy before I even knew someone else existed.”

  She tapped him to show him the fully sliced roast. “What are your intentions?”

  Before answering, he took the meat and slipped it into the savory sauce. “I want to be with your daughter. I’ve never known anyone like her. She’s exceptional. You did a magnificent job.”

  Much like her daughter, Mrs. Vermont’s cheeks reddened and she put her hand to her chest. “What do you do now?”

  “I invest, and I work with my brother in his bar, but my specialty is taking care of others.” He winked and motioned toward some dishes. “Why don’t we plate everything up in here, then no one will know our secret?”

  She nodded. “Fern, go get everyone gathered around the table while Logan and I finish up.”

  With a huff, Ivy’s sister barged out of the room.

  He put all the food into an assembly line and began to plate the dishes with a splash of carrot puree over the roast slices and then topped it with the sauce, wiping drips off the rim before handing the completed creations to Mrs. Vermont. “I am a much better cook than I am an actor.”

  She stood up on her toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Right as they finished filling the plates, the kitchen door swung open. “Mother, I can’t find Logan.” Ivy skidded to a stop the second she saw him and glanced between him and her mother.

  “I would never be too far away from you.” The way his blood sped through his veins at the sight of her told him again how much he wanted her.

  “Oh, I’m glad you came back here.” Mrs. Vermont held her hand out.

  Ivy went to her mother and took her hand. “What’s going on?”

  “You were right. I want you to be happy. I’m sorry we blindsided you with all this hullabaloo, but it got you here and Logan here and that’s what matters.” She leaned in and hugged Ivy.

  “Thank you?” Ivy patted her mother. “What’s going on?”

  “Logan helped me with dinner. It was almost a complete disaster.” She held Ivy at arm’s length. “You look beautiful.”

  With wide eyes, Ivy took in the scene.

  He had noticed her more conventional dress before, but with everything, forgot to mention it. “She always looks gorgeous, though I must say I prefer the vintage look.”

  Through her lashes, she peeked over at him, her cheeks glowing.

  “Sometimes you just have that spark.” Her mother beamed. “I’m very happy for you. I don’t want you to worry about us at all, and now that I know the two of you are together I’ll tell Daddy not to worry about you and Logan sleeping in the same room.”

  The color in Ivy’s cheeks vanished. In fact, her complexion change startled him and he stepped forward.

  “I’m not tired at all.” She backed up and turned away.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s not like I wasn’t young once.” Her mother returned to her plates.

  Apparently, the sleeping arrangements hadn’t occurred to his bedmate. He kept his eyes on Ivy. Somehow he needed to prove he was worthy of sharing her sheets.

  With the covers pulled up to her chin and in the most unsexy, unrevealing sweatpants and sweatshirt she could conjure from her suitcase of lingerie, Ivy stared up at the ceiling waiting for Logan. Well, not waiting, more like dreading his arrival.

  A true gentleman, he allowed her to use the bathroom first, and now she had ample opportunity to listen to his nightly ritual, complete with humming, tooth brushing, and running water. The man made enough noise for everyone here.

  She squeezed her eyes shut trying to figure out exactly the point where she ended up waiting for Logan to join her in bed with no intention of having sex with him. In fact, she shouldn’t be waiting. They should have run in here and thrown their clothes off and done the deed.

  No. Again, she needed her own dose of reality. The man was created to be alluring. How many times did she have to be reminded how he would break her heart? Hell, if it weren’t for him, she would be engaged.

  No, she wouldn’t.

  After dinner, in keeping with their family tradition, they all made their way out on the patio for dessert, drinks, and music. In a strange moment, her mother and Logan redecorated the cake, or more accurately, stripped it free of its engagement embellishments, all after having served a meal that left her wanting to lick her plate. Since when did the bad boy of Hollywood, the one solely responsible for destroying the sequel to her most beloved movie, learn to cook?

  The door clicked open, and she caught sight of him in a pair of lightweight navy pajama bottoms and a matching tight T-shirt. Double damn her for leaving an accent light on for him to navigate his way to the bed. She practically laid out a trail of bread crumbs.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?” He peeled off his shirt.

  Though she tried not to look, there was no choice. He presented her with a perfect chest to match the rest of him. Smooth, wide, a perfect landscape to dig right in. She groun
d her teeth together. The last person her teenage self would have thought she would truly be in bed with on a warm Palm Springs evening at her grandfather’s home was Logan Alexander. Or was this the moment she had dreamed of?

  The last few weeks upped the strange ante of the evening to surreal, but having Logan on her home turf amplified her foolish behavior.

  He pulled the ponytail out of his hair and slipped into bed. “Shall I turn off the light?”

  “Sure.” Heat overtook her. They didn’t call her clothes sweats for nothing.

  The bed bounced as he turned off the light and got comfortable. “Are you all right? Can I get you anything?” He patted her arm.

  Even through the thick fabric she made out his searing touch and she tensed. Of course he wanted to get her something, and they were in the perfect place for that special something. Honestly, she wanted to blame the entire situation on Logan, accuse him for manipulating the situation to such a point that she had no choice but to bring him along, but she made it all too easy for him to get here. With her mother glowing and declaring them together and her sister seething, there wasn’t any way she could go sleep on the couch. In an abrupt move, she turned over with her back to him.

  They lay in silence for several minutes, and she balled her hand in a fist. Only men could sleep through anything. There was no way she would sleep. Between the outfit and Logan, the room had to be over 100 degrees.

  “So, I am going to assume that the answer to my question is no. No, you would not like me to get you anything, and no, you are not all right.” Logan turned over and put his hand on her shoulder. “If the issue is us in the same bed, trust me if I’m not one hundred and ten percent certain you want me, I’d never touch you.”

  The issue wasn’t not wanting him—it was wanting him too badly. With too many questions building like the heat through her body, she flipped over. “What do you want?”

  Without a word, he took her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” Though she didn’t resist, she put one hand on his chest in a sad mock show of defiance, but she gained the opportunity to take in his smooth, tight skin.

  “Answering your question. I want to hold my lady in bed.” He pulled her closer.

  “Your lady?” What did he mean? His arms suffocated her, but she couldn’t leave. Instead she gasped for air.

  “Yes.” He rubbed her back. “In case you’re wondering, in my definition of the word, it’s not an English title.”

  She refused to react, refused to acknowledge how her stomach fluttered, refused to take in the scent of his soap. “What do you want, Logan?”

  “For someone with enough smarts to earn multiple degrees, I thought I made my intentions very clear.” His breath brushed against her lips. “I want you.”

  “Logan.” Unsure if she wanted to slap him or grab him, she opted for feeling his chest again. How could he want her? “When you were a teenager, what did you want?”

  “A motocross bike and a naughty magazine.” He let out a laugh.

  “You don’t understand.” She shook her head.

  “Yes, I do. What I’m trying to tell you is the boy that wanted a bike and naked pictures is not the same man who met a woman and now wants her.” He moved her bangs off her forehead. “The girl who saw a character in a movie and had a crush is not the same as the woman who met a man years later.”

  Could she let go and be with him and not worry every time he wasn’t in her sight? “What’s your fantasy, Logan?” All her cards were face up on the table. He knew everything, and they needed to even the odds.

  “Not Erin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Logan.”

  “I want to kiss you until neither of us can breathe, and then I want to take my time and explore every inch of you until you’re writhing beneath me. Then, I want to make love to you until you have no choice but to dig your nails into my back and scream.” He took her chin in his hand.

  The heat amplified, but her mind yelled out a warning. Sex. He wanted sex with her when he could have anyone. His definition of lady and hers weren’t the same after all.

  “But that’s not my fantasy.” He lowered his voice.

  She held her breath.

  “Then, I want to do it the next day and the next, until I lose count of the days.” He pulled her flush against him.

  “Start today, right now.” All her strength left, but her heart grew along with the desire that followed Logan everywhere, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He tightened his hold and continued to kiss her, alternating between soft, sweet kisses and deep ones filled with passion.

  Even in the dark, she shut her eyes, allowing the sensations Logan created throughout her body with a simple kiss to engulf her. She caressed his back, his arms, and his shoulders, taking in the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin.

  With a moan, he slid his lips to her neck giving her a series of openmouthed kisses down to her collarbone. His hands wandered, traveling over her hips, down to her legs, and then over her breasts, teasing and taunting her on the outside of the too thick fabric of her shirt.

  Craving more, she squirmed under his touch, trying to direct him to what she really wanted.

  Rather than give in, he returned to her lips, kissing her, taking his time to tangle their tongues, run his fingers through her hair, move against her.

  The heat from earlier burned. Every bit of her seemed enflamed, and she broke out into a sweat and gasped for air. “Oh, God, I’m hot.”

  “I know it, baby.” He went to connect their lips once more.

  She kicked the covers off. “No, this shirt, these pants.”

  “I was getting there.” He pushed her back on the bed, straddled her hips, and snaked his hands up the bottom of her shirt until he reached her breasts. “Yes.”

  The moment his fingers found her already tight nipples she sucked in her breath.

  “I can’t wait any longer to take a taste.” He made a little noise of satisfaction and at last rid her of the torture device, her clothes.

  The cool air helped her temperature, but once Logan lowered his face to her chest, the heat rose again. He paid equal attention to each of her breasts, massaging, tasting, and flicking his tongue over each tight peak. With agonizing slowness, he slipped her pants down and used his foot to fling them off the bed, leaving her in nothing but her panties. “Logan.”

  He moved to one side and silenced her with a kiss, while his hand slid between her thighs.

  She held her breath. No doubt he felt the extreme reaction she had to him.

  “Now that is hot.” He crushed his lips to hers and snuck his fingers inside her panties.

  With each passing minute, her arousal amplified, coaxed purposely by the man in bed with her. She needed him now. For what seemed like eternity, he would give her a bit of satisfaction, only to take the relief away, leaving her panting for more no matter how she tried to contort her body to take a little extra.

  Even in her state, she managed get her panties off and to move to her side to take her turn to reciprocate. Never before had the simple act of touching a man thrilled her to such a level, but with Logan everything was different. Again, she took in his chest, but then delved lower to his stomach, to the waistband of his temperature-appropriate pants, and finally, inside.

  No underwear gave her instant access to what she witnessed as only an oversize bulge in his pants. Solid, thick, and pure man, he lived up to everything she had already envisioned. She treated him to a few soft caresses.

  He moaned and took his pants off. While she tended to him, he kissed down her arm and back up to her mouth.

  She couldn’t take anymore and, trying to give him the hint she was more than ready to make love, returned to her back and opened her legs, the universal sign to any man with an erection. In fact, the point of longing had passed and discomfort was fast coming up on her. “Logan.”

  He answered by palming one breast and nippi
ng at the other.

  “Logan.” She arched her back, and he reached between her legs again, lightly circling her most sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingertip. “Please.”

  “What?” He dipped a finger inside her.

  Her heart accelerated, every part of her seemed sensitized, and she had to resist pulling him on top of her. “Make love to me, now.”

  Instead of giving in to her, he kissed her once more and abruptly flipped over and hung over the side of the bed.

  “Logan!” What the hell? She pounded her fist into the mattress.

  “One second, baby.”

  At the distinctive crinkle of a condom wrapper, she took a breath. She scratched her nails down his back and leaned up to kiss his arm.

  “Damn, I want you.” He turned over and gave her a long kiss as he got her on her back and moved on top of her. Without any more delay, he entered her in one smooth, gentle motion.

  “Oh.” She grabbed his shoulders and bit her lip. Though her body stretched to accommodate him, she obtained the sheer gratification in being filled.

  He lowered his face to the crook of her neck. “Perfect.”

  She practically purred.

  As with his foreplay, he never rushed, choosing instead to lavish attention on her in every way possible, with his mouth and hands, while he made love to her. He found his momentum with slow, even strokes down where he would add the extra pleasure of rubbing his hips to hers, and then a torturous egress where she writhed to have him deep inside her.

  Though he set the pace, she moved with him, kissed him, and fondled him in return. The yearning he created by simply being him and being here with her built in intensity. She needed more and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Like that.” He hissed and sped up. His thrusts came a bit harder, his kisses more erratic.

  Her body’s demand swelled, her carnal need consuming her as he inched her closer and closer to her release. “Logan.”

  “Come, baby.” His voice enticing and tempting. “Let go for me.”

  She wanted to obey and tensed. Her climax was right there, almost, and she had to have it. “Please.”