by Meghan March
I run to the screen to look out and see him pulling bags from his truck before making his way back to the front porch.
For some unknown reason, I don’t hesitate to open the door to let him back inside. I tell myself it’s because he’s carrying grocery bags, and I’m so hungry I’d even eat a non-kosher hot dog.
Logan sets the bags on the table and turns around to meet my gaze. Dammit. How is he even more freaking gorgeous than before? It’s not fair.
“You really shouldn’t call the guy who’s about to make you dinner an asshole.”
His words send a shaft of shame through me. Why do I keep screwing up when it comes to him?
“I thought you were just . . . leaving.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize, but he interrupts me.
“You really don’t know how to cook?”
I shake my head. “I’m from Manhattan. It’s not a necessary skill.”
“You’re a long way from New York City, Bruce. How long are you staying, anyway? You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
I hate the fact that I have to tell him the truth. If anyone but Logan were standing in my kitchen, I’d stick with my I just need a break from the city line, but he already knows that’s a lie.
“I don’t know how long I’m staying.”
He says nothing, clearly waiting for me to continue my explanation.
“Look, it’s a long story, okay?”
With a nod, Logan turns and starts unloading the grocery bags on the table. “Then you can tell me while I cook, because you’re not eating this bacon until I get a story that’s free of bullshit.”
My attention darts to the bags of groceries as a tingle of excitement takes root. “You have bacon in there?”
He glances over his broad shoulder, his muscles stretching against the shirt. “Sure do. That’s what a real man buys when he goes to the store.”
A real man. Like I need the reminder with how his presence sucks up the space in the small kitchen and makes it seem ten degrees hotter than the fire I almost started. Only me . . .
“If you want to run out to the truck, there’s a six-pack of beer too. Might as well crack some open.”
“Bacon and beer. I guess real men don’t mess around.”
He shoots me a look that lights another kind of fire—this time between my legs. No. Not going there.
“We mess around plenty, just not about food.”
Like I’m escaping the Texas chainsaw massacre, I rush toward the door and shut it behind me before I suck in a breath. I can’t be around him. It’s not safe. Pulling myself together, I pick my way along the uneven path to the truck and open the door.
The unique scent that clings to Logan Brantley wafts out—citrus and all things man. I tell myself it’s not as sexy as it seems as I find the cardboard six-pack of bottles tipped over in the floorboard of the passenger side. One bottle rolled under the seat, so I pull it out.
A piece of paper sticks to a bottle.
If you’re ever lonely, you know where to find me. 687-7896
Um. Excuse me?
I go to shove it back into the bowels of the truck where I pulled it from, but the crinkle of more paper stops me.
I should not be digging around in Logan Brantley’s truck. Also, side note, I am not jealous.
I’m not. Seriously.
I pull out a handful of similar notes.
I’m available to make you dinner anytime.
Text me if you want me to cook the food you’re inside buying. I know how to keep a man fed.
Bring your appetite over to my place and I’ll fix you up.
If they were all in the same handwriting, I’d say Logan had a stalker, but the variety of names and numbers listed at the bottom of the notes reveal that’s not the case.
Jesus, is every woman in this town throwing herself at Logan Brantley? And what is it with all the women who want to cook for him? Is it a Kentucky thing?
Seeds of jealousy take root inside me, and even though I try to stomp them out, they’re pesky little assholes that won’t take the hint.
So what if every single woman in this town thinks Logan Brantley is a catch? I wonder what they’d all think if they knew he drove almost a thousand miles to see me . . . and then stormed out of my apartment after our one-night stand.
Not even thinking about it.
I cram the notes back under the seat, grab the beer, and head back to the house. Even though I try to shut them down, two questions are front and center in my brain.
Does he take any of them up on their offers?
Why does he keep the notes?
When I slip back into the house, Logan has another frying pan on the stove. Thankfully, the mouthwatering scent of bacon has chased away the acrid stench of smoke.
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Thought you got kidnapped by Sasquatch or something.”
“A bottle got stuck under the seat, and I got caught up reading your stash of dinner invitations.”
His expression narrows, but I keep going.
“Do you ever have to cook for yourself? Or do you just keep them all on rotation? Like, she does good chicken, her steak is better, but this one’s casseroles are the shit, so I’m going to see her on comfort-food night.”
“What makes you think I take any of them up on their offers?”
I set the beer on the table. “Why wouldn’t you?”
Logan turns back to the frying pan. “Get the eggs out and whip up the pancake mix. If we’re having bacon, we might as well have a full-blown breakfast.”
Apparently that means the subject is closed. I don’t want to keep it open either, so I pull the box of pancake mix out of the grocery bag and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s one of those just add water kinds. Basically less chance of me screwing something else up tonight.
I open what seems like every cabinet door on my side of the kitchen without finding a bowl before I turn to Logan.
“Do you see any mixing bowls over there? I have no idea where anything is.”
He flips a piece of bacon before opening a cabinet and pulling one out. I cross the room to take it from him, but he holds on.
“You think I would’ve fucked you in New York if I was fucking every woman in this town?” His words come out quietly, but with strength behind them.
I tug on the bowl, but he still doesn’t let go. “I’m not asking for an explanation.”
“And here I thought I gave you one before when I said I don’t take everything that’s offered. A lot of these women are looking for a man to provide, and I’m not taking the chance that I’ll knock one of them up and get trapped into being a paycheck for eighteen years.”
“And you weren’t worried about knocking me up?” The question is out before I can take it back.
He shakes his head. “City girl like you, I figured you’d have your shit in order. And I always use a condom.”
“City girl like me . . .” I try the words out. “You mean the slutty kind? The kind that likes one-night stands because they’re easy, and I can get off and walk away without any complications?”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A heavy silence hangs over the kitchen, punctuated only by the popping of the bacon grease. Logan finally releases his hold on the mixing bowl, and I decide that I’m going to get drunk. Surprise, surprise.
I prepare the pancake mix on the opposite side of the kitchen, only approaching Logan to hand it off to him. As I reach for a beer, I see a container of orange juice peeking out from one of the bags. Well, hell, during the great mixing-bowl search, I found a bottle of vodka, and screwdrivers go better with breakfast than beer, in my opinion. I grab the orange juice and return to the cupboard for vodka to mix up my drink.
Logan snags a bottle of beer before he loads up another frying pan with pancakes.
“Want a screwdriver?” I ask, raising the vodka high.
He shakes his head as he pops the t
op off the beer and takes a swig. “No, what I want is the real story. So, get to it.”
With my screwdriver in front of me, I settle into a chair and lean it back on two legs.
“The real story . . . I got fired from my job, evicted from my apartment, and when my parents wouldn’t bother themselves to help and I couldn’t bring myself to take a handout from a friend, this option came up, and I thought what the hell.”
Logan flips pancakes before glancing over his shoulder. “That’s not exactly a long story.”
“Maybe not, but those are the highlights.”
“So coming here didn’t have a thing to do with me.”
I take a long drink of my screwdriver. Even now, with the warmth of vodka filtering through my body, I’m not sure how to answer that question.
I gesture in the direction of his truck with my glass. “You need another woman after you like I need another stroke of bad luck. Because, damn, that’s a pretty impressive lineup of Suzy Homemakers looking to catch a man.”
Logan steps away from the stove and meets my gaze for a long moment. “Maybe that’s why I like you better. You’re not looking for anything but a good time, and that’s about all I’ve got in me right now.”
His words sting more than I like to admit.
I’m the good-time girl. The party girl. The queen of one-night stands. I’ve embraced the title for the last ten years and earned every bit of it. But something about sitting here in a lilac-wallpapered kitchen with this man makes me wonder if it’s time to try something different.
What the hell? Shut up, Banner. You’re thinking crazy shit.
I take another quick sip, hoping it drowns out the strange feeling, but instead I zero in on Logan’s ass and remember how big and perfect his cock was.
All the screwdrivers in the world won’t stop the freight train of lust roaring through my veins. But maybe that’s a good thing. Lust, I understand. So what if I just want to ride him like a bull?
Logan’s deep drawl interrupts my thoughts. “You gonna make me bribe you with bacon to find out what put that look on your face?”
“I think the one-night-stand rule might need to be temporarily amended to allow a repeat,” I blurt out.
“Is that so?” He turns back to the stove to finish cooking without a change in expression.
My patience for the day is shot, and so is my appetite for subtlety. “What does that mean?”
He reaches for his beer and sucks down a swig. “It means we’ll see what happens. Now, get some plates. It’s time to eat.”
Chapter 23
Logan
Women are strange and unique creatures to begin with, but Banner is in her own league. When she bites into a crispy strip of bacon, the moan she lets out goes straight to my balls, reminding me of what she sounded like when she came on my fingers, mouth, and cock.
Is there any chance I’d turn down a second night with her? No way in hell. From the corner of my eye, I watch her eat as I finish cooking the eggs and then dump some onto both plates.
“It’s probably a good thing you’re not cooking for any of those women looking to tie you down, because they’d get a lot more creative if they knew you could whip this up so easily.”
I laugh at her bluntness. “I’m pretty sure their breakfast-cooking skills are better than mine.”
She lifts a piece of bacon into the air to gesture with it. “But you don’t understand the appeal of watching a man cook. It’s right up there with watching him come when you’re on your knees between his legs.”
I choke on my first bite of egg before my vision clouds with red at the thought of her getting another guy off. Something about Banner trips the trigger on my control. I don’t fucking care how many guys she’s been with, but I sure as shit don’t want to hear about them.
“Then I guess you’re going to have to drop to your knees in front of me and compare.” I don’t know where the words came from, but her eyes lift to mine and she blinks.
I like that shocked look on her face, the one she’s probably more used to seeing on others, given her lack of filter.
Her surprise fades away just as fast, and Banner is back on her game. “Oh yeah, big boy? You think you could manage to stand and not let your legs give out?”
My cock presses so hard against the zipper of my jeans that it might leave a permanent mark, but I refuse to let her get the last word in.
“I’ll stay standing even as I watch your throat work as you swallow every single drop.”
Banner’s eyes widen again, and a pink blush tinges her cheeks. I bet she didn’t know she could blush anymore. The corners of my mouth tug with a smirk. I would never consider saying something like that to anyone else, but with Banner, it just sets her off.
She doesn’t have a quick retort at the ready, so I keep pushing. “I bet if I slipped my hand in your panties right now, you’d be wet for me, wouldn’t you?”
She shifts on her chair and reaches for her drink. She empties it in two big gulps before setting it back on the table in front of her. “I think I might need to go take them off.”
The twinkle in her eye says she’s sure she’s tempting me. But one thing I’ve learned with Banner is I have to work to keep the upper hand.
“Finish your food. Then you can go take them off.”
She pushes her plate away. “I’m not hungry for this anymore.”
“What are you hungry for, Banner?”
“I want that big cock in my mouth so I can remind you just how hard I can make you come.”
Fuck . . . this woman.
“You think I forgot?” To myself I add, No way in hell, Bruce. I lean back and watch her face. “But a reminder wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
My taunt spurs her on. “You’re also going to want pussy for dessert, so you better save room.”
And I’m officially done. I drop my fork on the plate with a clang. “You’re killin’ me with that dirty mouth of yours.”
“I may not be able to keep your stomach full, but I can keep your balls empty.” Her lips turn up in a catlike smile. “So, what are you waiting for?”
“Fuck it.” I rise from the table and take two steps to reach her side before lifting her off her chair.
I don’t need directions to a bedroom in this house, so I head up the stairs with Banner’s legs wrapped around my hips and her lips on my jaw.
When I get to the room Holly used as a kid, I lower Banner to her feet. She wastes no time going for my belt and pulling out my dick, only pausing when I pull her shirt up and over her head.
“Fuck, I missed your tits.”
“I missed your cock.”
A thought strikes me. “You better not be doing this because you’re drunk.”
“Shut up, Logan. It was one screwdriver. At this point, you have to know I’d fuck you sober.”
I wrap a hand around the back of her head and force her gaze to mine. “Goddamned right you will.”
Chapter 24
Banner
Logan crushes his mouth to mine as I palm his cock, and his groan vibrates against my lips. When I’m done with him, he’s never going to forget tonight. And every time he thinks about one of those women making him dinner, he’s going to remember how he got off after cooking for me.
I hate the jealousy that leaches into me like acid, but I can’t help it. I’ve got something to prove. Maybe I’m only the good-time girl, but at least I know I’m fucking great at it.
I pull my lips away from his, and he tugs the shirt over his head. Trailing my tongue down his defined pecs and abs, I jack his cock the entire time. Logan’s hand finally covers mine when I hit my knees.
Together, we stroke him to the edge of orgasm as I tease the head with my tongue and lips. I cup his balls in my free hand, and his growl of pleasure fills the room right before his balls pulse, and I swallow every single drop.
Logan’s eyes open and he stares down at me on my knees. “Jesus Christ, woman. You’re fucking dangerous.”
/> “We’re not even close to done.”
If sex is all we’re going to have between us, then I’m going to make sure it’s the best he’s ever had.
“Give me a minute, and you’re right—we’re not done.”
Before I realize what’s happening, Logan has me on my knees on the bed, gripping the headboard behind me as I ride his face. His tongue lashes against my clit until I’m screaming his name and pressing hard against his lips.
He doesn’t wait for my orgasm to subside before repositioning me on my hands and knees. I hear the tear of a wrapper before he pushes into me from behind.
I’ll never admit it to him, but I love how he doesn’t ask me what I want, and instead just gives me what I need.
“You’re not done yet,” he says. “You’re gonna keep coming for me. You think I only want to hear you scream my name once? No fucking way. I want it again and again.”
Logan’s hand slides around my hip to cover my clit as he thrusts into me over and over. When he hits my G-spot perfectly and increases the pressure, I lose it. I’m a puddle on the bed by the time Logan yells out his own climax and collapses beside me.
Sleep pulls me under before I can even roll over.
Chapter 25
Banner
Bright, blinding sunlight pierces my eyes and drags me out of sleep. I groan and try to roll over, but I’m pinned in the smallest bed I’ve ever slept in.
What the hell?
Last night comes back in a rush. I’m in Gold Haven, Kentucky, in Holly’s gran’s house, and Logan Brantley’s cock is pressed against my ass.
Jesus. Talk about a welcome celebration.
When I move, Logan jolts awake, sitting up.
“Fuck.” He’s out of bed and pulling on his jeans before I sit up.
“What?”
“I gotta get the hell out of here.”
“Why? Are you late for something?”
“No, but I can’t fucking be here right now.” He throws on his shirt and is halfway out the door before I can ask my next question.