The world slipped away. There was no more kitchen, no floor beneath her feet, no rain pattering on the windows, no candlelight flickering, no roof over her head. His kiss obliterated everything but the shift of his eager body against hers, and the blood coursing hot and hungry through her own.
He drove his thigh between her legs, forcing the hem of her skirt up. Leaning back against the counter, she ran one knee up his khakis, giving him better access. Her breath hitched as his thigh hit the delta between her legs. He broke the kiss and added some friction, watching her as she struggled to breathe.
The edge of the counter cut into her backside. Her body swayed back over the sink. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto her face. Her heart raced, stumbled, and raced anew. It had been too long since she’d felt like this. And why now, why this was happening, when she’d tried so hard to feel this way before, and had failed to find the magic? What alchemy did Logan possess to flick her on so brightly, without any effort at all?
He pulled away a fraction, giving her leave to scrape her fingernails up his bare abdomen, past the plates of his chest, to wind around his neck. He looked at her from under the shadow of his hair before cupping both her breasts over her shirt with eager hands.
Her nipples strained against the lacy bra, aching for his touch just as he lowered his head and sucked on a nipple through the fabric. He sucked again, pulling the nipple to a tip, teasing it before he gasped a breath and hauled himself up, saying, “Bed.”
White spots burst before her eyes. Either she was passing out or her brain was short-circuiting.
“As much as I want to haul you up against the sink and take you right here,” he said, “I promised you naked on a bed.”
She didn’t care if he took her in a bed, against the counter, on the linoleum floor, or in the muddy grass under the rain. She was lit up to the end of every nerve ending,
He planted his hands on either side of her, his face tight with wanting. “Are you coming?”
“Oh, I’m definitely coming. You promised to make me scream.”
Choking down an exclamation, Logan seized the candle on the countertop then grabbed her hand. He swiveled on one foot and pulled her out of the kitchen. She trailed after him as he led her through the pitch-black living room, then the hall, then into the bedroom where she’d first seen him standing in the portal, his gaze slipping over her wet, naked body.
A flash of lightning speared silver light through the blinds, illuminating her rumpled bed. Logan planted the single candle on the bedside table and then pulled her against him for another possessive kiss, maneuvering her in the room. Suddenly she felt the bed bump against the back of her knees. She responded to the subtle pressure of Logan’s body and fell back upon the twisted sheets. The mattress bounced her up, then let her settle. She let her arms fall above her head, felt the stretch lift her breasts as she arched, wanting him now.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating a ripple of bared muscles as he wrestled his shirt off and tossed it away. The candle flickered, gave off just a small circle of light, liming him on one side. She saw his arms moving, heard the clink of a belt buckle, the whir of a zipper, the rustle of clothes as he bent to kick off his khakis. She raised herself on her elbows, waiting breathless for the lightning to flash anew, so she could see what was coming.
But he leaned over her instead, seized her arms, and pulled her up to a sitting position to grab a handful of her shirt. “Off.”
She crossed her arms as he peeled the knit off her body. Her hair swung out of the neckline and brushed her bare shoulders as he tossed the damp sweater away. It fell with a thump to the floor as she unhooked her bra, peeled it off wetly, and set her breasts free. The cool air licked her damp skin.
Lightning flashed again. She’d often rued the size of her breasts, hated how quickly sensible men turned into drooling grammar-school boys at the sight of them, even when she was fully dressed. She dealt with that nonsense in the workplace, and developed means to surmount those barriers, but right now, as the room lit up with another flash, she glimpsed the hungry look on Logan’s face as he drank in the sight of her, half naked, and suddenly she loved her body. Her body excited this man, and that electricity rebounded when she glimpsed by the candlelight that he was finally naked, too.
She curled her hand around his hard, thick sex. It pulsed against her hand.
He gripped her wrist, his voice strained. “Jenny.”
“But I want to—”
“Later.”
He shifted a knee on the bed and she released him. Scooting her legs upon the bed so she could lie back, she sank against the sheets as he positioned his big, muscle-lean body over her. She curled her hands behind his neck, urging him down so that skin touched her skin, both slippery-wet from the drenching, sliding over each other. His body was smooth and hot and the muscles beneath that skin flexing and strong.
He found her mouth in the darkness. She fell into his kiss but she wanted him deeper. She wanted him to be so wrapped up in the moment that he moved in her with the same urgency that she felt tightening inside her. She wouldn’t ask for anything more than that—just a bout of hard, heavy sex, a slaking of a very mutual physical desire. It was enough. She would lose herself for as long as it lasted.
“Off,” he growled, tugging on her skirt.
She murmured, “Buttons.”
“Where?”
“Left side.”
He found the first button and flicked it open. The pressure eased around her waist. He flicked open the second, and the third, and a tingling began between her legs. Fumbled to find the fourth, he ran his hand under her bottom and lifted her butt. He tugged the skirt loose and flicked open another button, but growled at the effort.
He stopped, slapping his hand on the bed beside her hip. “How much do you like this skirt?”
“What?”
“It’s got to go, Jenny.” He bent his head to rub his unshaven chin across her nipple. “Take it off, or I’m ripping it off.”
“Do it.” She ran her fingernails across his back. “Rip my skirt off, Logan.”
With a swift inhale, he tugged so hard her bottom lifted clear off the bed. A button popped. Then another. Cotton ripped; the sound of it filled the room. With a scrabbling hand he dragged the cloth down her legs until she could kick it free. Somewhere, Jenny thought, a couture designer was screaming. She didn’t care. She’d go into anaphylactic shock if Logan didn’t rip these lace panties off, too, and finally thrust inside her.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispered, as he slid his hand under the waistband of her panties, “since the first moment I saw you.”
He slid a finger over her clit and her body tensed. He rolled his finger, stroking, bending his head to watch the working of his hand beneath the scrap of lace. She arched into his grip, wanting or more than just his fingertips, as strange little sounds came from her throat. With a snap she felt the lace yanked down her legs, and then he shifted his weight to replace his fingers with something hotter, harder, thicker.
She arched as he eased himself in. She spread her legs wider, tilting her hips to welcome him deeper. Flexing her palms across his back, she pressed her mouth against his shoulder, tasting rain and sweat and skin. Every muscle in his body went bow-tight with restraint as he sheathed himself in her.
He pulled out to thrust in again, and then again, and again…and there it was, that synchronicity of movement they’d shared that day in the park, the fluid matching of bodies, the unthinking fulfilment of need, their hearts racing at the same tempo, their breathing as one. She softened for him as he grew harder, opened herself when he thrust in, tightened around his shaft when unsheathed, squeezing to urge him to thrust harder, deeper, faster—
--then she cried out as her mind reeled through a brightness of light just as he groaned and thrust so hard he lifted her hips in his own pleasure.
All was blinding white light behind her eyes for a long time. Slowly, she drifted like thistledown across t
he field of her mind until she became aware of the patter of rain on the windows, the coolness of the air, Logan’s body slipping off to lie beside her. Their bodies were damp with rain and sex. His breathing was still labored, but she felt drowsy and sated in ways she didn’t quite yet want to think about.
He murmured, “Jenny?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t want to talk, not yet, not now. But neither could she feign sleep. So with her eyes closed, she ran a lazy hand up his side so he would know she’d heard him. He shifted his weight, pulled a cool sheet over their joined bodies. The fibers clung to her legs. She burrowed her head against his chest, pleased that he understood, content to lie here in swimming insensibility a little longer. Curled close like this, she could believe that this feeling of warmth and contentedness could last.
At least for the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Logan rose up from sleep to a distant, crunching sound that faded the moment he became alert enough to think. He blinked his eyes open, curious about the noise, only to see nothing but a mass of red hair that assailed his senses with the aroma of strawberries. He breathed it in deep, and then saw, upon the shell of a woman’s ear, the bright light of morning streaming through the narrow slats of the bedroom blinds.
Jenny.
In one heady rush he remembered the evening before. Out of reflex, he slid his hand over her naked ribs and nudged her body closer to his. Lazily, she rolled into the circle of his embrace, her breasts brushing his chest as she made a soft woman-sound that sent his blood surging.
Jenny. Was she haunting his dreams or actually lying beside him, naked with him under these sheets? He couldn’t quite believe this was her, purring warm against his nudity, her hair tangled across the pillow, tresses clinging to his throat, his cheek, his lips. This couldn’t be his cantankerous Jenny, sleepily blinking open her eyes. This couldn’t be his Jenny, whose mouth didn’t push him away with words now, but instead curled into an inviting smile. How could this alluring bundle of gorgeous, pliant woman be the same stick of dynamite he’d lit in the darkness of last night’s storm?
Then he heard another sound, coming from outside the window. The unmistakable sound of a car door slamming.
Logan shot up, tossed the sheet aside, and bolted to the window. He thrust his hand between the blinds to peer toward the driveway to glimpse the gleam of a third car. With a jolt, he realized that the sound that had woken him out of a contented slumber was the crunching sound of tires against gravel. Behind his truck and Jenny’s Saab was parked a four-wheel sports utility vehicle that looked vaguely familiar.
“Jenny,” he barked in a low voice. “Get dressed.”
“Hmm?”
He snapped the blinds closed and glanced at the bed. Jenny eased herself up to a sitting position, heavy lids closed, stretched her arms high as she yawned. The loose sheet slipped down her curvy body, exposing breathtaking breasts and perfectly formed pale pink nipples, puckering for him.
He slapped a hand against the wall as blood rushed out of his head. How long it would take to crawl back onto that bed, ease Jenny down, and make her scream his name again? His head crackled in anticipation of fireworks, for he knew how easily her fuse was lit and how to stoke that gorgeous fire, so to hell with this visitor—but then he heard footsteps pounding on the deck and the kitchen door squealing open.
Damn. They’d left the door open last night.
“Logan?” called a familiar voice from the kitchen. “Are you here?”
Jenny’s eyes flew open. Her mouth froze in mid-yawn as she stared through the open bedroom door down the hall Logan searched the floor for his underwear, dropped halfway under the bed. He swept it up and thrust in a leg, then the other, and then groped for his rain-damp shorts.
“Logan,” she whispered, seizing the sheet, “Who is it—”
“Find something to wear. Quick.”
“Dr. Vance? Logan?” came the male voice, again, from the living room this time. “I know you’re around here somewhere, both your cars are in the driveway.”
Jenny made a muffled squeal and rolled off the opposite side of the bed. She hit the floor with a thump. Logan managed to yank on his khaki shorts just as John reached the far end of the hallway.
“There you are,” John said, pausing for a moment in the hall as Logan fumbled with the zipper of his shorts. “You left the front door open.”
“Power outage,” he said, as Jenny’s rustling ceased. “I had other things on my mind.”
Still do.
John approached though the dim hallway, shaking his head as he whistled through his teeth. “It’s nearly noon, are you just getting up?”
“Yeah,” he said, buttoning his shorts and looking John straight in the eye so John wouldn’t look elsewhere in the room. “You got a problem with that?”
“Hell no,” John said, stopping in the open portal. “I’d like to trade places for a week or two. Since this baby came, all I can think about is when I’ll ever get a chance to sleep until noon—”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.” So early. Now. When I was minutes away from holding her in my arms again.
“Nice way to greet a friend.” Concern appeared in the line between John’s brows and he looked Logan up and down and then glanced around the room. “I called your cell twice and left a text message but you never…. Hey, what’s that hanging from the ceiling fan?”
“Make some coffee, John.” Logan stepped close and seized the bedroom door, standing between John and the room. “I could use some, couldn’t you?”
“Ah, sure, Logan, but—” John stumbled back as Logan partially pushed the door closed “—is that a skirt on the floor?”
“You’re seeing things.” Logan kicked the cloth back, getting his bare foot tangled in the opening. “Sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations.” He tried to shake the ripped skirt off his toe. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
John’s face lit up in the dimness of the hallway. Logan would have laughed at his friend’s incredulous expression, if this were a laughing matter.
“Coffee.” Logan demanded, giving his old friend an eye he couldn’t possibly mistake. “I’ll be out in a few minutes and then you can tell me why you decided to drop by unannounced.”
Logan closed the bedroom door.
He turned to see Jenny’s bright red head just peeking above the edge of his bed. “That was Dr. Springfield.”
“I heard.” She pressed her cheek against the sheets. “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
“I didn’t know he was coming.”
“Doesn’t he have a newborn baby? And a wife just out of the hospital?”
“Last time I checked, yeah.”
“Then what’s he doing here?”
“Ruining our morning.”
She caught his eye and rose, nymph-like, from a frothy tangle of sheets—sheets she struggled to hold tighter to the body he wanted to pleasure again so badly his balls ached.
She whispered, “He saw my clothes.”
“He didn’t see you.” Logan kicked up the remnants of the skirt he’d ripped off her last night. “But he did jump to a conclusion.”
She dropped back down to sit in the pool of sheets. She pressed a hand against her forehead as if against a headache.
“Hey, Jenny, it’s no big deal.”
“I know. But he’s a colleague.” She dropped her hand. “I’m embarrassed.”
“But it’s his bad, not yours, for showing up unannounced.” For her sake, he’d have to spin this situation somehow. He couldn’t exactly lie to his friend. “I’ll distract John in the kitchen so you can get dressed.”
Logan searched the carpet for his shirt, seized it and yanked his arms into it, while Jenny tip-toed around like a cat, gathering up her damp shirt and discarded bra. Her jaw looked raw and pink, he noticed, as he pulled the hem of his shirt down over his abdomen. Stubble burn, he thought, and wished that he could hold her head, turn her face, and kiss the pink par
t better.
Damn it, he hadn’t wanted the morning after to unfurl like this. He wanted to take it slow in the morning, hold her close, see the expression on her face when he touched her, bury his nose in the nook between her throat and her jaw, breathe in the scent of her. This new bond between them was fiercely physical but also felt as fragile as glass.
But now he had John to contend with, Jenny’s own work colleague, muddying the whole situation. He thrust his hand through his tangled hair. If there was one thing Jenny didn’t need after last night, it was a colleague of hers grinning and leering and making dirty jokes.
“Logan?” She shuffled around the room, still wrapped in a sheet, with a wad of discarded clothing under her arm. “Have you seen my panties?”
“Yeah.” His throat tightened as his gaze strayed to the ceiling. “Look up.”
As Jenny suppressed a squeal, Logan slipped out the door and closed it behind him. He strode through the hallway, inventing stories to explain to John why he was in bed at noon in a bedroom strewn with women’s clothing. He supposed he could write the incident off as a wild one-night stand with some nameless partner—except that John certainly must have noticed that there was no sign of Jenny anywhere else in the cabin, though her car was still parked in the driveway, and no other evidence of any another female present.
Bad timing, the annoyance kicked him. As consenting adults, he and Jenny didn’t have to answer to anybody about their personal lives, but Logan understood her discomfort being discovered in all but flagrante delicto by a colleague. After last night’s fireworks, Logan realized now, more than ever, why she used a frosty, uber-professional demeanor to keep interested colleagues at a distance. Jenny was knock-out gorgeous. Of course she wanted to dim that light so it didn’t blind the many male colleagues she needed to interact with on a professional and intellectual level. He felt a surge of testosterone, that such a woman would choose to drop her guard for him, but he couldn’t let himself strut like a rooster in front of John. Right now it was his job, as the man Jenny had chosen to share herself with, to make sure his buddy understood the protocol required going forward, both personally and professionally.
Alone With You (Cabin Fever Series Book 1) Page 7