The moment he turned into the kitchen, he saw John’s rangy body sprawled on one of the kitchen chairs, with a grin the size of Montana splitting his face.
John kicked the chair up on its back legs, stretching his knobby knees. “Here I am thinking, poor old Logan, stuck up in that godforsaken country cabin with that workaholic colleague of mine, probably ranting and raving over the loss of his privacy—”
“What the hell are you doing here, Springfield?” There’d be no hiding the truth, but his hand itched to wipe that grin off John’s face.
“I was having convulsions of guilt, Logan, over putting you two in this situation. Been thinking about my screw-up for days. So I decided to take a ride up to see how you’re doing—“
“Don’t you have a wife and newborn?”
“—only to find the bed unmade and a pair of ladies’ floral underwear spinning from the ceiling fan”
“Enough.”
John stopped talking mid-breath. He let the chair fall back to its four legs as his brows disappeared under the mop of his blond hair “I didn’t think I could be more surprised but, geez, look at your face.”
Logan turned away from John’s perusal and made a beeline to the coffeemaker. He hit the power button, pleased to see the indicator lights go on.
Logan said, “The electricity went out last night. Looks like it’s back.”
“It certainly is.”
Logan frowned at the innuendo as he grabbed a can of coffee grounds. “You should have called before coming.”
“You should have checked your phone. But oh,” John said, gesturing to the counter with the row of spent candles, “there it is, abandoned on the kitchen counter with the romantic remnants of what clearly was an amazing night.”
“You should have called yesterday.”
“I’ve got a house full of women, Logan. My mother, my wife’s mother, my wife’s sister, a German baby nurse who trained in boot camp, and all of them telling me what to do—“
“Why aren’t you there, directing troops?”
“Because when I got a text from the utility company that the electricity had gone out here in the cabin, I seized the opportunity to swing by and see what was going on.” John tapped his fingers on the surface of the table. “Coming to see you and Dr. Vance was as good an excuse as any to take a break from the madness.”
“It’s an hour drive.”
“That’s an hour when I don’t have to look at my lovely wife suckling our newborn child, knowing I’ve got to wait weeks and weeks before I get send her underwear spinning on the ceiling fan.”
Logan’s pulse leapt as he dug the measuring cup into the fragrant grounds, scooping measure after measure into the filter. John’s words rang true: Logan had known Jenny for six days and yet he struggled to wait six more minutes before having her again. Hell, he didn’t even know what to call this thing between them. It sure as hell wasn’t a one-night thing. Because if John wasn’t taking up space in this kitchen, Logan would still be in bed, tangling up those sheets.
Logan slammed the filter of the coffee pot closed and then yanked open the faucet to fill the pot. He’d be damned, but he suddenly he understood why John had arrived so suddenly. Logan knew how difficult a new arrival to the family could be, straining relationships. His friend had bolted here, sleep-deprived and overwhelmed, looking for counsel.
“It’s never easy,” Logan said, forcing his voice neutral. “The first few weeks taking care of a newborn, if you’ve never done it before.”
John sputtered, “I hardly have time to think.”
“Everything will all fall into place,” he said. “It’ll take time, patience, and a new routine. You’ll both be more confident and more connected once you find a new rhythm to the family.”
John bobbed his head, still tracing patterns on the table. “So,” he said, in a more sober voice. “It’s pretty obvious that you and the professor worked things out.”
“Yeah, we did.” Logan clicked the coffeemaker on and leaned a hip against the counter. “Very recently.”
“Ah.”
“It hasn’t been easy, either.”
“Oh?” John cleared his throat. “So things are unsettled here, too?”
“Very.”
“Need some time to find a new rhythm?”
“John,” Logan said, like a warning.
“And here I am, showing up in the middle of all this, Mr. Sunshine.”
“Not good timing.”
“So you want me to march out that door and go back to my wife and child and leave you and Dr. Vance to figure out—”
“That won’t be necessary, Professor Springfield.”
Logan looked up to see Jenny standing in the doorframe. She wore a bathrobe of heavy silk that covered her from neck to ankle. A glow lit her cheeks – a silent flush of embarrassment, Logan figured—but she held her chin level, despite the tousled hair he’d mussed with his own fingers.
She said, “It’s good to see you again.” She stepped into the kitchen and held out her hand.
“What’s this ‘professor’ stuff? You always call me John.” He shot to his feet, leaned across the table, and shook her outstretched hand. “No matter what the circumstances.”
She managed a Sphinx-like smile as she stepped back into the doorframe. “Even these odd ones.”
Logan forced himself to breathe, wondering how he ever thought Jenny was cold and distant, when the act was so clearly a shield, and a brittle one at best, guarding the secrets of a woman who knew what she wanted.
“My apologies about all this,” John said, with a dip of his head. “I should have called first.”
“Nonsense.” She tightened the sash of her bathrobe. “This is your cabin, after all.”
“Not right now it isn’t.” John’s blue eyes danced with humor. “I’ll pass on the coffee, Logan. I’ll head back and leave you to your privacy.”
“Professor—John. Please don’t go.” Logan watched a blotchy flush deepen on her throat. “There’s no use leaving just because my lingerie is decorating the bedroom.”
Logan blinked, not quite believing his ears. John appeared to choke on his own tongue.
“Logan and I,” she continued, with a flick of a glance, “can keep our hands to ourselves for a few hours. Am I right, Logan?”
A surge of electricity passed between them so hard he expected the light bulbs in the ceiling to explode. A few hours? He wanted her now, wanted to tear that satin bathrobe off her as he tore her skirt off her last night. He wanted to burrow his head between her freckled thighs. He stared, lost in a kaleidoscope of fantasy, until he realized that she was expecting him to say something, and John’s ears were all perked in the silent room, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember what she’d asked and how he was supposed to answer.
“Stay for lunch, at least,” she said, looking away from Logan as her throat glowed pink. “Logan can grill burgers.”
John glanced at Logan, seeking guidance, but Logan’s tongue had been stolen by Jenny’s ease.
“Besides,” she continued, drawing John’s attention back to her, “While you’re here, I’d like to show you some of the results from the tests I’ve been running on the honeysuckle.”
John perked up, his mind shifting gears. “Find anything of note?”
“Potentially,” she hedged. “I’ll be happy to show you later, but first I’ve got to…” She waved vaguely back to the bedroom, and Logan saw the brittle shield of control quiver a little, before she forced it still. “Let’s talk about the results when I’m wearing real clothes.”
“O-okay,” John stuttered. “That would be…great.”
She nodded to the coffeepot, her gaze on Logan like a flickering flame. “Is there enough in there for me?”
“Plenty.”
She nodded and turned. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” Then she was gone.
John let out a slow, long whistle the moment he heard the bedroom door close. “Did that just happ
en?”
Logan exhaled. He wasn’t sure what the hell just happened, either.
“I walk in her to find out you’re involved with Dr. Jenny Vance, tenured professor, working wonder, and lo and behold out of the bedroom strides a Titian love-goddess.”
“Shut up, John.” Logan grabbed a cup.
“Do you have any idea what a lucky bastard you are?”
“Get the milk and put it on the table.” He poured the coffee. “I’ll fetch the sugar for Jenny.”
“‘Jenny’?” John whooped a laugh and pulled the fridge open. “And here I thought you two were heading for disaster. You’ve been such a bear since you got back from South America, and Dr. Vance can be intimidating--well, clearly I don’t know the woman very well—”
“John,” Logan thrust the cup at him with a hard eye. “Tell me about Judy.”
“Judy’s great, but the house doesn’t go up in flames when she looks at me.”
Don’t think about that look. “And what’s this about a German baby nurse?”
“You’re still a bear,” John continued, grinning over his cup. “But I’m glad you two hit it off so quickly.”
He shut his eyes. “You’re worse than my mother.”
“I like your mom. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Go home, John,” Logan said. “Go home to Judy. Postpartum depression might set in soon. I’ll make your excuses to Jen—your other houseguest.”
“No way. I’ve got an invitation. It would be plain inhospitable for me to drive away now. So you’d better ‘fess up, Logan, ‘cuz I’m not leaving until I hear the whole story.”
Logan took a sip of his own black coffee and met his friend’s eyes level and hard. “That will take all of five minutes.”
John’s exuberance dimmed. “It’s a casual thing?”
He shook his head ‘no’ before he had a moment to think otherwise, then filled his mouth with more hot coffee to stop himself from saying anything else so freakin’ reckless.
“It doesn’t look casual.” John scraped his cup on the table. “Funny thing, I never would have put you two together, but…yeah, I can see how that works.”
Logan sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable discussion. He and John had known each other since they were children, attended the same schools for fifteen years, played on the same football team, struggled in the same calculus classes. In just a way as this, John had dragged out of Logan the whole sordid tale of what had happened in South America—a story Logan had only told Garrick and Dylan. Now Logan leaned against the counter gripping his coffee cup trying to form his thoughts into words. He could hear the vague sound of the water running in the master bathroom. It hurt to think when it was his body doing all the talking, imagining joining Jenny in that small shower. But here sat John, pinning him with that all-knowing look in his eye, his feet planted firmly on the kitchen floor, waiting for details.
He didn’t have details. They didn’t exist, not in any language he knew, and he knew three. His feelings for Jenny were visceral. He wanted. More than her body, but he wasn’t ready to go down that path. Everything was too raw, too fresh, and too tender to expose to the bright open air.
“By God,” John murmured as he sank back into the chair. “I never thought it would happen.”
“What?”
“You, falling like a load of bricks.”
“Stop.” He shook his head. “It isn’t the right time, John.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not ready for this,” Logan said, waving his coffee cup in vague circles. “And I suspect she isn’t, either.”
“Cupid doesn’t give a damn about timing.”
Logan nearly spit out a mouthful. “Cupid?”
“Don’t laugh.” John rumbled up from the chair and tossed in the sink the dregs of his coffee, which Logan hadn’t even witnessed him drinking. “I remember the first time I saw Judy. The shot went clean through my heart.” He yanked open the refrigerator door and sidled a glance at Logan. “I felt exactly how you look right now. Like the arrow was made of lead and weighed about fifty pounds.”
Again, Logan couldn’t muster a denial. But something had seized him over the last few days. Something fierce and needy and uninvited, something he hadn’t expected.
“The professor was right, you do have burgers in here.” John took the meat out and tossed it on the counter. “Got propane for that grill? I’m starved.”
Logan glanced at the clock over the sink. “John, it’s eleven-thirty in the morning.”
“Hey, you single studs might be able to sleep until noon, but I was up feeding Lily at five-thirty. It’s way past lunchtime for me. You and your ladylove will just have to suffer burgers for breakfast. Besides,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, “what a man needs after a night like yours is a hunk of red meat.”
“Point made.” Logan clanked his cup in the sink. “But I’m the one who’s making the burgers.”
“You burn them. That’s no way to treat fine ground beef.”
“Shut up and get the Worcestershire sauce.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jenny descended the stairs to the cool mustiness of the lab, flipping open her notebook to refresh her memory before she invited Dr. Springfield to peruse her work. Through the grime on the basement window she could see her colleague’s long knobby legs stretched out from a lawn chair on the grass, and she could hear the comfortable cadence of his and Logan’s voices. Whatever uneasiness Logan might have felt when John had interrupted their morning had clearly passed in the half-hour since she’d left the two men in the kitchen alone, in favor of a quick shower and an opportunity to collect her scattered wits.
Now she turned her focus to the notebook, re-calculating in her head the approximate values for the pertinent chemical composition of the varieties of leaf extract. The numbers blurred into one another, but she powered through until she was sure of her results. John would want to know specifics. And she’d have to talk to him about something when she went out there, and preferably something that didn’t touch on the fact that she’d spent the night fucking her colleague’s buddy. She’d never been good at social occasions where people stood in tight groups trying to make each other laugh, chatting about this one’s baby and that one’s upcoming marriage and the illicit affair going on between a teacher and a graduate student. With only John and Logan out there, she’d be expected to keep up her end of the conversation, so she had to be armed with Suitable Topics. She wouldn’t be able to hide behind her cup of coffee while checking the clock at intervals to see when she could in good conscience leave. Nor could she linger in this lab for much longer, when the men were expecting her to join them any minute, even if the lab tempted her with all its unfinished experiments, even if she yearned to just burrow here for the whole afternoon with the excuse of needing to finish just one last bit of work.
How on earth were all three of them going to ignore the morning’s incident?
She sank on the lab stool that had seen better days and dropped her head into her hands. She couldn’t think of anything else. The inside of her thighs still throbbed, pleasantly sore, her whole body logy and loose-jointed, even after a high-pressure shower and an exfoliating body rub. Their morning might have been interrupted, but it had continued in detail in her mind ever since. Her skin was alive with sensation. She was less concerned about facing John’s knowing twinkle and his laughing eyes than the fact that she wanted the professor to go home as soon as possible so she and Logan could return to the bedroom and finish what they’d barely begun.
Her attention once again drifted back to the window, drawn by the continuing murmur of the men’s voices. Logan talked as if he hadn’t been knocked off his axis by the explosive lovemaking, and for all she knew, he hadn’t. Maybe this was just an interlude for him. She hadn’t a clue. She’d only known him for a few days. He was a freakin’ cypher. But she supposed she could act with the same insouciance; pretend she wasn’t turned inside-ou
t, that their coupling hadn’t shaken her in a way she couldn’t define. But whatever she did, she had to do it now. For if she stayed in this lab too much longer Logan and John would both wonder why she was hiding. If she was hiding, they would assume she was dodging. And she absolutely did not feel embarrassed for enjoying the best sex of her life.
The next thing she knew she was rounding the house to join them on the back lawn. She held a hot cup of coffee and her sunglasses in her hand as she glanced at Logan, standing in front of a smoky grill by the house, his black hair thick, the column of his neck bent and strangely vulnerable. She’d grasped that neck in the heat of it all, to draw him down closer. Logan suddenly glanced over his shoulder as if she had winged the memory to him on a gilded arrow.
“There you are.” Dr. Springfield lifted his bottle of water in a welcoming toast. “Logan’s just putting on a batch of burgers. Better tell him if you like them anything but crisp, Jen, ‘cuz that cowboy has a heavy hand.”
“Make mine rare, Logan.” She slipped her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just shy of bleeding.”
John let out a laugh that bordered on a whoop. “Jen knows how to eat a burger.”
“Keep this up,” Logan muttered, fixing his gaze on the meat sizzling on the grill, “and you are both going to die young.”
“Don’t you listen to him,” John said. “He’s been living in too many foreign countries. It’s got him spooked.”
“Food poisoning,” Logan reiterated. “Number one killer of children under three in some places.”
“I’m over three,” John said, turning to her. “Logan needs to remember that the U.S. government has standards for beef—“
“—and suggestions about how it should be cooked.”
“So let the government eat its burgers their way,” John said, “and Jen and I will eat them ours.”
She smiled through the banter as she sank into a lounge chair next to John’s. She settled her lips over the lip of her coffee and took a swig of the strong, sugary brew. Glancing around the backyard, she took in the blue smoke of the grill rising into the trees, and the birds chirping amid the leaves, the way a bee lazily buzzed around a thatch of dandelion gone into seed. This is what people did when they weren’t working, she figured. They sat in their backyards or on their decks and soaked in the sun while enjoying the company of family and friends. This is what her friends did all those summers while she was hiding in the dampness of some musty laboratory filling her notebook with calculations and experiments. This was the life of people with unbroken hearts.
Alone With You (Cabin Fever Series Book 1) Page 8