by Carly Carson
"Now that's not what I expected to hear." He laughed.
"You must have heard it before."
He shrugged. Words from paid companions meant nothing to him and, in any case, he was far more focused on her than on himself. He stepped closer to the bed and leaned over her. The partially opened blouse was testing his control. He pushed the sides open. "Let's get rid of this."
Lifting her shoulders, he removed the blouse and bra in one quick motion. When he set her back on the bed, he followed her down. That simple move of pursuit set him on fire.
He opened his mouth on hers and swept in with his tongue. He grasped both breasts, forcing himself to be gentle, when he wanted to be rough, wanted to wipe away the uncertainty in her gaze, wanted to hear her cry out in ecstasy. She'd been quiet, so far, and he could feel her holding herself back. While his mind approved – after all, he was doing the same thing – his testosterone-fueled cave man wanted her convulsing and clinging like she'd never let go.
Luckily, he knew how to achieve that goal.
He flipped her onto her stomach and pressed kisses to the back of her neck. He used his teeth, biting her until he realized his control was slipping. He'd never wanted to mark a woman the way he wanted to mark Mandy, as if he were a lion choosing his mate, and showing the proof to the world.
He eased up and turned her back over.
"I feel dizzy," she whispered.
"I'm sorry. I was a little rough."
Her breasts enticed him and he began to kiss and lick them, but tenderly. He didn't want her to panic. The lust that was roaring through him was hot enough to burn everything in its path if he wasn't careful. He forced himself to be gentle, teasing her by avoiding her nipples. He didn't relent until she began to whimper and arch her back.
Then he latched onto one and sucked, reveling in the sharp points that stabbed his mouth. She was grabbing him anywhere she could. His head. His shoulders. Her fingernails clawed his back.
Reaching with one hand, he yanked open the nightstand drawer. As much as he hated condoms, he would never have sex without that protection preventing another life from invading his. He slipped it on.
Then he threw a leg over her and got up on his knees, caging her. He yanked up her skirt, feeling a moment of regret that he hadn't gotten it off her. But his need was too great.
"Mandy."
She opened her eyes and he saw she was dazed with lust.
"Are you ready?" He was poised over her entrance, rigid with restraint. Her comment about being dizzy whispered in the back of his mind. Damn, there were times he hated having a conscience.
"I can't stop you," she whispered.
Logan repressed a groan of frustration. "Of course you can." His voice was gruff. But at least he'd managed the words.
He dropped his head and kissed her, thrusting with his tongue, feathering her breasts, trying to transmit to her his sense of urgency. All the neurons of his brain narrowed down to one focal point—arousing her until she succumbed. He used his lips, his tongue and his hands, traveling all over her body until she writhed on the bed.
The next time he caged her, her hips were reaching for him.
He teased her opening with his cock, though he had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from entering her. Her hips reached for him, and he pulled back, just a little. He had to be sure.
"Logan!" she cried. "Now!"
He slammed into her.
***
Logan slid away from Amanda on the king-sized bed. The movement was automatic, a habit of necessity. Women liked to cling, and he couldn't bear it.
In a few minutes, he would try to take her again. But for now, he needed his own space.
"Is something wrong?" Her clear voice pierced the dark silence of his bedroom.
"No." He closed his eyes, knowing he was shutting her out completely, but helpless to change his behavior. "Give me a few minutes."
She moved. He heard the whisper of her body on the sheet.
"I need to go," she said, her voice low.
He would never ask a woman to stay. But—"I want you again," he said. He almost reached out a hand.
But, no. He couldn't do it. Emotions were poisonous.
She sat up. "I can't stay."
He heard the uncertainty in her voice, and understood it. She needed reassurance. Hugs and kisses would be best, but that wasn't his style.
He turned on his side and propped himself up on an elbow. "We still haven't done slow and easy," he said.
She gave a muffled giggle. "I bet you've never done slow and easy."
He smiled, though he knew she couldn't see it in the dark. "Now that's a challenge. Just what I like."
Suddenly, his need for her was greater than his need for separateness. He reached across the gulf between them.
"Let me show you," he said.
***
When Amanda awoke in the morning, Logan was gone. She knew immediately that she was alone in his king-sized bed. A bed that was too big for one person. A fact she knew well because, although she'd slept and dozed in between the bouts of heated sex, she was always alone unless they were touching for sex.
He'd never cuddled her. Not once. Now, although her body felt immensely sated, and her memories were x-rated, her heart was battered.
She'd learned one thing after a night of hot sex with Logan Winter. It didn't take money to make one feel like a whore.
Rather, it was being used for sex and then denied any emotional closeness that made one feel like a blow-up doll. He had proved beyond a doubt that he knew everything there was to know about sexual pleasure, much like a sex worker might, but he was a cold man.
She pulled up the sheet, and just that movement of silky-smooth cotton over her skin brought back the memory of his hands and mouth and other parts playing with her body, arousing her to the point where she didn't care about anything other than what he was doing to her.
The truth was that she hadn't known herself. She hadn't known that the self-discipline on which she'd prided herself was merely a lack of temptation. As soon as a man came along who pushed all the right buttons for her, she'd succumbed faster than a teenaged girl on prom night. Yes, she'd been a little bit drunk. But that hadn't been the cause of her downfall. No, she had to face the truth.
Logan had seduced her in the good, old-fashioned way – by giving her a pleasure in her body that she couldn't resist.
Since she didn't seem to have any self-discipline where he was concerned, she had to be sure that she wasn't alone with him in private again. Anywhere.
She couldn't eliminate his appeal. She had to eliminate his opportunity.
Which meant, it was time to leave. She swung her legs out of bed. Ouch. He'd reached places she didn't know she had. Allowing herself one wince, she made her way into the bathroom. A new tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush still in the packaging sat on the marble counter. He was polite, if not loving.
A note was taped to the bathroom mirror.
Had an early breakfast meeting. See you at the office.
Terse, to the point. Just what she might have expected, although not what she might have hoped for.
Suppressing a sigh, Amanda returned to the bedroom. She didn’t feel comfortable making use of his shower so she got dressed. It wasn’t until she was leaving that she heard sounds from the kitchen—a clink of dishes, water running. She hesitated, but finally decided she’d better make herself known to whoever was in there.
Following the faint sounds she made her way down the hallway until she saw the bright lights of the kitchen. Drawing a deep breath for courage, she stepped through the doorway. A white-haired woman was standing at the sink, humming softly to herself. Amanda cleared her throat awkwardly.
The woman jumped a mile and dropped the coffee mug she had been rinsing. Her half-stifled shriek was audible even over the sound of breaking crockery as she turned and gaped at Amanda.
"Mercy!" she exclaimed, holding her hand over her heart. "What a start you gave
me."
"I’m sorry." Amanda felt a flush creeping over her cheekbones. It couldn’t be more obvious that she was a stranger here, nor that there was no polite explanation for why she would be here in the morning wearing last night’s clothes.
"I was just on my way out," she said, "but I heard you in here and didn’t want you to wonder who had gone out the front door." She gestured awkwardly with her hand. "I didn’t expect you to be so surprised to—to find a woman here in the morning."
"Well, that’s where you’re wrong." The woman wiped her hands on the dishtowel tucked into her apron. "I’ve never known him to keep a woman here overnight."
Before Amanda could digest that statement, the woman continued. "How tactless of me. I’m sorry. Let me introduce myself. I’m Mrs. MacDonald, the housekeeper."
"Amanda Thompson." They shook hands. "I umm…work for him…" Her voice trailed off as she realized the hopelessness of any explanation. Mrs. MacDonald wouldn't be stupid because Logan didn't hire dummies. She knew exactly what Amanda was doing here, and nothing more needed to be said.
"Don’t you worry about anything, child," Mrs. MacDonald said comfortably. "Let me get you a cup of coffee." She bustled around and soon had a steaming mug set on the table. Amanda sipped gratefully while Mrs. MacDonald cleaned up the mess in the sink.
"The man could have dropped a hint in my ear," the housekeeper said cheerfully as she emptied the dustpan of broken china into the trash. "Sat there reading his Wall Street Journal, and never breathed a word."
"Probably forgot I was here." Amanda sipped at the fragrant coffee.
"Not him." Mrs. MacDonald laughed. "He doesn't miss a trick, that one."
"Have you known him a long time?" Amanda almost clapped a hand over her mouth. She shouldn't be prying.
But Mrs. MacDonald didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "All his life," she said with a big smile.
"You worked for his family?" Amanda said tentatively. She couldn't resist the opportunity to learn something more about him, but it seemed like family was a delicate subject for him.
Mrs. MacDonald's cheery face seemed to sag. "He’s a very private man," she said. "Sometimes he takes it too far, but it’s not a bad vice as far as vices go."
"Right." Amanda stood up. "I'd better get to work."
"Oh, no. You must eat some breakfast first." Mrs. MacDonald lifted her hands. "It would be my pleasure."
Amanda hesitated. She needed to leave, but the woman seemed—maybe anxious for company? Logan probably wasn't home much, and there didn't appear to be any other staff.
"I suppose I could eat a bagel, or something simple. I don't have much time." She didn't have any, if the truth were told. She still had to go home and change her clothes before she headed into the office.
"Excellent." Mrs. MacDonald beamed. "I'm glad you didn't ask for a pastry, because we don't stock that sort of thing."
She bustled over to a bread bin, took out a bagel and popped it into the toaster oven. "Butter, cream cheese?"
"Butter is fine."
Amanda cast about for a neutral subject of conversation. "How did you start the rooster collection?" She pointed toward the window.
"I've always liked roosters," the older woman answered. "They seem like cheerful creatures." She took a cantaloupe from the refrigerator and began slicing.
"Did you grow up on a farm?"
"Oh no, I'm a city girl, oddly enough. Or was." She paused in her slicing to remove the bagel from the toaster oven. "Of course, I'm still a city girl, I guess. Living in Manhattan." She laughed. "Never expected to end up here. Still not used to it."
"Funny. I think of Logan as having always lived here."
"Oh, no. New York City is something different for him." She finished buttering the bagel and set the plate down in front of Amanda. "Of course, different can be good." She arched a brow. "I'm talking about you, dear. ‘Cause Lord knows what we’ve had up until now hasn’t been good. So I’m all for change. That man deserves some happiness."
Amanda pushed her plate away. "Mrs. MacDonald," she whispered. "He’s not looking for happiness with me. I don’t know what you’re hoping for, but please don’t expect anything like that from—from me."
"Don't be put off by his formal manner, dearie." Mrs. MacDonald set the cantaloupe on the table. "His heart is as warm as a newborn babe's."
"He's anything but helpless and dependent."
"He was a happy child, and a successful young man. That person is still somewhere inside him."
"Guarded well." Amanda stood up and brought the cup over to the sink. "It was nice meeting you, but I’d better be on my way."
"See you soon, dearie."
She had a lot more confidence in that than Amanda did.
Chapter 18
Amanda dreaded going in to work. How would she be able to act in front of Logan as though nothing had happened? How would he treat her? She didn't know if it would be better if he showed some acknowledgement of the change in their relationship, or if he behaved as if nothing whatsoever had happened.
On the whole, she thought he'd carry on as if nothing had changed. If she'd experienced some feelings of tenderness toward him, that was her unlucky lot as a female. In fact, if attachment hormones flowed from women during orgasm, well, she must have been awash in them all night long.
But he certainly hadn't felt any emotional attachment.
In hindsight, she'd made a terrible mistake. She never should have had that second glass of wine, even a half-glass, because she had no tolerance for liquor. Although she hadn't been flat-out drunk, she'd certainly been tipsy. Too tipsy to maintain her self-control when Logan had finally made his move.
It would have taken the willpower of a hundred sober women to resist his hot kisses, his expert hands, his hard body.
But there was only one woman who'd reap the heartache.
Her.
She could already feel that heartache reaching out exploratory tendrils, looking for an opening. When Logan ignored her at the office, those tendrils would take root.
Fool, they would whisper. Sap. You knew he'd never have emotional feelings for a lover. He told you that right from the beginning. What made you think you could change a man like him?
Sighing, she grabbed the small white card resting in front of a vase of flowers that had been waiting on her desk when she arrived at the office. She wasn't surprised he'd send flowers, even as she knew the gesture was meaningless.
She exited her office as she slid the card out of the envelope.
"Enjoyed my dessert last night," she read. Her eyes widened even as she looked up and saw Logan striding down the hallway toward her. Her breath escaped her as he filled her vision with his clean, white-shirted presence.
He looked fresh and polished, not at all like the hard, heaving, mass of muscles who'd turned her world inside out last night.
"Don't send me flowers," she said. The message may have surprised her, but the gesture made her feel cheap. It was the kind of thing he'd do with a mistress.
His lips twitched. "Good morning to you. Feeling a bit tired?"
"If I'm tired, I know exactly who to blame."
"I can take it." A full smile emerged. "And more."
"I—I—" She didn't know what to say to that.
Logan stopped in front of her. "I thought all women liked flowers."
"I’m not all women," she snapped. I’m me, she wanted to shout. Me. Look at me for myself, not as one in a long parade of generic women. She bit down hard on the side of her mouth. There was no point in going there.
But she didn't mind putting him on the spot. "What kind of flowers did you send me?" She was sure the housekeeper had ordered them.
He raised his eyebrows. "Roses."
A safe answer.
She glanced back. She'd closed her office door as she always did since finding Phoebe Cattus snooping in there.
"What color?" She didn't understand her strange determination to embarrass him, except that she
refused to let him get away with treating her like all his other women.
His eyes met hers. "Yellow. I overheard you once telling Rosie they were your favorite color."
For a second she thought she saw a flash of amusement in his gaze, but then she decided she must have imagined it when he said, "Plan to have lunch with me. We'll go out."
She repressed a sharp sigh. Would he ever issue an invitation, rather than a command? But he was her boss. What choice did she have?
At lunchtime, he ushered her out of the building into a cold, but sunny, day. The limo idled at the curb.
Logan glanced at her feet. "I usually walk at lunchtime, but I asked Felipe to be available in case you preferred a ride."
"Walking is fine." She had no intention of acting like one of the pampered princesses he was undoubtedly used to.
Logan waved at Felipe, and they set off going south on Fifth Avenue. Cars whizzed by, and pedestrians hunched into their coats, gripping their cell phones. Honking horns punctuated the urban energy that pulsed in the air. A blast of wind pushed against them. She shivered.
Logan grasped her elbow. "Let's buy you some boots. Ferragamo is nearby."
"I don't need boots."
"But I like them." He dropped his arm around her and pulled her to his side. "Since I know you're practical, think about how much warmer they are."
She tried not to notice how good it felt to have him tuck her protectively against his body. Nothing could warm her up better than he did. But she could not afford to start feeling mushy about him.
"I don't need boots," she repeated. She knew damn good and well that if she said she couldn't afford them, he'd begin wearing down her resistance.
"Most women like to shop."
She had to grit her teeth for a moment. "As I mentioned earlier, I am not most women."
He tugged her inside the wide doors of Tiffany's. She sighed, but knew better than to balk. If he had a chore to do, he wouldn't be interested in hearing about the work she had waiting for her back at the office. For all his charm, Logan Winter was a man who did exactly as he pleased.
They walked past the gleaming glass counters presided over by watchful, black-clad employees.
"You feel like browsing?" Logan asked.