“Sabrina, this all looks fantastic,” Logan said, staring at his plate.
“Thanks. You want some wine?”
“Sure, if you’re having some.”
“Oh, yeah.” She headed toward the kitchen, where she’d spotted a small wine refrigerator.
“Oh my God,” Logan said loudly from the dining area.
She froze. “What’s wrong?”
“This is amazing! I didn’t know you could cook like this! It’s better than a restaurant.”
She beamed. “Glad you like it.”
He took another forkful of chicken. “I love it.”
She smiled to herself and continued on to the wine refrigerator. At least she’d done that right. A few minutes later, she returned to the table with an opened bottle of some very expensive sauvignon blanc and two wineglasses. She poured some for both of them and took her seat.
“Claire has really good taste in wine,” she told him.
He kept eating, ignoring his wine. “Money’ll do that for you.”
She sipped the wine, savoring it for a moment, and then she chugged. So sue her. She had a lot riding on this. She cut into her chicken and took a bite.
Logan was really into his food and didn’t even look up when he said, “You leave on Sunday, right?”
“Yup. Sunday morning.”
“You can stay here if you want. There’s plenty of room. Four bedrooms upstairs.” He glanced up at her. “Unless you have other plans.”
My plan is to seduce you. “I’d planned a solo trip down to San Diego, but…I’m flexible.” She tossed back her wine while he devoured his meal. “So if I stayed here, what would we do?”
His head jerked up. “Whatever you want.”
She traced a circle on the table with her index finger, trying to figure out the best way to suggest they return to that whole you-and-me thing.
Logan took a sip of wine. “This is good wine. If you’ve never been to San Francisco, I could show you around. I went to college out here.”
“Mmm, maybe,” she said noncommittally.
“Or we could just hang out. Watch a movie or something.”
She studied him. He gave her a quick smile and went back to eating. He wasn’t giving out a flirty vibe at all. It was like he’d shut the whole thing down and was firmly back in friend territory. She’d appreciate his respectful boundary if she wasn’t so mad at herself for blowing her chance.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked. “It’s so good.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. I keep spacing out.” She went back to eating.
Logan refilled her wineglass for her and grinned. “I gotta admit I find a tipsy Sabrina very entertaining.”
“Why? Do I say stupid things?”
“No.”
“Well, do tell, what do you like about a tipsy Sabrina?” She leaned across the table, smiling at him. See, she could be flirty.
He chewed and swallowed. “You’re much warmer. Usually you’re like an untouchable porcelain doll.”
Stung, she leaned back, her stomach souring. “Oh.” Untouchable. Maybe that was why she hadn’t been with a man in so long. She gave off an untouchable vibe. The label hurt. Probably because the one man she really wanted to touch her had said it. That whole flirty thing earlier had been because they were both tipsy. Now Logan was stone-cold sober and thought she was…untouchable.
“Sabrina, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
She shook her head, staring at her plate, telling herself just to move past it. So he thought she was untouchable. Big picture? No. There was no bigger picture where she could see any sunnier side to this. It just sucked.
“Hey,” he said gently, “maybe I just don’t know you well enough. I mostly see you at the office.”
She clenched her jaw. You know what? She was very touchable. She had a lot going for her—a loving, empathetic nature, good friends, a career that helped a lot of people. At the thought of her career and losing half her clients, she totally lost her cool. Enough already!
She took a big swallow of wine and jabbed a finger at him. “Here’s what I think about you.”
He pounded his chest with one fist. “Let me have it.”
“Never mind,” she said quietly, looking away. She shouldn’t take out her frustration on him. “It’s uncharitable.”
He laughed. “Great! Insult me so I can stop feeling like a jerk for calling you a porcelain doll, which can be quite pretty, by the way. Not that I ever had one.” He lifted a finger. “But I have seen them.”
“Yes, but porcelain has negative connotations when applied to me.” She exhaled sharply. “You really want to know?”
He spread his arms wide. “I really want to know.”
She crossed her arms. “I thought you were a commitment-phobe.”
“Oh, boy. Number one on your shit list.”
She inclined her head. “But then I found out about Olivia.”
He speared a carrot. “So I guess we both misjudged each other.”
“I guess.” She sighed, ate a little more, and finished her wine. She had just enough of a buzz to drown out her earlier regret. It wasn’t too late. She just had to make one move, one lusty signal, to prove to him she wasn’t an untouchable porcelain doll. She was sure he’d take it from there. Hadn’t he implied he liked to be the boss in the bedroom? That had to be what he meant about being in charge sometimes. Otherwise, why would he have whispered it in a husky voice that sent shivers through her? She really hoped that was what he meant because it would be so much easier for her. She wouldn’t get worked up so much, wondering how she was doing. She’d only been with her ex. None of her other dates since then had progressed past the second date. Sure, she’d kissed a bunch of guys, got felt up, but as to the actual deed, not so much. That was on her. She’d been afraid to have a real meaningful connection. Now she was ready. And she trusted Logan.
She watched him finish his dinner and wipe his mouth with a napkin. He’d cleaned his plate.
He looked up at her and flashed a smile that made her heart kerthunk. “Amazing. Compliments to the chef. I’ll wash the dishes since you cooked. And by wash, I mean I’ll put them in the dishwasher.” He winked.
She laughed. “Fair enough.”
He stood and took both their plates. “You spending the night?”
Now or never. “Yes.”
“Awesome. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable upstairs. All the bedrooms are ready for guests.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Thank Claire,” he said and headed to the kitchen.
“Thanks, Claire!” she sang to the ceiling.
He stared at her. “Are you tipsy again?”
“A little,” she admitted. “I’m trying to lose my untouchable porcelain-doll image.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to get my suitcase.”
She returned with it a few minutes later, went upstairs, and scoped out the bedrooms until she found the one with his suitcase. She went right on in. Maybe her suitcase would do the talking for her. Ha-ha. She pulled out her phone and cancelled her hotel reservation. There. No going back. Next step, seduction readiness. She dug her toiletry bag out of her suitcase, went to the en suite bathroom, and freshened up.
Deep breath and go!
She went downstairs and took a seat at the island, watching him clean up. Nothing sexier than a man cleaning up the kitchen. Seriously, this could be porn for women. Boom-chicka-wow-wow. Watching his broad back in a white dress shirt, tapering to a trim waist and very nice ass showcased beautifully in suit pants, as he loaded the dishwasher made her want to rip his clothes off.
He finished up and turned to her, hands on his hips. “You tired?”
Tired? No. Determined? Yes. “I’m not a doll, Logan, and I’m not delicate. I won’t break.”
He rubbed his light brown beard. “I
get that now.”
She shared some more, making sure he got that image out of his head for good. “I grew up in a Manhattan loft surrounded by erotic paintings of couples and threesomes.” She lifted her palms. “That was my childhood. So if I seem, I don’t know, reserved, it was only my act of rebellion against my embarrassing mother.”
He crossed to the island, leaning one hand on the back of her chair, looking down at her and grinning. “Learn anything?”
She shuddered. “More than I ever wanted to know.”
“So-o-o,” he drawled, “ever try that stuff?” A smile played over his lips, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. God, he smelled good. He always smelled fresh and clean, but today he had on some kind of woodsy cologne that made her want to lick him from head to toe.
“The point is…” She had a point, didn’t she? Her mind was fuzzy with his proximity and too much wine. “I am not my mother. Thank God!”
“Amen,” he returned. “Not that I know your mother. She might be a very nice woman. So were the threesomes two women and a guy, or two guys and a woman?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, like duh.
“It was two guys and a woman. I think it was her fantasy.”
“Or her reality.”
Sabrina held up a palm. “Moving on! Here’s what else I used to think about you.” Almost there. She was building her case.
“Hit me. I’m loving an unfiltered Sabrina.”
“I thought you were a risk taker.”
“It’s not like I jump out of airplanes. Ty’s the risk taker in our family.” His brother, Ty, used to be a stuntman.
“I realized I was wrong about the risk-taking,” she said with a smile, hoping it was clear that she wanted him even more now that she knew him better. “You’re actually quite stable and nicely risk-averse.”
His brows scrunched together like he wasn’t following her very important point. “Okay.”
She suddenly wondered where he was on the Olivia thing. It had just happened. “You must really want to—” she jabbed her finger in the air “—stick it to your ex.”
He chuckled. “Guess I’m not that vengeful. I’m more the type to cut someone out of my life and never look back.”
“Not true. You looked back to Olivia.” Not that the lying cheating bitch deserved him.
He smiled ruefully. “Guess I’m the forgiving type too. Maybe I was at a place in my life where I was ready for a relationship, and it just seemed like an easy fit.”
Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! “Why were you ready for a relationship now?”
He walked around her and took the seat next to her at the island. “Because before I was working my ass off, and now I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, finally making it. I guess my mind just jumped to the next step. I’ve got one of those analytical brains that organizes and implements.”
“I guess that makes sense. Things are falling in place for you at work, and now you’re ready to get your personal life in order.”
He inclined his head. “It wasn’t that well thought out, but, yeah, something like that. So how about you? You want to stick it to your ex?”
She slapped the island counter. “Absolutely. I’d love to send him a wedding invitation. You know he sent me one? That’s what spurred me to write my goodbye commitment-phobe article.”
“So vengeful,” he teased.
“A revenge wedding,” she said, a new idea taking hold. “Let’s get fake married.”
He tilted his head. “Come again?”
She blustered on, her enthusiasm building. This was just like what her friends had suggested with the fake fiancé and would surely bring her close enough to Logan to make a move. After all, a fake wedding should have a fake honeymoon. “If we get fake married, it’ll fix my rep as a flaky, lonely relationship counselor and be a big FU to our exes. There’s so much gossip speculating about our relationship already. Wouldn’t that be so fucking—” Oops! The fucking had slipped out. She was getting ahead of herself. First kissing, then fucking. She stared at his mouth; his lips looked so damn kissable. His neatly trimmed light brown beard was driving her crazy, imagining what it would feel like against her fingers, her lips, her bare body. A hot shiver ran through her at the thought.
He was quiet. Maybe he was confused since she’d never quite finished her sentence before. Her gaze dropped to the open top of his dress shirt revealing a hint of manly chest. “I meant, faking great,” she said. “It could be great to fake. And fun!”
She finally met his eyes, intent on hers, and licked her lips. “Really fun.”
He turned her swivel stool to face him, his eyes suddenly hot on hers. Her stomach dipped, heat rushing through her. His voice was low and deep. “You realize a fake revenge wedding comes with strings attached.”
She stared at his mouth. “Yes,” she breathed. “A fake honeymoon.”
His lips curved into a slow sexy smile.
She stopped breathing.
His hand slid under her hair, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her in. His words ran hot over her lips. “Sabrina, are you propositioning me?”
Chapter Twelve
“I’m trying,” Sabrina whispered, clear desire in her eyes.
A hot rush of lust surged through him. That was the signal he needed. “Then I accept.” He kept her close, his hand cupping her warm neck. “Fake everything, but this part right here is very, very real.” He brushed his lips across hers once and then again. Her lips parted on a sigh.
He held her jaw with his other hand, keeping her in place as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside. He nearly groaned, her taste minty, her lips yielding and soft. Electric heat shot through his veins, the intensity catching him by surprise. The kiss turned wild, his doing, but she was right there with him, returning the kiss with equal passion. Fever hot. Every nerve firing. Her sweet scent, her taste, he needed to kiss more of her, all of her.
She moaned deep in her throat, an erotic sound that made him rock hard. Need pulsed through him, a primal instinct. He wanted her under him, wanted to bury himself deep inside. He’d never wanted anyone like this just from a kiss. He had to slow it down.
With every ounce of willpower he had, he broke the kiss, sliding his hand from her jaw to hold her throat. “I like that sound.”
Her brown eyes were hazy with lust. Her voice was a whisper, her lips grazing his as she leaned close. “More, please.”
Oh, God, she was just so sweet with the please. He felt like a beast, nearly vibrating with need, straining to control himself. He loosened his hold on her throat, sliding his finger down it, staring at the rapidly beating pulse in her neck. She wanted him, but she kept her hands to herself, which told him slow was definitely the way to go.
He slid his hand from her neck up to her hair, gripping it and tilting her head back. He pressed his lips to her throat, her skin warm and soft, her taste glorious as he worked his way up to her ear. “Tell me you want me, Sabrina.” He needed the words.
“I’ve wanted you for so long.”
He jolted and met her eyes. For so long?
She grabbed his head and kissed him roughly, hungrily. Yes! His hands went to her waist, yanking the shirt out of the waistband, desperate to feel skin.
She tore her mouth away and pulled her shirt over her head. His mouth went dry. Red lace bra cupping gorgeous breasts. He needed all of her pressed against all of him. Like right now.
He didn’t hesitate, quickly moving to stand in front of her and pull her up off the island stool and into his arms, soft curves pressed against him as he sealed his mouth over hers. Now her hands were on him, running over his shoulders and down his back. Thank God. He didn’t even care where she touched him as long as she did.
He turned them, backing her up to the wall, kissing her long and deep, pressing his entire body against her, the ache to have her fierce. He eased back to pull the cup of her bra down, stroking
one finger over her hard nipple. She moaned into his mouth, igniting him. He bent and took her breast into his mouth, suckling hard. Her fingers speared into his hair, holding him close as she keened deep in her throat. The sexy sounds drove him on. More, more, more.
He straightened, his mouth crashing over hers. Her hands slid up the front of his dress shirt, her fingers fumbling over the top button. He pushed her hand away, working it himself. Too many damn buttons on his shirt to get it off fast enough. She tugged his belt buckle. Yes! Just the important stuff. He left his shirt and undid her pants, yanking them down, panties with them, and bent to get her ankles free of them, catching the scent of her arousal. He nearly came right there.
He stood and gripped her hair, his mouth claiming hers as his fingers delved between her legs. She was hot, so fucking wet. He stroked her up and down, and she clutched his shoulders, arching against his hand. He made a lazy circle, slowly zeroing in, and she gasped into his mouth as he finally hit ground zero. Her hips moved rhythmically, seeking more of his touch. He slid his fingers down her in one smooth stroke and then inside her. So tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He lifted his head, working hard to restrain himself. She was flushed with heat, breathing hard, her lips wet and swollen from his kiss. He slid his fingers from her, and she let out a mewl of protest, grabbing his wrist and putting his hand firmly back between her legs.
He groaned. “Sabrina, I want you so fucking bad. Push back at me if I’m too much.”
Her voice came out hoarse. “You feel how wet I am. Fuck me right now or I’m going to scream.”
His control snapped. His mouth slammed over hers, his fingers thrusting inside, pumping into her, his thumb stroking fast over pleasure central. She moaned into his mouth, and then her nails dug into his shoulders, her hips arching, seeking more of his touch. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside her, needed to feel her come when he was buried deep.
Chance of Romance (Happy Endings Book Club, Book 8) Page 13