Rhyme

by Lexy Timms

  “It’s just...” Olivia tried again. “Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. I won an important case. I’m a lawyer. And Patrick, my fiancé...” Olivia swallowed back another sob and took a shuddering breath. “My ex fiancé, I guess.”

  She wiped her nose with the tissue and fished her cellphone out of her bag. “He broke up with me. Here.” She shoved the phone at the stranger sitting next to her. “He broke up with me in a text. Can you believe that?” Before Logan could get a good look at it, Olivia pulled the phone away, staring angrily down at the words on the screen. They blurred in her vision when her eyes filled with tears again. “What are we, twelve? Who the hell breaks up with their fiancée over text?”

  “I’d say he’s a complete idiot to be dropping a woman like you, regardless of how he did it.” Logan reached for his drink, and Olivia found herself watching his hands. The long fingers. The graceful way they curled around his glass.

  Just then, she became aware of how close he was sitting. Her thigh was pressed to his, her skirt rucked up to reveal more leg than she usually showed. And he was warm. She liked the feeling of his muscular frame against hers, his jeans rubbing her stocking-covered leg each time he shifted his weight. It didn’t hurt that he was drop dead gorgeous to boot, dark hair and darker eyes, with high cheekbones and a long, straight nose.

  All that, and his voice was a whole other thing, the rich roll of the Scots accent adding another layer of depth to the rumble of it. She’d heard him on the radio—it was hard not to these days—and there his voice slipped sometimes into a growl. But when he spoke it was all honey and velvet, soft and entrancing.

  And his mouth. The perfectly curved bow of his lips. Olivia felt a blush creep up her cheeks and realized she was staring at his lips. Her glass was empty and she pushed it toward Logan. He poured another shot of whisky and cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “You’re looking a little pink there.” When he leaned closer, her breath caught, but he only stroked one knuckle over the flush along her cheekbone. “Most becoming, I admit. What are you thinking about, to make you look like that?”

  She swallowed. His dark eyes caught hers and held, and the Macallan made her brave. “You.”

  When he kissed her, she kissed him back.

  His mouth tasted like whisky. He traced her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, like he was asking permission. There was a sort of restraining longing in it. It was a quality she found appealing, oddly in contrast with his almost overwhelming charisma. But she didn’t have much time to analyze it. Her thoughts slipped away, replaced with a need to take this wherever Logan wanted to go with it. And if he wasn’t going to take it all the way, she’d be happy to lead.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to worry about that. Logan was right there with her, his hand on her leg and slipping under her skirt, fingertips tracing along the lacy edge of her stockings. His other hand pulled her closer against him, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. By the time they broke apart for air, she was practically in his lap.

  “I have an idea,” Logan said, a little breathless.

  Olivia didn’t give him time to voice it. She was already sliding out of the booth, pulling him with her. She heard him laugh as he followed the pull.

  “Wait,” he chuckled.

  Looking over her shoulder, she watched him lean back, grabbing the bottle of whisky from the table. “Never leave the Macallan,” he said when he saw her expression, one corner of his mouth tipping into a mischievous smile. “Not even for a beautiful, wanton woman.”

  They were in each other’s arms before the door to Logan’s room had even closed. Still holding the bottle in one hand, he dragged her against him. His lips found her neck, then her mouth, and she sank into his hold, her lips parting to let him deepen the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him nearer.

  “You’re not a bit shy, are you?”

  The words might have made her self-conscious if he hadn’t sounded so completely pleased by his discovery. Instead, they just made her burn hotter. Logan walked her backwards, reaching out without ever looking away from her to set the bottle of whisky on a table as they passed. With both hands now free, he curled his fingers around her hips and pulled her in until there wasn’t even space for air between them. She felt his erection pressing hard against her stomach and felt an answering roll of heat deep in her belly, competing with the warmth the whisky had ignited earlier.

  His hands were everywhere, then. Running up and down her back. Cupping her ass. Skating over her breasts. Olivia’s were equally busy—working at the buttons of his shirt so she could pull back the fabric and explore the naked expanse of his broad chest. She broke away from his mouth, breathing hard, and looked up into dark eyes gone even darker with desire.

  “Take me to bed, Logan. Now.” She didn’t think she imagined the way his breath caught in his throat.

  With easy strength, he scooped her up into his arms, walking down the short hall that opened into the bedroom of the suite. He dropped her more gently than she’d expected onto the mattress and straightened to look down at her as he undid the last buttons of his shirt. His motions were impatient, his gaze hungry. The lust in his eyes mirrored her own. And it was all she wanted. No thinking. Nothing that reminded her of Patrick. Just her and Logan, the gorgeous Scotsman who was exactly what she needed.

  For a brief moment, that thought opened the door to others. To the knowledge that she wasn’t quite sure what she was doing there. Hadn’t she had enough of men for a while? But the Macallan was still working its way through her veins, the edges of everything just a little softer. And when she looked back up at Logan she felt excitement fluttering alongside her arousal. The same sensation she got just before heading in to court with her case all but made, knowing that she was ready, on top of her game and looking forward to winning.

  Laying there on her back, Olivia looked up at Logan, taking in the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose, the full lips, the dark hair spilling around his shoulders. He undid the snap and zipper of his jeans, sliding them down his narrow hips without ever taking his eyes from her. And then he was naked and looking down at her with the confidence of man who was used to performing. She felt her heart beat faster.

  Logan didn’t waste any more time in climbing onto the bed and leaning down to kiss her. His hands slid over the silk of her dress, following the curves of her breasts. Suddenly the clothes were confining. She wanted to be just as naked as he was, to feel his body next to hers—skin to skin.

  She rose to her knees, tugging her dress up by the hem. Logan reached down to help, apparently as eager as she was to get the thing off. It went over the side of the bed onto the floor, and a warm hand over her collarbone pressed her back down to the pillows, Logan’s eyes sweeping over her body. He swallowed.

  “Garters and stockings,” he said, and there was a rough edge to the words that went straight to the core of her. “More girls should wear these more often.”

  He rubbed his fingers over the satin garter belt and the sheer stockings as he spoke, slipped them briefly between her legs to caress the inside of her thigh before they were moving away again. Olivia’s hips hitched against nothing. A flush painted her cheeks as she remembered that she’d worn the lingerie for Patrick, sans panties and all. But instead of feeling embarrassed by being almost naked with an almost stranger, she felt suddenly emboldened, arching her back as Logan stroked her softly. His fingers moved up, up, up, setting off waves of heat under her skin and still not touching her where she wanted him most. She moaned low in her throat and reached down to curl her hand around his wrist, trying to drag his touch up to where she desperately needed it.

  “Not yet, lovely,” Logan purred against her ear. “Trust me.”

  His hands moved up to her breasts, warm even through the barrier of her bra, and he leaned in to kiss her. She’d never had anyone be so gentle, yet so passionate at the same time. Thoughts of Patrick encroached again, of his forceful manner and predict
able moves, and she pushed them aside. It wasn’t fair to compare either man to the other, particularly when she’d just been dumped by one of them. But there really was no comparison; nothing with Patrick had ever felt like this.

  Olivia wrapped her arms around Logan’s neck, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. One leg wrapped around his hip. She was practically giddy with the sensation of their bodies moving together. Dizzy with the knowledge that this unknown stranger excited her in ways no man ever had.

  Logan tugged her bra down to expose her breasts. His mouth moved over her neck and then her shoulders as he worked his way down to finally flick his tongue over her nipple, one first and then the other. She gasped as he pulled one into his mouth and sucked gently at first, then harder. Arousal coursed down her spine. Both of them were moaning, he against her skin, and Olivia with her teeth sunk into her lower lip and her head turned to the pillow, muffling the sound.

  As close as they were, the insistent pressure of his erection against her hip was impossible to ignore. It competed with the sensation of his mouth on her breast. Distracted her. Made her want more than he was giving. And with that, she decided it was her turn to take charge.

  Olivia shoved a hand against Logan’s shoulder, and used the moment of surprise to push him onto his back, enjoying the wide-eyed look he gave her as she straddled his thighs, rising above him. She reached behind herself and undid the clasp of her bra. Instantly his hands were back: stroking her skin, palming her nipples. His hips rocked against the weight of her body.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful. Any fool could see you—”

  She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “No more about that. He’s ancient history.”

  Leaning forward, Olivia replaced her finger with her lips. He arched up, kissed her back hard. She could feel the hot line of his cock against her inner thigh, and the press of it so achingly close to where she needed him to be reminded her of what she really wanted.

  A little reluctantly, Olivia broke their kiss. Logan’s hands were on her hips, pressing them forward so that they rolled down into his. It told her he wanted the same thing she did—his length buried deep inside her.

  Settling down, spreading her legs, she lowered herself onto him. Her eyelids fluttered shut and the breath left her lungs and she relished the feeling of his thick cock entering her. He made a sound that might have been hunger or relief or both, echoed by her own gasp. His fingers dug into her hips as she began to move, the friction of his cock inside of her fanning the fire that their earlier touches had started.

  As she moved, Logan’s hands dropped to her legs, gliding over the sheer stockings from her knees upward. His thumbs slid along the inside of her thighs, finding some erogenous zone she’d never known existed. The pressure of them there had her gasping as she brought her body down on his cock, swiveling her hips forward and grinding against him with unashamed intensity.

  Olivia looked down at him, watching the animalist hunger spread across his face. When he met her gaze, the raw desire she saw in his eyes almost took her breath away. She felt herself shudder at the electricity it sent coursing through her veins.

  Something changed between then then. A shift of power that told her Logan was no longer content to let her take the lead. He planted his feet on the bed, flexing his hips upward sharply, meeting her body and exerting his own rhythm until Olivia was breathless, unable to match his pace. Leaning forward, she placed her hands on either side of his shoulders as he drove himself into her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

  She found herself forcefully rolled onto her back. Logan claimed the space between her legs, and his mouth claimed hers in a kiss rougher than the ones they’d shared before. She clutched at his shoulders, at his mercy and more than willing to give in to his control. To let him slide his arms beneath her legs and push more deeply inside her, rising above her on his knees. His gaze never left her face; he seemed to be searching for something in the depths of her eyes.

  His thrusts were almost, but not quite, brutal, taking her on a rapidly spiraling ride of ecstasy. A cry spilled from her throat. Sensations flooded her body. It all broke apart, and her release swept her away.

  She was aware of Logan, of his body moving differently, his own sounds mixing with hers as he came, his body tensed above her. As the last of his release shuddered through him, she pulled him down to her and wrapped her legs around his waist. He buried his face in her shoulder, his groan muffled against her skin as he spent himself inside her. They lay there, catching their breath.

  After long minutes, Logan pulled away and rolled onto his back. She felt his hand moving between them, searching for and finding hers. His fingers wound through her own. Olivia lay still, listening to his breathing return to normal, to the beat of her own heart as it finally slowed. She dozed, the world drifting around her.

  It might have been a minute or an hour later that she felt the bed move, felt the softness of the sheet falling across her body. The weight of Logan’s arm settled across her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. She nestled drowsily into the heat of him, resting her head on his chest, and he moved again to cradle her, his legs entwined with hers. As sleep pulled her down, she inhaled his scent, spicy and earthy and deeply masculine, touched with the sharp edge of whisky and the distinctive odor of sex.

  The last thing Olivia was aware of, as she drifted off in a hazy state on the edge of exhaustion, was that she felt safe there, wrapped in his arms. Safe, and warm, and better than she could remember feeling in a long, long time.

  Chapter Two

  Olivia rolled over in bed with a groan. The light from the window cut across her pillow, sending a spike of pain through her head where it penetrated her eyelids. She threw an arm across her face and took a few deep breaths, eyes closed, waiting for the agony to subside. How much had she had to—

  She snapped upright in bed, closing her eyes when the room spun around her. It all came back in a rush of images. The text from Patrick. Getting drunk in the hotel bar. And Logan. Holy shit. She’d slept with Logan Graham.

  Reluctantly, Olivia opened one eye, squinting around the room. Her clothes were neatly folded over the back of a chair, her purse on the bedside table. But there was no sign of Logan. Not even a stray piece of clothing. The bathroom door was open, the room beyond it empty. She was alone. It was probably what she should have expected. Rock stars weren’t exactly known for long term relationships. Logan had probably seen the whole thing as just what it was: a one-night stand with a drunken, wanton woman.

  “Stupid,” she muttered, flopping back against the bed again and regretting it when the motion jarred her already aching head. “What a stupid mistake.”

  Something crinkled under her outstretched arm. Rolling over—slowly—Olivia found a piece of slightly crumpled hotel stationary on the pillow next to hers. She smoothed out the wrinkles and blinked down at it, trying to focus on the scrawling handwriting.

  Olivia,

  Had to run, but next time I’m in New York I’ll call you. The tour comes through next in about a month.

  I need to see you again.

  Logan.

  Like that was ever going to happen. Olivia shook her head and crumpled the note in her hand, tossing it toward the trash can that set beside the bed without really caring if it landed inside.

  “You’ve done some really dumb things in your life, Olivia,” she sighed. “But this really takes the cake.” She turned her head so she could see the alarm clock on the bedside table.

  It was well past ten o’clock. The card next to the clock reminded her that check out time was at eleven. Shit.

  She levered herself up out of bed, ignoring the way her stomach twisted at being upright, and headed for the bathroom, debating if she had time for a shower. The memory of their... activities told her she probably ought to take one anyway. It wasn’t like Logan Graham couldn’t afford to pay for an extra day if she was late leaving the room. She turned on the hot water and stepped under the sp
ray.

  BETWEEN THE SHOWER and the breakfast she’d picked up on the way home, Olivia was feeling almost normal by the time she stepped through her front door, no longer craving bed and ibuprofen. She dropped her purse on her little kitchen table and checked her cell phone for messages.

  There were several from Patrick. She deleted them without bothering to listen. One was from her mother, quickly saved for later. And there was one from Melissa. That she hesitated over, then deleted. She could deal with Melissa on Monday, and frankly she just wasn’t in the mood for reliving the way she’d felt the night before.

  Still, she’d have to talk about it eventually, and Melissa was, after all, her best friend. Had been since Olivia had started at the firm. She’d be lost without the paralegal, and she knew it. Melissa tracked everything from docket dates to filing status, and kept track of all her appointments, and she had a knack for being able to put her finger on any piece of paper needed. Even the ones that somehow managed to always go missing under the flood of documents on Olivia’s desk. She felt a pang of guilt as the thought crossed her mind; her success in winning the most recent case had been in no small part due to Melissa’s expertise. She made a mental note to do something special—take Melissa to lunch or get her a little gift to mark the occasion. There was a scarf at Barney’s that Melissa had mentioned she had her eye on.

  The chirp of Olivia’s cell phone interrupted her musings. With a glance down at the screen, she recognized Patrick’s number. Probably should have blocked that. But she hadn’t, and thought her first instinct was to send the call to voice mail, she knew he’d just keep trying until she got through. So much for getting a little space from the whole mess. She swiped her thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?” Years of controlling her emotions in debates let her keep her tone even, and remarkably civil. Olivia dropped onto the sofa, kicking her heels up to set her feet on the coffee table. There was a run in her stockings, which she found irrationally annoying.