His smexy smile returns. “I’m a cocky bastard; I’ve never been shy, or hesitated to get what I want. There’s something about you. You’re a complete stranger but I feel….” He shakes his head again. “I feel as if I’m being tugged. As if some unknown force is pulling me into you, forcing us together.”
“Wow,” is all I stupidly say.
“Yeah, wow,” he says with a hint of disappointment.
His grin falters a bit as he looks at me. I get the feeling he’s waiting for me to confirm or reciprocate his feelings. I don’t reciprocate, needing a moment to think and to decipher them.
After a long uncomfortable beat, I move the conversation on. “What made you stop this time?”
“You were lost in your book, your head down.”
“I see. The sneak approach.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I thought it’s now or never.”
“I’m glad you did.”
His dimpled grin returns. “Finish telling me how you ended up here.”
“A dart.”
“A dart? As in the game?”
“Yeah. I have this big map of the lower forty-eight hanging in my office. Whenever I need a break, a mini holiday, I close my eyes and toss a dart.”
“Wow. So, wherever it lands is where you go?”
“Yes. I go where the dart lands unless I’ve already been there.”
“That’s the only rule?”
“Yeah.”
“What if you don’t want to go there?”
“I’m SOL. I go where the dart lands or the whole thing makes no sense.”
“Why? I mean, why don’t you just pick a place and go?”
“I wanted to try something new, unusual.”
He tilts his head as if he wants to ask more but lets it go. “It’s definitely different. But it does sound like fun.”
“I’ve never been disappointed.”
“Is Sam short for Samantha?”
Holy hell. Did you hear that? The way my name rolled of his tongue and passed through those full, oh-so-hot, and kissable man lips.
“Sam?”
“What?” I shake my head, bringing me out of my Logan stupor. “Oh, my name. Yes, short for Samantha.”
His eyes twinkle with sexy mischief. He so knows he makes my brain fart. “Glad to know you’re as muddled as I am.”
I’d like to deny it, but what’s the use? I’m as transparent as rice paper. “I’m afraid it would be impossible for me to deny it. You are one smexy beautiful man.”
He flushes.
Oh my good gawd, he’s blushing. It’s so goddamned unexpected, cute and fun; I can’t hold in my giggling glee.
He looks away. Embarrassed? Upset?
“Sorry I laughed. I was taken aback by your blushing; it was so damn hot.”
He looks at me. “Oh yeah?”
“God, yes.”
“I can’t remember the last time I blushed. What are you doing to me, angel?”
“I’m not doing—”
He leans toward me, over the arm of the low-rider chair, his lips an inch away from mine. “Samantha,” he breathes out, running a finger down my cheek.
I look into his big brown eyes. I see what I missed before—aching sadness. “I’m sorry,” I whisper against his lips, not knowing why, but knowing I truly care.
“Samantha,” he moans, pressing his lips to mine.
I close my eyes as his lips melt into mine, becoming our lips. A warm ache develops in the center of my chest, trickling through me like saline through a dripline. When it reaches my lower belly the ache and flow intensifies, turning hot as it settles in my groin. The intense heat makes me light-headed, dizzy.
When his tongue parts my lips, demanding entry, it’s too much. I pull away and open my eyes.
Sitting back, increasing the space between us, he visibly shudders. The expression on his beautiful face is one of hurt and childlike defiance. He looks as if I’ve taken away his favorite toy and smashed it into smithereens.
His expression makes me feel guilty, makes my heart ache. Wanting the look to disappear, needing something I can’t define, I reach for his hand. He looks at it for several long seconds before warily accepting, placing his palm over mine. I turn his hand over and run my thumb over thick calluses. When his jaw softens and his shoulders visibly relax, I dare a look into his eyes.
“Logan, I’m sorry. It was just unexpected. You make me feel….”
He gives me a weak smile. “Hey, angel. You don’t need to explain anything to me. You don’t even know me.”
He’s right. I don’t know him. So why in the hell do I feel as if I’ve known him forever? Yes, now that I’ve taken a moment to think, to analyze, I admit I feel the same as he does. Something unknown, some strange magnetic force seems to be pulling us together.
This stranger, this beautiful sad-eyed man, makes me dizzy, uncomfortable, and wanton. He makes me feel. I haven’t felt anything but regret, pain, and guilt for so long, it’s overwhelming.
My thumb continues to run over his palm, drawing small circles over his fractured lifeline.
“How did you get these calluses?”
“Years of holding a stick.”
I tilt my head. “A stick?”
“I play hockey.”
“For a living?”
He half-smiles. “Yeah. Been playing in Raleigh for the last four years. I just signed on with the Rangers.”
“Oh. That’s why you’re moving to New York.”
He raises a brow. “Why do you sound so disappointed?”
Because I don’t want you moving to New York. It complicates things, my plan. And I don’t like that you’re a professional player, probably on and off the ice. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, just surprised.”
He raises a brow in obvious disbelief, but says nothing.
I forge on with my plan. “This is going to sound crazy, arrogant, presumptuous, forward, and… wrong.”
He hesitates for a second as if unsure then says, “Go on.”
“I’m obviously attracted to you and I think the feeling is mutual.”
Big-ass grin. “Definitely.”
Doubts mock me, weakening my bravado. “Hell. It seemed like a good idea, but now….”
“You’re blushing. Do you want me, angel? Do you want to fuck me?”
My entire body flushes. “I wasn’t going to say it, be so… blunt. But yes, that’s what I want.”
He brings a leg up, adjusting himself.
I bite my lip, preempting a knowing smile.
He chuckles. “Obviously, I feel the same way.”
I wipe faux sweat off my brow.
His chuckles warp into a full-on belly laugh.
“So what do you think?”
“About fucking?” he teases.
Real sweat trickles down my spine. “Yeah, about that.”
“I’m all over it, angel.”
I blow out a nervous breath. “If we do this… hook-up. I have some rules, stipulations.”
A wrinkle forms between his brows. “Okay. What kind of stipulations?”
“If we do this…. Shit.” I chicken out. I want him. Boy, do I want him. But it feels… wrong asking for it and then adding stipulations.
“Just tell me, angel.”
“Sorry. I’ve never done this…. I mean, I’ve done this, sex, I mean.” Shit. “I’ve never asked for it. Asked a hot stranger on the beach, or anywhere else for that matter, for sex.”
“Obviously.”
It’s now or never, girlfriend. Buck it up! I take a deep breath and go for it. “If we do this it’s just a here, a now and no questions, kind of fling.”
His half-smile fades. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“I mean, we don’t reveal information or answer questions about ourselves that we don’t want to.”
“Why? Are you married or… something?”
“No. If I were, I wouldn’t be here,” I say with a bite.
“Sorry, it’s just that you’re being a little cryptic and… well, it feels off.”
Picking up my glass, I toss the iced tea over the rocks. Standing, I begin gathering my things. “I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea.”
He stands, latching on to my elbow. “Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t say no. It’s just… strange. Not the hook-up. I have no problems with that; it’s the no questions. I’m an open book, Sam. I have nothing to hide.”
I look into his sad eyes, and I know he’s lying; he has secrets. But that’s the thing, the whole point of this hook-up. I don’t want to know his secrets or his lies. And I don’t want him to know mine.
I look at his hand and he de-latches. “Sorry.”
“No. Don’t be.” I pause, trying to think how I can explain myself without sounding like a complete whack-job. “I would never harm you, or put your health in danger. I’m not some kind of sexual deviant, or weirdo. I’m not married or otherwise engaged. I’m not a criminal or hiding from the mob. Let’s just say…. Well, let’s say I’m someone who hasn’t been able to have a fling without consequences, without strings. That’s what I want. I want to be me, string-less, baggage-less for however long I can. I want to be me, just plain old Sam, nothing more.”
“You could never be plain old anything.” He runs the back of his hand down my cheek. “I think I get where you’re coming from. Most women are only into me because I’m a professional athlete. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve played it up, but sometimes I’d like to be just Logan Romano. Not Logan Romano the hockey player.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Logan, that’s all I see, just you. And it’s all I want. Just you.”
He smiles, his eyes lighting up with lust and something I can’t place. “It makes me feel like Superman.”
“Okay, Superman. Why don’t we think on it?”
“How about just Sam and just Logan have dinner tonight?”
“Can’t tonight. I have work to do. Tomorrow night?”
He nods. “I can do that. I’ll make you dinner at my place. Let’s say about seven?”
“Okay. I’ll bring dessert.”
He raises a brow.
“A pie.”
He smirked “Whatever you want, angel. I’m just up the beach. Can’t miss it. A big glass box.”
I hold out my hand. “Until tomorrow.”
He takes my hand, bringing it near his lips. Full lips float above my knuckles before rewarding them with warm perfection.
Holy baby Jesus! You, Samantha Avery Grant, are in so much trouble.
“Logan Romano. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re blushing.”
I replace the foil over the lasagna and put it back into the oven. “I just might be.”
“Oh, my God! You are, aren’t you? The Romano is smitten.”
I laugh.
“I can’t wait to tell Matt. He’ll laugh his ass off.”
“I bet he will. Allie… she’s just…. Samantha is just….”
She giggles. “Now it’s Samantha. In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never heard you go so gaga over a woman. God, I wish I could see your face. Take a selfie and send it to me.”
“I’m not going to take a selfie.”
“Oh, come on,” she whines. “I’m your best friend. This is a monumental moment in your life, as well as mine.”
I throw my head back and chuckle. “Monumental?”
“It is. Now send me a selfie.”
“All right.” I take a selfie and send it to her.
“Oh my God!” she yells into the phone.
I hold my iPhone away from my ear. “I think you just broke my drum.”
“You’re going down, Romano. This woman is taking you down. And I’m not talkin’ town. I’m talkin’, down, down.”
“What?” I laugh. “You’re so weird. She’s not taking me down, down. I don’t even know what that means. Besides, I don’t even know her.”
“Oh, but you so want to,” she purrs.
I feel my face flush. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
She laughs hysterically. “Oh, my God, Logan. Wait. Give me a sec. I sent your selfie to Matt and he’s texting me.”
I roll my eyes at my two best friends. I’ve known Allie since we were five and we met Matt in college.
She smirks. “His text says, and I quote, ‘the little motherfucker is going down on hard ice. Tell him to run and never look back.’”
“Well now you know why I called you for advice and not him.”
“I believe you told him the same thing about me.”
I so did. “Probably. So what do you think?” I ask her, getting back to my original question.
“Well, Logan. I must say your question confuses me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re asking me if you should sleep with a woman who doesn’t want to divulge information about herself, and I don’t get why it’s such a dilemma for you. How many women have you slept with and you didn’t know or even care to know their names?”
Yeah, Logan. How many? Hundreds? “Yeah but… this is different.”
“The only difference is Sam, a woman, only wants a fling. The table is turned and you don’t like it.”
I look at my watch. Sam should be here any minute. “That’s not true.”
“It is true. You don’t like it because you want more and she doesn’t.”
“I just met her. Why would I want more?”
“Logan,” Allie says, in her pissy-mom voice. “You’re being a dick. How many women have you used, and then told to fuck off? You’re getting a small taste of your own medicine and you can’t handle it. I admire Sam for laying her cards out, telling you straight up what she wants. Do I think it’s strange she doesn’t want to tell you about herself? No. She’s being honest from the beginning and frankly, I appreciate that. I don’t know if I’d have the guts to say that to a guy.”
The reality and the truth of Allie’s words begin to sink in. “You’re right. I am being a dick. I think it’s driving me crazy because I’m trying to change my manwhoring ways and Sam’s pushing me right back in that direction.”
“Logan, she’s not forcing you to have sex with her. You can say no.”
I move my iPhone to my other ear, get out a beer from the fridge, and down half of it. “You’re right, she’s not.”
“Logan,” she says softly. “I know these last few months have been difficult for you. It’s been how long since you’ve had sex?”
“Five months,” I moan.
There’s a long beat. I think she’s rolling her eyes at me. “I know five months for someone like you must feel like five years. And although your celibacy was forced, I think it was a good thing. It’s made you reflect on your life choices and style. I think it’s woken you up, scared you a little.”
I down the rest of my beer before I answer. “You’re right.” My best friend can see right through my bullshit. She knows I’m fucked up and scared.
“Let me ask you this,” she says. “Do you plan on telling her why you’re running on a beach in North Carolina, and not skating on practice ice here in New York?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess because only a few people know and it’s not her business.”
“Well, Logan, I think that’s your answer. Maybe Sam feels the same way about whatever she doesn’t want to tell you.”
“How did you get so smart?”
She snorts. “Logan, I’ve always been smart. You’ve just been too stupid to see it.”
Knock. Knock.
“She’s here, Al. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, Romeo. Just relax and let things happen naturally. Don’t overthink everything.”
“I won’t. Talk to you soon.” I turn off my iPhone and place it on the counter. I walk to the door and open it. Dear sweet Jesus. One look at her and all thoughts of not fucking her fly out the window. The woman is a gift f
rom God and I can’t wait to open her.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I reply.
She grins. “You’re right. It’s a big-ass glass box.”
“Yes,” I think I answered. I’m utterly lost in heavenly aura. You know the Charlie Brown character, Pigpen, the dude who walks around in a cloud of dust? Well, this woman walks around in a cloud of magnetic light. Drawing you in, covering you, melting you, sinking you to your knees.
“Logan?”
“What?”
“Can I come in?” she asks with a smile, bringing me out of my aura stupor.
Idiot! “I’m sorry. Come in.”
She hands me a wine caddy and I step aside. After kicking off her sandals just outside the door, she breezes on in. The sight of her enraptures me. Her smell envelops me as she floats on by. Fuck, Logan. Do you work for Hallmark?
“I didn’t know what you were preparing, so I bought every kind of wine I could find.” She nods at the wine caddy and tilts her head. “Logan. Are you okay?”
“What?”
“I asked if you were all right. You seem… out of it.”
I shake my stupid-ass head. “Never better,” I tell her, shutting the door with my bare foot.
“Where should I…?” She gestures at the pie in her hand.
“You weren’t kidding about the pie.”
“I don’t kid about my pies. It’s the only dessert I can make from scratch. I’m not one to brag, but my pies,” she says, then pinches her fingers together, bringing them to her lips. “Eccellente!”
It’s a gesture I know well, having Italian grandparents.
She follows me into the kitchen area. Putting the pie on the counter, she sniffs the air. Sniffing never looked so damn sexy. You’re going down on hard ice, Romano. Hard fucking ice!
“Smells like lasagna.”
I put the wine caddy down next to her pie. “My grandmother’s recipe. You’re going to love it.”
She licks her lips. “I’m sure I will.”
Fuck! I think I just came a little in my shorts. I remove a bottle of wine from the caddy and hold it in front of my throbbing, expanding dick. I smile in a way I hope is distracting as I walk to a drawer and get out a wine opener.
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 3