Skunk.
She took another swallow. Didn’t matter. She didn’t need him in her life—messing up the event that was so important to her, playing games with her mind, making her feel . . . Nope, she didn’t need any of it.
He accused her of being a distraction. Hah! Who was the distraction now?
Logan cautiously approached the three of them. Molly and Trisha were too caught up in skinny leg versus wide leg versus boot cut to notice. But Rachel noticed. And, she didn’t want anything to do with the serial kisser.
“Trisha, where’s your restroom?”
“Through the kitchen and down the hall. First door on the left.”
Without a backward glance, Rachel fled inside the house, found the bathroom, and locked the door.
Damn. She’s quick. Logan passed Trisha and Molly and followed Rachel into the house. She wasn’t in the kitchen or the family room. But, he noticed, the bathroom door was closed. Bingo. Or not, if he opened it and interrupted somebody taking a piss. It was a chance he was willing to take. He stretched a hand up and found the skeleton key Charlie kept above the doorframe and opened the door.
“Logan!” Rachel gasped, her eyes round with shock.
Bingo.
She was sitting on the edge of the tub, her long legs crossed at the knee. At least he hadn’t caught her on the john. Not that it would have bothered him, but she probably would have screamed or tossed her beer bottle at him. That would have brought a whole lot more attention to the bathroom than he needed.
At the moment, he had her trapped and he planned to make her listen to him.
“I’m not with Kelly.”
She looked relieved for a split second before she masked it and said, “I don’t really care who you are with. It’s a free country.” She shrugged, trying for casual but he noted the stiffness in the move.
“It is.”
He moved closer to her. She stood. But she couldn’t get away from him, not without stepping into the tub. God bless Charlie’s claw-foot tub.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
He took the beer bottle she held like a shield and placed it on the counter behind him. “Apologizing.”
“For what?” She drew her arms across her chest, pushing her better than awesome chest up for his viewing. “I don’t care who you’re with.”
“Okay.” He gently cupped her bare shoulders. “If you’re sure.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, catching it open, but swallowing whatever she was about to say. He tasted beer and Rachel, sweet, beautiful, Rachel. She tasted even better than he’d remembered.
He felt her sigh into his mouth and moved his tongue to play with hers. His hands came up to palm her nape, loving the sensitive skin there, the soft hairs that she hadn’t gotten into her regulation braid.
He pushed closer to her. “Put your arms around me.”
“No.” She sighed. Might as well have been “yes” for all the strength she put behind it.
“Ah, come on.” He continued the assault on her lips, his lips dancing with hers, his tongue softly delving into her sexy mouth.
“Oh, okay,” she said and lowered her crossed arms to his hips.
He pressed in and felt her full breasts against his chest and immediately wanted to feel skin to skin.
She tilted her head and allowed him to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted and their tongues vied for the upper hand. He was winning and taking full advantage. He brought a hand to her waist, sliding fingers under the hem of her shirt. She leaned into him and he took that as an all-out authorization to continue. He walked his fingers up her soft, warm skin until he came to the seam of her bra. Imagining purple lace-covered breasts sent a surge of heat to his crotch. He needed to feel that soft skin, to test the weight, to feel her nipple against his palm.
She surrendered and allowed him, pushing into him.
“Hey!” There was a knock at the door and the handle twisted. “Dude, you going to be long? Mattie’s in the other bathroom. Man, open up.”
“Oh God.” Rachel whispered, tugging her top down. “Oh God.”
“Shhh . . .” Logan said, softly. “I’ve got you.”
Then, over his shoulder, he called, “Just finishing up.”
Chapter 15
Rachel was mortified to her core. She’d been about to go, well, who knows how far with Logan. Too far to think about. And, in a stranger’s bathroom. What had gotten into her?
Logan, that’s what. Or, rather, who.
As soon as the bathroom door opened, she bolted. She almost thanked Charlie for interrupting, but was too embarrassed to risk more than a glance.
Rachel slipped through the now crowded kitchen out to the backyard, looking for Molly. Molly was chatting with two other couples, but noticed Rachel coming down the stairs. Molly broke away from the group and, thankfully, met her halfway.
“Will you take me back to the motel?”
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. Can you tell Trisha and Charlie . . .?”
“No problem.” Molly eyed her carefully and nodded. “Consider it done.” Then she clasped Rachel’s hand and squeezed. “It’s okay.”
Molly kept telling her that, but, honestly, Rachel didn’t see any okay about it. She was seriously losing her edge, precariously close to falling over it, actually.
Rachel buckled herself into Molly's Audi and without a word Molly took off to the motel. Rachel closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. She was ill. Ill in the head. And, in the heart. How had something meant to be so special turned into such a mess? One simple dinner, meant to honor a very special woman was turning into a circus and she was letting the boy, er, man—who thought she was nothing but a spoiled brat cop a feel and play tonsil tag with her.
How could he have kissed her like that? How could she have let him? He was obviously with someone. Okay, maybe not. Maybe he’d been telling the truth. But, it had been obvious there’d been at least some familiarity between him and Kelly. Cute, petite Kelly. She groaned. For real, out loud.
“Almost there, sweetie. You take it easy. You’re pushing yourself so hard and, well, just take it easy. I can bring you over some soup.”
“Thanks, Mol, but I just want to be alone.” Alone so she could figure out her next move and get her wayward thoughts reined in.
The motel wasn’t too far from Charlie and Trisha’s and soon Molly was pulling into a parking space in front of her room. Rachel turned to her friend. “Thanks, Molly. I owe you.”
“Hardly.” Molly rummaged in the back of her car and produced and elegantly wrapped package and their old yearbook. “Here, these are for you.”
“What?”
“Shhh . . . I was digging around at home and found this.” She motioned to the yearbook. “Thought it might be fun to see pics of some of the people we went to school with who still live here. And this,” she said, motioning to the wrapped package, “is because you’re my friend, I love you, and I wanted to. Now go. Rest. Take care of yourself.”
Rachel gave Molly’s hand a squeeze and let herself into her motel room, in search of quiet. And peace.
Chapter 16
Rachel sat cross-legged on the motel room bed. She held her high school yearbook and the package from Molly.
She’d escaped from the BBQ and was now safe and sound, and, blessedly, alone. She was flat out refusing to think about the BBQ, Charlie’s need to pee, what might have happened had he not interrupted . . .
Nope, she wasn’t going to think about it. If only she could forget about Logan’s hands on her, his lips on her, his tongue on her . . .
Rachel shook her head, clearing out the traitorous thoughts and focusing on the box in her lap.
Molly had used pale blue paper and tied a raffia bow in the center. She reached for the tag. On one side was a delicate purple butterfly and under it, printed in calligraphy, Fancy Pants. Rachel flipped the tag over. In Molly’s stylized script the note read:
Jus
t got these in. Thought you might see something you need . . . or want.
Then a long thin heart and the letter M.
Rachel gently ran her finger under the edge of the paper, loosening the tape. She folded the paper away from the box and lifted the lid. Inside, under a sheet of silver tissue paper, were several magazines.
Elle, Marie Clare, Vogue, Allure. All the magazines Molly had on the coffee table in her shop.
Leave it to Molly to remember Rachel had been interested in those fashion magazines. Logan hadn’t bugged her too much lately about her spending habits and alleged need for all things high-end and in-style. Instead, he’d been too busy kissing her and feeling her up.
Nope, wasn’t going there.
She put that thought and the magazines aside, and reached for the next one, the one that wasn’t like the others. It was glossy black and in the center, no bigger than a quarter, was a single red rose. It was heavier than the other magazines, made of thicker paper stock. She opened the first page and realized why. This wasn’t a magazine you’d come across at the dentist office or in the staff lounge or in the checkout line . . .
It was a sex toy magazine! Rachel’s eyes widened as she turned the page. The word Fantasy was written in passionate script in the same glossy black as the cover. She turned to the next page. A woman sat straddling a simple wooden chair, her back to the camera and her legs parted wide. Long hair swept softly down the natural curve of her spine to the middle of her bare back. She wore black lace thigh- highs. And, that’s all. The pale curve of her bum was as exposed as her back. Her face was turned to the side but covered in shadow. Her feet were bare but drawn up on tiptoe to show the lean, graceful musculature of her long legs.
Rachel stared at the woman. She couldn’t see her eyes, but the thrust of her chin gave the impression of strength and confidence, a force to be reckoned with, secure in her beauty and power as a woman. Of course, Rachel knew she was a model acting out a part for the photographer and his camera. But, still, something about the strong arch of her back, the set of her lips and that chin, made Rachel think this lady was in control.
Rachel turned to the next page. While the magazine was heavier than most, it wasn’t because it had more pages, they were just thicker. This page advertised potions and lotions and ribbed massagers to relax you and your partner. Rachel read the descriptions—vanilla and lavender, botanical-enriched creams and oils, spicy and flirty scents infused with pheromones.
She moved to the next page. There were products in a variety of flavors, meant to intensify sensitivity, heighten arousal, and stimulate every sense. Rachel read the product descriptions and realized she’d lived a sheltered life where this stuff was concerned.
When Rachel turned to the next page, she bit her lip.
She’d come to the magazine’s toy page. The vibrators—or personal massagers—came in all colors: pink, purple, blue, green, red, and black. She brought the magazine up closer to her face. These little gadgets were multi-faceted! They stimulated anything and everything within their compact reach. She read each description and felt warmth spread through her. She could honestly say she didn’t own a personal toy. Not that she was opposed to the idea. She’d just never taken the time or initiative to buy one.
But, studying the product details, she couldn’t help but think what one of those might do for her. The pleasure, the release.
She thumbed through the magazine, contemplating folding down a page or two or three, but she didn’t. And, really, what was Molly trying to tell her? That she needed to get laid? Did her friend think she needed to relax, unwind, loosen up?
Yes, yes, and yes. Rachel couldn’t help but agree with all of those. Trouble was she didn’t have time for a fling. She was devoted to this event for her Nana and to finishing her fellowship.
So where did that leave her?
Sitting alone in a motel room, the TV on mute and fantasizing about using an orgasm-inducing device. Alone.
Rachel tossed the glossy mag onto the bed, alongside the fashion magazines and reached for the yearbook. She smoothed her fingers over the embossed letters and the warrior emblem.
She slowly turned the pages, seeing the pictures and reading what people had written. She stopped when she came to one of the pages with Logan.
He wore a ‘got-the-world-by-the-tail’ grin and held a football in the crook of his arm. His eyes sparkled. She recognized the look.
The man, and boy, were both genuine to the core. He’d embraced the people of Redemption, just like they’d embraced him. Just not her. Until recently.
An image of her and Logan with a bottle of Lickety Slip and a big purple vibrator, guaranteed to please, pressed through her mind.
There was a knock on her door. She whipped her head toward the sound and couldn’t help that her heart hammered against her rib cage.
She unfolded from her position on the bed, peeked out the window adjacent to the door and her heart skipped a beat. Logan stood outside her door, holding a white paper bag.
She opened the door and he lifted the bag, one hand under the bottom, and gave a shy smile. “I brought dinner.”
Rachel took him in. He was dressed the same as he’d been at the BBQ, from the snug, form-fitting jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt to his tousled hair, like maybe he’d been driving with the windows down. He looked incredible, and she wondered if he meant he was dinner?
For the first time, his smile was shy, tentative, uncertain. His eyes held hers, watching, waiting. Nervous? “Can I come in?”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.
“Come on, Rach. I brought dinner.”
“You could have gotten me arrested!”
“What are you talking about?” His brows pulled together.
“You know!”
“What?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “At Charlie’s, you mean? Hell no, Rach. Nobody at that party thought anything about it. In fact, nobody knows what happened.”
“Yeah, right.” She leaned against the doorjamb, blocking his entry. “Charlie knows. Trisha likely knows. From there. . .”
“Oh please. Don’t tell me you care what other people say?”
Of course she did! Reputation was everything. Her Nana had drilled that into her from a very young age.
“Shit.” Logan dropped his head, and the arm holding the bag, letting it dangle from his hand. “You do. Of course you do.”
He sighed. She watched the muscles in his chest work, in his neck as he visibly swallowed and then in his jaw as he formulated his next sentence. Mesmerizing.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. Well . . .” He grinned slightly, and continued. “I want you.”
Now she swallowed.
“But, not in a bathroom. Not the first time anyways and preferably not in someone else’s john.
She needed to turn up the AC in the room. Suddenly it was entirely too hot. She shouldn’t say yes. She should definitely say no. But, her body didn’t listen to sense and she stepped back.
His shoulders sagged a little. Relief? “Thank you,” he said as he passed her.
She nodded, closing the door. She inhaled his clean, masculine scent, a combination of soap and heat and nothing artificial. Just Logan. Her gaze followed him as he walked across the room and sat the food on the small table. She was grateful he’d chosen the table instead of the bed. Too intimate, too close, too much.
She blinked, drawing in a deep breath and forced her thoughts and her visceral reaction to him under control. When she opened them, she remembered the magazines on the bed. The only things she was okay with Logan seeing were the fashion magazines. He didn’t need to know she’d been reading their yearbook and he certainly didn’t need to know she’d been browsing a sex toy catalog.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
And, maybe monkeys were flying overhead right now. She shot a look at Logan. Too late. A big grin split his face and he reached down for the yearbook. “Strolling down memory lane?”
S
he reached for the book. He let her have it. “I was just— Wait! Don’t!”
“What’s this?” Logan held the black magazine in his hand, exactly out of her reach. Above her head, he thumbed through the pages, licking his thumb as he flipped. “Well, how about that?” It even comes in hot pink.” He smiled at Rachel, sexy and knowing. “And it has an extended battery life.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and willed the blush out of her face.
“You know, Rachel, I’m happy to help you in this area.
Oh boy, didn’t she know it. She jumped and caught the magazine, yanking on his arm until he released it. “It’s not mine,” she muttered, tucking it under the bed.
Logan was chuckling. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
“It’s not!”
He snapped his fingers, his blue eyes sparkling. “Ah, must belong to housekeeping. Motels are getting more and more progressive.”
She fisted one hand on her hip. “Molly sent it to me, okay?” She lifted her chin to the white paper sack he held.
“What’s in the bag?”
“Not sure. Trisha packed it up for me.”
Her stomach rumbled. BBQ, and it smelled delicious.
She’d have to jog around town, though, twice, to burn off the calories. And, it would mean eating with Logan, whom she’d sworn off.
The humor from his face fell slightly. “It’s a peace offering.”
She lifted a brow.
He raised two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Uh-huh. Logan was no Boy Scout.
She waited a beat more, watching him, her eyes alternating between the delicious-smelling food and the handsome man holding the bag. Just dinner, Rach. Just dinner. She nodded. “What do you want to drink?”
He scanned the room and saw her plastic cup. “How about some of that?”
“You got it.” She opened the mini fridge and retrieved another soda and grabbed the other plastic cup the motel left every morning after they’d made up the room.
Logan found the remote and turned the volume up.
Rachel's Redemption Page 10