Would it be the worst thing if it happened? He wasn’t sure if that was the devil or the angel on his shoulder talking. Either way, it wasn’t good. That he, in any way, shape or form, was imagining this thing taking off was a sure fire sign that his brain had ceased rational thought.
Rachel was speaking to the dancers, talking logistics, and all he could think was what Rachel would look like in one of those outfits, her soft feminine stomach bare to his eyes and touch, her long legs exposed, and the tops of her amazing breasts brazenly exposed. Oh yeah. He could go for that.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?” He shook his head from the naughty genie-in-a-bottle thoughts he’d been having and focused on Rachel. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Kikki wanted to know if you had any questions?”
Hell, yeah. Could he borrow one of their costumes? But he said, “Nope. I think I’ve seen enough.” Of them, not of Rachel.
“Okay, well, I guess we’ll see you at the end of the month.”
“Sure thing,” Kikki said, and they packed up their stuff.
Rachel walked them to the exit. Logan’s eyes trailed her as she walked them out. He’d hoped the dancers would mess up the event, but now he wasn’t so sure. It might make the whole thing that much more anticipated, enjoyed, attended. And, at that moment, he honestly didn’t care.
Rachel grabbed her coat and headed out of the room.
“Rachel, wait, where are you going?”
“The motel. Alone.” She gave him a pointed look then turned and left, following the same path as Sasha and her gang.
He smiled and let her walk away. He knew a short cut.
Rachel climbed into her car and tried to decide whether Nana would have loved or hated the international theme this event was taking on. Nana had always loved a party, although her tastes had definitely trended toward the more traditional. But, maybe, she would appreciate all the worldliness of it, the colors, the tastes, the sounds. Maybe.
Rachel was tired. A night of hot, sweaty sex would do that to a girl. She needed a shower and the fresh perspective that always brought her. But, as she pulled her Volvo into the motel parking lot, the relief of a shower evaporated like steam on a cooling mirror. Logan, by some black magic, was parked in front of her room, leaning against his truck and looking way too good.
“Short cut?”
“I can’t reveal.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you’re wasting your time.”
He ignored her, though, and, as she was about to open the door, came up behind her, engulfing her in his arms, his heat, him. He reached around her to collect her key and opened the door for her, ushering her in and closing the door with his foot.
In the darkness of the room that smelled of him and her and them, he turned her gently in his arms and kissed her.
“Logan . . .” But she wasn’t pushing him, pushing into him maybe, but not away.
“Shhh . . .” And he filled her mouth with him and his with her and she was lost.
There was a heavy arm across her stomach and it wasn’t hers, since both of her own hands rested on top of it. She lightly skimmed her palm over the coarse hair and a smile tugged at her lips.
Logan.
She carefully turned her head. Logan lay on his stomach, his face turned toward her on the pillow they shared, his mouth parted in sleep. His face creased where it met the pillow.
And he was absolutely beautiful to her.
They’d had sex one more time before they’d both fallen asleep. She lifted her head to see the alarm clock. It was just after one p.m.
Her stomach growled and she could have died.
She shot her eyes to the sleeping Logan. But his eyes were open and a smile played at his lips, although one side was still squished against the pillow.
“Hungry?”
Her stomach answered for her.
He chuckled then pushed himself up and out of bed.
“Don’t worry, nobody will see me leaving. Or coming back.”
She opened her mouth to say that thought never entered her mind or that she’d even be bothered to have people know. But, he leaned over her and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Be right back.”
She was too satiated to move, but evidently not so for Logan. She heard him pull on clothes and then the motel room door opened and closed.
She rolled herself onto the spot previously occupied by Logan and inhaled. God she loved his smell. It was everywhere: on the sheets, her clothes, her.
She closed her eyes tightly. What was happening here?
This wasn’t the beginnings of a relationship. That was impossible. First of all, she didn’t love Logan. How could she? Maybe she’d known him longer than any other man, but what did she really know about him?
He cared about people and kids. That much they shared in common. He loved Redemption. She . . . well, she loved Nana and the home they’d shared in Redemption, the life she’d had here. But, without Nana . . . no, Rachel was happy wherever she was able to be a practicing physician. For her, that would be Denver.
She liked Logan. Especially when he wasn’t accusing her of using her money and name to get her way or tossing out accusations of her concern for being seen with him. Where was that bologna coming from?
She cared about him. She had to or how else could she have done what she just did with him? And she believed he felt at least something for her. Although she knew he—well, men—didn’t need to even feel that to have sex. But, in her heart she knew he felt at least that much.
And, it wasn’t anything like her last relationship.
She pulled a pillow over her face. She’d been so blind and stupid. She’d fallen for Travis, his smooth words, his polish and shiny good looks, hook, line, and sinker. In the end, it’d been her hanging. Travis hadn’t cared about her, let alone loved her. He’d only been interested in her money, or perception of it, not her, as it turned out. She found that out the hard way. Which mostly, no completely, explained her sexual drought. Why bother?
Logan had his own money and he just . . . well, that just wasn’t him. Which didn’t amount to a hill of beans because she was leaving.
Once Rachel had successfully honored the woman she held in the highest esteem, both in her mind and heart, maybe then Rachel could move on. She’d pay the vendors, put the gym back to rights, and leave. She’d give Molly a big hug, promise to stay in touch, and she’d leave Redemption.
What about Logan?
She shook her head, clearing that thought away.
“What are you thinking about?”
She’d been thinking so hard she hadn’t heard Logan return with a full plastic bag from the EZ-Mart.
She could see ding-dongs, beef jerky, a tube of Pringles, bottles of water, and a box of condoms.
“Please tell me nobody you know was at the EZ-Mart.” Then she immediately regretted her words. With his unfounded hang up, he might take her joke seriously.
Logan winked at her. “Just one of the coaches, a couple of players and their folks . . . the minister.”
“You’re kidding.”
He smiled and nodded, then he dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed. “It’s not the Ritz . . .”
Rachel eyed him, waited for him to look at her. When he did, she asked, “Do you really believe that’s what I need? What I expect?”
Logan turned away. For the first time since she’d come back, he seemed uncomfortable. He evaded her eyes and her question. Instead, he twisted open a bottle of water and passed it to her. He opened one for himself and drained it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
She accepted the water but waited for him to answer her.
“Yes. No. I did. I guess. I don’t know.” He looked at her, finally. “Should I?”
She shook her head, her eyes holding his, willing the young, under-confident boy lurking underneath to see the truth. Until he did, though, she wasn’t cutting him any slack. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself. Pass me
the ding-dongs. After all the calories we just burned I deserve one of these.”
She was naked under the sheet and wanted to sit up but wasn’t entirely comfortable with sitting there naked, eating cupcakes and chips. She sat up, bringing the sheet with her and cast a glance around.
Logan pulled his shirt off and handed it to her. “As much as I’d like you bare . . .”
She gratefully accepted the shirt. Which was huge on her. If she stood, even on her taller frame, it would have come down to mid-thigh. It was white with the Arizona Cardinal mascot in the center.
“From the old days, Logan?” She pinched the bird’s face away from her chest then smiled up at him.
“Yep. The good ‘ol days.” He sat on the bed.
He uncapped another bottle of water and raised the bottle to her. “To reunions.”
Her eyes fell on his naked torso and she nearly forgot that he was making a toast. Then she tapped her bottle against his. “Is that what this is?”
He dipped a finger into the cream of her ding-dong and settled closer to her.
She could smell him. Spicy and warm. Decidedly Logan.
He extended his frosting covered finger and she opened her mouth, closing it around his finger. The sensation of his long finger in her wet mouth sent delicious sensations right to her core. She grew warm and moist there. He brought his hand up to cup her face and slowly withdrew his finger. Then he took her hand and began kissing the inside of her wrist, up her arm.
He took the ding dong and spread more frosting on his finger, then he painted her mouth with it, just a thin layer of white cream. Before she could lick the sweet cream from her lips, Logan was there, feasting on her lips, tasting both her and the frosting.
A moan escaped her mouth and he caught it in his own. He pressed her backward onto the pillows and pulled at the tee shirt, raising it up. The material bunched at her neck but his hand cupped her breast, kneading and loving the sensitive skin there. His mouth continued to plunder hers. All thoughts of it being Sunday afternoon and heading back to Denver fled. All she could think of was Logan. Logan’s firm lips molded to hers, wringing sensations from low in her belly, muddling her mind, driving her to the brink. Logan’s long fingers and large palm searing the flesh of her chest. Her nipples tight and begging for his mouth. But, oh, she didn’t want his lips to leave hers.
His hand traveled down her abdomen to cup her core.
She was naked there, her only clothing the shirt bunched at her neck and shoulders. He held her, letting the heat of his skin drive her wild. She lifted her hips pushing against his palm, needing more.
He read her loud and clear, his mouth leaving hers to place sticky, open-mouthed kisses over her chin, down her throat. He paused. “Lift up your head, baby.”
She obeyed and swoosh the shirt came off. Then his delectable, talented mouth was back on her heated skin, trailing kisses down between her breasts, over her tummy, pausing to rim her belly button with the tip of her tongue. His hand still cupped her, his palm offering pressure. But it wasn’t enough. God, she needed more. More.
Then he was between her legs, kissing her inner thighs. And, she no longer wondered what his whisker-rough jaw would feel like between her legs. She knew, and she would never forget. If she wasn’t so caught up in what his mouth was doing, how close it was coming to her feminine center, that his fingers were finally—finally!—parting her. He dipped one, then two inside of her, withdrawing slowly and rubbing her wetness up and over her swollen bead. Back and forth, up and over, pressing then releasing. If he weren’t doing all of these things, she’d realize that this wasn’t the best sex she’d had in her adult life just because Logan was so obviously a talented lover, but because it was Logan. Logan, who’d she’d known forever and had alternatively ached for, avoided, longed for, detested.
Logan who was fast brining her to orgasm.
He stopped the pressure of his fingers and mouth and blew on her. The sensation nearly putting her over the edge. She raised her chin, digging her head into the mattress. She couldn’t be still. Her hips were rising on their own. Her legs moved restlessly alongside his upper body.
He threw a strong arm over her middle, forcing her still, only able to accept his mouth and fingers as they drove her wild, tighter and tighter, higher and higher.
She couldn’t take it any longer and he knew it. He applied pressure to her clit with his tongue and she came in a burst of white and fiery light. Her head turned side to side on the mattress and all she could do was say his name over and over. “Logan, Logan, Logan.”
“I’ve got you, babe. Right behind you.”
She heard the rustle of paper and knew he was protecting her. Then he was there again. Not his mouth this time. And then, God, he was inside of her, filling her, taking her back to that place only higher and hotter than before.
“Look at me, Rachel. Look at me baby.”
Rachel couldn’t deny him anymore than she could stop her heart from beating. She opened her heavy eyes and focused on him. His skin was tawny and a fine sheen of perspiration made him gleam. She rubbed her palms up his corded arms to his chest, palming his pecks until his small nipples beaded under her palm. He leaned down to take her mouth with his as he pumped in and out. In and out.
She took his mouth and tasted a combination of him and her and nearly came again. She held his mouth captive while he rode high and hard over her. His rhythm changed and he was slamming harder, faster. And then he pulled away from her lips as a low groan escaped his mouth and died in the mass of tangled hair at her neck.
His breathing labored, his hard body on top of hers, their scents and juices mingling. And Rachel wondered how she could possibly leave.
But how could she possibly stay?
An hour and one very long shared shower later, Logan was dressed and Rachel was wrapped in a towel, sitting in the room’s lone armchair.
“Come on a date with me.”
She smiled. “A little late for a first date, isn’t it? You’ve already been to home base.”
He kneeled before her, his hands sliding up and down her bare thighs. “I’m serious. Come out with me.”
Her eyes searched his, probably searching for the joke, the trick, what he had up his sleeve. He waited her out, letting the sincerity in his request shine through.
“Okay,” she said. Although he noted the apprehension, he jumped on the fact that she’d agreed.
“Meet me at my house.” He checked his watch. “In an hour. And wear jeans. No sandals.”
“Anything else?” She chuckled softly.
He stood, pressing his fists into the chair on either side of her smooth, bare hips and kissed her fully, soundly, deliciously. “No, that’s all . . . well, you can skip the underwear. If you want.”
She laughed and tossed a pillow at him, which he evaded.
Then he moved away from her, or he was going to end up naked and mess up his plans for their date? He opened the door and pointed a finger at her. “One hour. Don’t be late.” Then he closed the door behind him.
Chapter 20
An hour later Rachel parked her car in front of Logan’s house. She was wearing jeans and tennis shoes and a T-shirt with tootsie rolls on the front. She remained inside the door of her car. Her eyes searched, staring at the house where Logan had grown up. Her hands gripped the car doorframe and shifted from foot to foot.
Rachel had experienced all sorts of emotions on the drive to Logan’s home, well, his father’s home. She’d only been here a couple of times and that had been in high school. She and Nana had delivered holiday care packages but they’d always left them on the porch. She’d never actually been inside the old house.
There was a huge metal dumpster at the end of the drive and she could see wooden boards and broken drywall peeking over the top. She cast a glance toward the old house. It was a single story brick home, at least fifty years old, and it had seen better days. Although, she gathered from the dumpster and new bay windows, things were l
ooking up for this old rambler.
She closed her car door and smoothed her sweaty palms down her jean-clad legs. She stared out over Logan’s front yard as she followed the winding driveway. Thick green grass, recently mowed, surrounded an enormous oak tree that regally rose up out of the middle of his yard. The tree made her think of roots. Roots like Logan was establishing in Redemption.
A noise from the rear of the house caught her attention.
“Logan?”
“Back here.”
At the back of the house, Rachel saw three things at once: a detached two-car garage, Logan, and a motorcycle.
She’d never been on a motorcycle. She had no plans to change that. Still, her eyes stayed glued to the shiny black and chrome. It practically screamed fast and dangerous. Exciting, intimidating, powerful.
It was the anti-Rachel.
Logan crouched down next to it his back to her. He rubbed a polishing cloth over the chrome on the bike’s engine. He wore jeans, too, that nicely hugged his backside. Did he have on underwear?
His shirt was black with an eagle on the back and STURGIS with last year’s date scrawled underneath. The shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he worked the cloth along the motorcycle’s finish.
Logan looked back over his shoulder, squinting against the sun. He slowly stood, pushing on his thighs as he rose, then he turned to face her. She watched his gaze sweep her, from her laced up tennis shoes and jeans, to her tee shirt and, finally, her face.
She cast furtive glances between the bike and him.
“Hi,” he said. A ghost of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. He eyed her a second longer then he wandered into the open garage. He squeezed past boxes, disappearing in the back for a moment, before emerging with two helmets.
He sat one helmet on the bike’s seat and extended the other to her.
She took a step back and raised her hands, palms facing him. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.
Logan eyed at the helmet curiously. “You’ve got to wear a helmet.”
“Not to just stand here.”
“To go for a ride.”
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