“I'm bringing the gravy. That's all that's left.” She planted a kiss on top of Thor's head, then poured the gravy into a bowl and followed the servers out.
She took an empty seat near the center of the table. To her amazement, Thor sauntered into the room and thumped down at her feet instead of choosing one of the brothers. She felt like a schoolgirl who'd received a star on her paper. Making a new friend: A+.
While stroking the big head leaning on her leg, she glanced at the club members. Sunburned faces, cheerful expressions. Sex made for hungry people. She knew that for a fact. Rebecca smothered a grin and helped herself to some potatoes.
A minute later, Greg rose to look over the food. His face fell. “No rolls or biscuits?”
“Get real,” said Brandy, who had helped cook. “The only way I make rolls is if they come in a tube.”
The grumbling from club members warmed Rebecca's insides. So maybe her thighs looked like grated Jell-O; she still cooked like a Texas version of Julia Child. Thank you, frat mom.
Making the rounds with a wine bottle, Logan set his hand on her shoulder to fill her glass, his touch causing shivers to run through her body. He whispered in her ear, “How can I bribe you to make biscuits for breakfast?”
Her first thought was so depraved that she could feel herself flush. Oh God.
He chuckled and rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “You will explain that thought to me later. In detail.” To her relief and disappointment, he moved on down the table.
If people hadn't surrounded her, Rebecca would have covered her face and groaned. The room had not only heated up, but even worse, her panties were wet, just from his brief touch. With a shaky hand, she picked up her wine and took a hefty drink. Not strong enough. Scotch would have been better. Jeez.
As she set her glass down, her gaze met Jake's. He raised an eyebrow, and his lips quirked in amusement before he resumed pouring wine.
She flushed again.
She cooled off slowly. Having Logan sitting at the far end of the table helped. If she concentrated on the conversations around her, she could avoid looking at him. The swingers had apparently had a fun day up in the meadow, thankfully on a different mountain than the one she and Logan had been on. The dynamics of the group had shifted again, she noticed. Ashley now sat between Brandon and Christopher, ignoring Matt. Brandy flirted with Paul and Amy. Rebecca choked at their discussion of the afternoon's sexual antics. Two men and three women in the water? An even bigger group in the meadow? Man, what…energetic…people.
Christopher waggled his wineglass. “What I want to know is who did all that screaming. Damn, it sounded intense.”
“Oh, I know.” Amy fanned herself. “If I'd have figured out where, I'd have gone to join in.”
A chorus of agreement came from the others at the table.
Christopher frowned. “I thought it was you guys. She wasn't with us.”
Frowns appeared around the table. Paul asked, “None of our women had a screaming orgasm this afternoon?”
“Not like that, more's the pity,” Ashley said with a short laugh.
Oh, this wasn't good. Reaching for her wineglass, Rebecca contrived to glance down the table at Logan. He had an elbow on the table, chin in his hand, and his fingers covering his lips. He met her gaze, and amusement glinted in his eyes. And satisfaction. Satisfaction? Had he done that to her on purpose?
She would have to kill him. That's all. He must die.
She leaned back casually and took a sip of wine. And choked as a barrage of eyes turned toward her. From the heat of her face, she'd turned the color of a ripe tomato.
Matt stared, his mouth open so far, she could see his molars. “You? You were screaming like that?”
“Jesus, Matt. I thought you said she was a cold fish.” Christopher eyed her speculatively, and she didn't like the gleam in his eyes. Or the way every man at the table started to look at her, like she'd suddenly turned interesting.
“Well, now, this is a surprise,” Mel murmured.
“What I want to know is who she was with,” Ashley said in a sharp voice. A moment later, she turned her cornflower blue eyes straight toward Logan.
Jealousy stabbed through Rebecca, a knife sharp enough to penetrate the sternum, and then heaviness settled in her stomach. Every woman in the place would scramble after Logan now, all of them better looking, all skinnier. She'd need to find a place to sleep again. She set her hands in her lap and squeezed until the burning in her eyes disappeared, and she could look at people with her chin held high. Don't be an idiot. They didn't have any relationship, after all. Her vacation ended Wednesday, and he hadn't wanted her for more than just a weekend slap and tickle, as it were.
He'd taught her a few things about herself, and she could only be grateful. She'd show him a cheerful face and say something polite. Thanks, Logan. You made a crummy weekend very pleasant, and I enjoyed being with you. She sipped her wine, ignoring the conversation that had, thank God, moved on to tomorrow's outing. After a second, she glanced at him—damn her that she couldn't keep her eyes away.
His brows had drawn together, and his eyes were focused on her face.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey, Rebecca, want to go for a walk?” Matt asked, obviously having lain in wait until after the kitchen cleanup. “I'd like to talk for a minute or two.”
Rebecca glanced around the big lodge hall. Logan had disappeared, and Brandon and Paul sat by the fire, their eyes on her, looking all too interested. Darned if she wanted to stay here. “Sure.” She grabbed her jacket on the way out the door.
They walked for a while in silence, and then Matt cleared his throat. “I've been thinking… Maybe I was too rough on you, about the swinging stuff and all. You… I guess I shouldn't have expected you to jump right in.”
Well, this sounded more like the guy she'd moved in with, the one who was a pretty nice man. Maybe no man had manners when in hot pursuit of a woman, especially one like Ashley. Rebecca realized the sense of betrayal had faded, especially since she'd indulged in sizzling sex herself. Considering they lived together, she might do well to let him make amends. “Sorry, Matt, but I'm never going to jump in. Group sex and exchanging partners just isn't my thing. It leaves me cold.”
He gave a short laugh. “And from what we all heard today, you're not exactly cold.” He reached out and took her hand as they turned back toward the lodge. “I've been an idiot. You think you can forgive me?”
Since his stupid behavior let her meet Logan, she probably should thank him.
Besides, in another day, they'd drive back to San Francisco, and all this would be in the past. Logan would be in the past.
The knowledge twisted deep inside her, sending up a painful ache. But she had to face the facts. Reality was that Logan showed no interest in anything except a weekend of fun. Reality was that she lived with Matt. Reality could really bite sometimes.
She glanced up at the man beside her. Nice, yes, but lacking the bone-deep sense of responsibility Logan had. If she'd come here with Logan, he'd ensure her safety and comfort even if she didn't go along with his wishes. How odd. In spite of believing in equal rights and that she could fight her own battles, she still wanted to know that her guy would do anything in his power to protect her.
Matthew fell short.
As they walked around the edge of the clearing, she scuffled her feet and watched the fine dust glitter in the patchy moonlight. An owl hooted in the distance, getting no answer in return.
Loneliness crept through Rebecca. No matter what happened now, she'd move out of her apartment.
As they reached the lodge again, Matt cleared his throat. “So, are you going to forgive me?”
She realized she hadn't said a word for the entire time. Oops. “Sorry, Matt.” She pulled open the door to the lodge and said, “But don't worry. I—”
Her breath burst out of her as if someone had punched her in the stomach.
Across the room, Ashley straddled Logan's kne
es, staring over his shoulder at Rebecca and Matt. With a smug smile, she leaned forward, pressing her breasts against Logan's face. Rebecca could only see the back of Logan's head, but she could imagine the look on his face, having the sexy Ashley offering herself.
Despite the pain in her chest, Rebecca managed to move, and she stepped back onto the porch. Matt followed, and the door closed behind him.
* * * * *
Had she decided to join the swingers after all? Or gone back to her boyfriend? Logan scanned the lodge room and saw Matt in a small group by the fireplace, playing some touchy-feely game. No Rebecca. Logan hadn't found her outside when he made the rounds. Or in the kitchen. Or in his bed, not that she could get there without the key code.
Anger gnawed at his guts like a hungry rodent. He didn't consider himself a particularly jealous man, but territorial? Hell yes. In the fetish clubs and here, if a BDSM group rented the cabins, he might play with a sub in public. But unlike some Doms, he didn't share. Ever.
Rebecca was welcome to change men in midstream, but she could have had the courtesy to tell him. And not worry him by disappearing.
Thor at his heels, Jake wandered in the door, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the hook. “Getting cold out there. Looks like a storm's moving in.”
Logan grunted and bent over to scratch Thor's sides. “You seen Rebecca?”
“Nope. Lost your woman?” Jake's sense of humor had netted him frequent black eyes as a kid.
Logan just looked at him and considered giving him another.
Grinning, Jake put his hands up and backed up a step. “Sorry, bro. I haven't seen her, but didn't you say she came with Matt?”
“That's right. But he's here in the lodge.”
“The lights are on in that cabin.”
“The way this group swaps beds, it could be anyone in there”—Logan scratched his jaw—“but I think I'll go check it out.”
“She gonna suffer for pissing you off?”
“Fuck, yes.”
* * * * *
Well, she liked having all her stuff around again, Rebecca decided as she took another shower, shaved her legs—although what was the point of smooth skin now?—and washed her hair with her own shampoo and conditioner. She'd felt too awkward to move her things over to Logan's rooms, and wasn't it a good thing she hadn't?
He'd be up there now, giving Ashley a ride in front of his fireplace. Her hands fisted so tight, she could feel the fingernails cut into her skin. God, how pitiful. Rebecca pulled in a breath and felt a sob welling up from deep inside her chest.
No. No crying. No one was going to see her all red-eyed tomorrow. Not the swingers, not Logan. Show some pride, Rebecca.
She put on her new nightgown because she deserved something special and shoved a chair closer to the woodstove. As her hair dried, she tried to concentrate on Little Women, but the book couldn't compete with the ugly feelings sweeping through her. The wish to claw Ashley's face off had Rebecca digging her nails into the soft book cover. Damn Logan for falling for that nasty bitch. And why did it hurt so much that he had?
She had no claim on him, and hey, he probably took women right and left. Not a swinger, true, but a virile man with—her breath huffed out—a lot of skill and experience. And why did she have so much trouble thinking of him as just a wonderful…fuck? What a typical girlie move, imagining a relationship where there was none.
Why couldn't she be gay? Or a nun?
Somebody pounded on her cabin door. She jumped, then rolled her eyes. Two men from the club had been by already, trying to interest her in some sex. Apparently she'd have to refuse them all one by one? “Not interested,” she yelled. “Go away.”
A key scraped in the lock, and the handle turned. Didn't Matt ever learn? She jumped to her feet. “I told you—”
Broad shoulders filled the door, and cold blue eyes shot into hers.
“Logan?” She took a step back.
“Very good,” he said in a dry voice. “You do remember me. The one you've been fucking for the past two days?” He walked toward her, as unstoppable as a semi truck, and she retreated until her back hit the wall. He put a hand flat on each side of her, trapping her. He'd never looked so angry, not even when she'd been hiking alone.
“I remember you.” Then she also remembered why she'd come to the cabin. Her spine straightened. “I thought you'd be”—she spit the word at him—“fucking Ashley tonight.”
“Ashley?” His brows drew together as if he was perplexed. “Oh, the horny blonde. I wouldn't fuck that…” Suddenly the anger disappeared from his face, and his lips curved. “You saw her jump on me and thought I'd be occupied tonight?”
Why did she have the feeling she was one step behind him? “Well, yes. If she didn't smother you with her breasts,” she said drily.
“You must have been in and out within seconds, then, little one,” he said softly, moving closer until she could feel the heat from his body through her thin nightgown. “Right after she shoved her tits in my face, I stood up. I'm not sure what hit harder, her ass or her pride.”
Rebecca choked on a laugh and tried to contain the heady feeling sweeping through her. He'd turned Ashley down. He'd come looking for her.
“Seems like we had a bit of miscommunication here.” His hand cupped her chin. “I thought you decided to go bed-hopping tonight.”
“Ew.” She wrinkled her nose. “Please.”
His grin flashed, dark and wicked. “Then you're not all dressed up to…ah, entertain?” His gaze swept down her figure, and she became acutely aware of how very thin and provocative her nightgown appeared. Leaning a forearm against the wall over her head, he ran his other hand down her neck, across the lacy cleavage of the gown. “Very nice.”
She brought her arms up and crossed them over her chest. “I put the gown on just for me.” She bit her lip and added, “I felt a bit unhappy.”
“Ah.” The crease appeared in his cheek. “In that case, perhaps you need cheering up.” He took a firm grip on her wrists and lowered her arms to her sides. “Leave them there, little sub,” he cautioned.
“I'm not a—”
“Silence.”
The snapped command sent heat pooling inside her as if he'd touched her.
He stroked a finger down her neck and across the top of the nightgown. She knew the sheer gold fabric wouldn't hide the tightening of her nipples. Shoot, it didn't hide anything. She'd bought it assuming she'd be somewhat toasted and with Matt, not sober and with someone who curled her toes every time she looked at him.
“Do you know how gorgeous you are?” he murmured, dipping his hand into the bodice to fondle her breast.
She stiffened. She'd thought better of him. “Don't try to snow me, Logan. I'm overweight and—”
“Becca, if you were skinny, you wouldn't have these.” His hand cupped under her breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple in a way that made her legs weaken. His other hand slid down her back and curved under her bottom, pulling her against a thick erection. “I'm a big man, sugar. When I come down on a woman, I want soft, not a bundle of sticks that I might break.” He leaned his weight on her. “If I want somewhere to lay my head—or the rest of me—I prefer a pillow to a rock.” His hand massaged her bottom. “You, little rebel, are a pillow, and I want you just like this.”
Come to think about it, Logan wouldn't bother with lies. If he didn't like something, he wouldn't be tactful about it. Conversely, if he said he liked something, she might be able to believe him. An odd feeling trickled through her as she tried to see herself through his eyes, tried to change the word soft from something derogatory to something of value. She was soft and desirable.
The door handle rattled, and a man said loudly, “Rebecca. I brought over some wine.”
Logan bit her shoulder, a sharp pain that made her jump and yet wakened a throb down below. He lifted his head. “Noisy cabin you have here. You should complain to the management.”
She snorted a laugh. “I'll just
do that.” Grasping Logan's arms, she stood on tiptoes to call over his shoulder, “Sorry, but I'm occupied.”
“The management suggests a different cabin,” Logan said in her ear. “One where disobedient hands can be properly restrained.” He removed her hands from his arms and brought them to his mouth. As he nibbled her fingers, she couldn't help but remember how his lips had felt moving on her pussy. When he bit the soft flesh just below her thumb, a sizzle shot straight to her clit. “Let's go, sugar.”
“O-okay.” If she could walk that far. “Just let me change, and I'll—”
“No, I like what you're wearing.” He glanced around the cabin. “Pack your suitcase.”
Oh sure, like she'd parade through the lodge room in a nightgown? She'd pack, sure. And then she'd change. Tossing the suitcase on the bed, she put her things away, leaving out a pair of jeans and a shirt. Come to think of it, she couldn't walk into the lodge carrying a suitcase. She might as well wear a sign saying I'M A SLUT. She glanced at Logan. “I'm going to leave my bag here on the porch and pick it up in the morning.”
His eyes crinkled, and she saw laughter lighten his blue eyes before he tossed her over his shoulder.
She struggled to find the breath he'd knocked out of her. “Hey!”
With an arm across her thighs, securing her in place, he walked out of the cabin as easily as if he had a purse over his shoulder and not a woman. He set something down, pulled the door shut, and picked it up. Her suitcase. He'd taken her suitcase, obviously intending to march into the lodge. Her suitcase and her in a sheer nightgown over his shoulder.
“Put me down. You are not going to display me like some prize you won.” She squirmed on his shoulder, kicking her legs up.
His grip tightened. With a low chuckle, he said, “You know, I can carry you and your suitcase if you're quiet. If you fight, I'll need both hands, and the easiest way to keep a woman over your shoulder is with a hand on her ass, and the other hand between her legs. Your choice, pet.”
Oh God, he wouldn't.
He would.
Master of the Mountain Page 11