Stud for Hire

by Sabrina York

  “What are you doing, Logan? Resisting me like this? Don’t you know what that does to my self-esteem? It being so fragile and all?”

  “Have you been seducing me?” he squeaked. He raked a hand through his hair. “Shit. I thought it was me. I thought I was so damn crazed for you I was imagining it all.”

  She laughed. A trill. “You’re crazed for me?”

  “God yes.” He stared at her. His Adam’s apple worked. “But we can’t.”

  “We . . . can’t?” That was bad news.

  “Shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” She sashayed closer. He tracked every move like a hunted man. Which he was. “Why shouldn’t we explore . . . everything?”

  He backed away. “This is not about sex, Hanna. Remember?”

  “That’s not what you said.”

  His lashes flickered. “What?”

  “It’s not just about sex.” She smiled, a Cheshire-cat grin. She’d backed him into a corner. Sidling up to him, against him, close enough to feel the size and shape of his erection, she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down.

  Their mouths came together in a heated rush. She could tell he was holding back, tell he was trying to maintain his distance. She slid her tongue between his lips and he made a sound, something between a groan and a whimper.

  And then he broke.

  He flipped her around, slamming her against the wall. He pressed into her, forcing her legs apart, wedging himself between them, and he rubbed. Rubbed her sensitive crease with something long and hard and insistent. Heat rose and trickled through her in a wild wave. Like a tsunami, lust took her.

  “God, Hanna,” he growled into her mouth, eating her, tasting her, commanding her.

  She wrapped a leg around his hip and rubbed against him as well. His moan filtered through his nose as he delved deeper into the kiss. He cupped her breast, frantically fumbling for that cleavage she’d exposed, cupping her and thumbing her nipple then circling it with a nail.

  “Yes, Logan. Oh. Yes.”

  “Too long,” he muttered, as though to himself. “Too long.” He made his way along her cheek and nested in her neck, toying with the sensitive skin there in a way that made her shudder. She could feel her body ready for him; arousal dampened her thighs.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “I need you. Now.”

  “Not here,” he clipped. “Not against the wall. I want you in a bed.”

  She put out a lip, clutched him closer. “Why not here?” The fever in her flared at his expression. His hand scudded down, found that spot at the crux of her thighs and he massaged her through the thick denim. Sensation scored her. The hard ridge of the seam scraped against her and made her knees turn to Jell-O. He fumbled with the snap at her waist, but then he froze.

  “Shit.” He yanked away, dropping her leg as though it burned him.

  Hanna stilled as disappointment and heartbreak replaced rampant lust. Had he not—

  And then she heard it.

  The slam of a car door.

  A low male laugh. Chattered conversation.

  Footsteps approaching.

  Logan shot her a chagrined glance. “I was afraid of this.”

  “Afraid? Of what?”

  “It’s my brothers,” he growled. “They’ve come to welcome you.”

  ***

  “Knock knock,” Rafe called, pushing the door open without—Logan noticed— knocking at all.

  “We brought dinner!” Ben sang, holding up Wild West Tex Mex takeout containers. Brandon crowded in behind him with a couple six-packs of beer and behind him, his mother and Sam. Good lord. All of them?

  Yep. All of them. Louisa, his eight-year-old sister, danced in as well, pitching herself into his arms. “Logan!” she squealed. He bent to hug her, very cognizant that his passion was . . . riding high.

  Thank God he’d heard the approaching truck. Thank God they’d arrived when they did. A few more minutes and his baby sister would have been in for quite an education.

  He shot his brothers a glare but they laughed it off.

  In one moment the mood in the small bungalow had gone from steamy seduction to something resembling a circus. Indeed, on the heels of the entire family, Hailey and Roscoe bounded into the bungalow, knocking into legs and furniture, tongues lolling.

  “The dogs too?” He asked to no one in particular.

  “Darling!” His mother pulled him in for a hug. She kissed his cheek before turning to Hanna. “Hello, dear,” she said, reaching out a hand. “I’m Diane. We’ve come to welcome you. I love your paintings, by the way.”

  “She really loves the purple one,” Brandon added, opening the fridge and shoving the beer inside.

  “Oh, yes. I did love that one.” His mother hooked arms with Hanna who seemed a little poleaxed. Though she had, he noticed, with something akin to relief, had the presence of mind to have quickly done up her buttons. “Come and meet everyone. This is my husband, Sam, our daughter, Louisa, and I take it you’ve met the boys.”

  Hanna glanced at Logan, her mouth agape. He shrugged. “This is my family.” He tried for an unapologetic tone. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

  His mother took charge—she usually did—arranging everyone around the table and sending the twins next door for more chairs and extra plates. Then, like a queen, she commanded them to serve up dinner. As the men filled plates with tri tip, beans, garlic bread, and coleslaw, she engaged Hanna in a conversation about art and color schemes and gardening, although Hanna did little of the talking.

  Indeed, she seemed a little overwhelmed. But then, his family did that to people sometimes.

  Or perhaps she was still stewing, as he was, in a cauldron of bubbling lust.

  She seemed to have calmed a little by the time dinner was ready. The beer Ben shoved in her hand might have helped. For his part, Sam watched the interactions with calm eyes. Logan’s stepfather was a quiet man, but still waters ran deep. Logan knew he was taking in every nuance, every word said—every word not said.

  Though he hadn’t talked to him, or anyone, about his feelings for Hanna, he suspected his family had figured it out. He suspected they had come tonight to check her out.

  He didn’t like the feeling, but he couldn’t blame them for wanting to protect him. He would do the same if one of his brothers suddenly started panting after a woman.

  Though this was hardly sudden . . . but none of them knew that.

  Or did they?

  “So,” his mother said casually as everyone settled down with their plates. “Ben tells me you’re from Snake Gully.”

  Logan’s heart froze. Right there in his chest.

  Hanna’s gaze flicked to his. “Yes, ma’am. Born and raised. Though I grew up outside of town.”

  “Your last name is . . . Stevens?”

  Damn. He hated this. It was starting to feel like an inquisition.

  “Yes, ma’am. My father is Henry Stevens.”

  His mother’s features tightened. She flicked a look at Logan and then at Sam, who covered her hand with his.

  “I used to live in Snake Gully,” Mom said. Nearly spat the words. Snake Gully had not been kind to his mother. To either of them. To this day, Logan had no idea what had really happened to her in her altercation with the sheriff and Guy Pucey the night he’d been hurt. No idea what had driven her to flee . . . but he had his suspicions.

  Hanna nodded. Her throat worked. “Yes, ma’am. I know.”

  “I knew your father.”

  Silence clung to the room. Everyone present, perhaps even Hanna, knew this was a seminal moment in their relationship.

  “He was a good man.”

  Hanna nodded. Her muscles relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “How is your mother? I always liked her too.”

  “She’s . . . well.” Th
e hesitation in Hanna’s tone had everyone studying her. “She doesn’t remember much anymore.”

  “Ah.” That was all Mom said. Ah. But it spoke worlds. She reached out and patted Hanna’s hand. And somehow, with that unspoken acceptance, the tense mood broke.

  “What do you say we dig in?” Sam said, his voice low and gruff. But a wicked look glimmered in his eye. “And someone get this young lady some of our new chili.”

  Ben and Brandon exchanged mischievous grins. “Oh yeah.” They both hopped up and rushed to scoop out a serving of Hank’s Eye-Poppin’ Chili.

  Logan knew what they were up to. It was like a rite of passage in their family, torturing newcomers with the steamiest chili they could find. When he’d tasted Henry Stevens’ chili, he’d just known it was perfect for their restaurants, which held chili-eating contests on a regular basis. Half the fun was watching the smoke come out of the greenhorns’ ears.

  His brothers were bound for disappointment.

  As Hanna took a big bite of the chili, they all peered at her with smug smirks on their faces—all of them. Ben, Brandon, and Sam. Rafe, for some reason, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest and just grinned.

  “Mmm,” Hanna said. “This is delicious.” She took another bite, one with a clearly visible chili pepper.

  They all leaned closer, with bated breath, waiting for her eyes to bug out, her jaw to drop, for tears to stream.

  But tears didn’t come. No hooting and hollering and desperate pleas for water. She finished her bowl of chili—the chili she’d been raised on, in fact—and shot a sweet smile around the table. “Please sir,” she said to Ben in a cocky cockney accent. “May I have some more?”

  “More?” Ben sputtered.

  “More?” Brandon burbled.

  Sam threw back his head and laughed. He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Oh, she’ll do,” he said in an undertone no one else could hear. “She’ll do just fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The family stayed forever. As though they knew what Logan wanted to do and were deliberately blocking his action. He could see it in his brothers’ eyes, but his mother and father genuinely seemed to want to get to know Hanna better.

  Louisa liked her too. She curled up at Hanna’s feet, sketching landscapes on a pad she’d brought, and occasionally held them up for Hanna’s approval. She made a couple suggestions here and there, but generally praised Louisa for her efforts.

  She would be a wonderful mother, Logan thought. She was gentle and kind, but not afraid to dish it out when it was necessary. In fact, once she warmed up to his brothers, she seemed more than capable of holding her own. And taking them down a peg or two.

  “I really like her,” his mother whispered to him as she hugged him good-bye.

  “I do too,” he whispered back.

  “Is she . . .” She glanced over at Hanna who was making Roscoe dance and speak for a hunk of tri tip. “Is she the one?”

  He knew what she meant. He knew exactly what she meant.

  “Yes.” She was the one. The girl for whom he’d put his life at risk. And, if needed, he’d do it again.

  As aggravating as this intrusion had been, it proved one thing, once and for all. Hanna fit in his life. She fit perfectly.

  His mother rubbed his shoulder. “Good,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I’m glad you found her again.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” he said. “And Mom?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Can you keep them all away for a while?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Logan, Logan, Logan. You know your brothers. What do you think?”

  Damn. That wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. Not at all.

  ***

  “I didn’t know you had a sister.” Hanna said as they finished cleaning up the dinner mess. She was glad she’d brought staples, but she really needn’t have bothered. Her fridge was now brimming with leftovers. Probably not a month’s worth . . . but close.

  Logan grinned as he put the plates back into the cupboard. “She was a surprise. Mom married Sam when I was seventeen. I was thrilled to have brothers. But then, about a year later . . . Louisa.”

  “She’s a bundle of energy.”

  “She is. A real joy. I know my mom always wanted a daughter to spoil.”

  “And does she spoil Louisa?”

  “Does she. Sam does too. We all do, probably.” He shrugged. “She’s our baby sister.”

  Hanna paused in wiping down the table. “I really like your family,” she said in a soft voice. They’d been funny, entertaining, and, even though she had the feeling they were vetting her, she could appreciate it. That they adored Logan, rallied around him when he needed it, was undeniable.

  “I like them too.” He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder—it was a good look for him—and tugged her into his arms. “I’m sorry they intruded on your first night here.”

  “I’m not.”

  He stared down at her. “I am. I had, shall we say, other plans.”

  It seemed natural to loop her arms around his neck, to cradle against him. It was not a sexual embrace by any stretch of the imagination, but she liked it. She liked it a lot. “The point of this exercise, as I understand it, is to get to know each other. Correct?”

  “Um . . . yes.” It was adorable the way his nose wrinkled.

  “Well, I learned a lot about you tonight.” She kissed the underside of his chin.

  “Did you?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “And what did you learn, exactly?”

  She tipped her head. “Well, I learned that as a boy you didn’t make your bed or clean your room as often as you should have.”

  He snorted.

  “And I learned that it took you fourteen hours of hard labor to come into the world.” She tsked. “Such an uncooperative child.”

  His hold on her tightened.

  “And I learned that you have one lazy eye. You never crawled . . . just stood up one day and walked. Oh, and you make a wicked tamale pie.”

  “You learned all that?”

  “Yup.”

  Logan huffed out a laugh. “Women do like to talk, don’t they?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “I feel terribly inefficient. The only thing I learned about you is you like really hot chili.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Excellent point.”

  She patted him on the cheek. “Don’t feel bad, Logan. It’s not a competition.”

  “I do . . . want to get to know you better.” He kissed her, just a brush of lips, but it sent a tingle through her.

  “There’s not much to know.” There wasn’t, really. She was boring.

  “There’s worlds to discover.” His mouth settled on hers again, a leisurely exploration, a temptation, a seduction. She leaned into the kiss, pressed her body fully against his. Something hard and long prodded her belly.

  “We have time,” she murmured against his lips.

  “Mmm.”

  She loved the way he scratched her back as he kissed her, lightly, tentatively. He left sizzling trails in his wake. Then, after a while, he flattened his palm and stroked her. She wasn’t sure which she liked the best, but then decided it didn’t matter. She liked all of it. She liked everything. About him.

  Heat rose between them. His searching hands became more inquisitive, more insistent, skating from her back to her sides, to cup her breasts. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all evening?” he murmured.

  She chuckled as he stroked a nipple. It peaked to his touch. “I think I can imagine.”

  “It’s been a long time, Hanna.”

  “Only a week or so.”

  “Too long.” He pressed into her, just the arch of his back, nothing greedy or brash. Just a nudge to
remind her of his need. “I want you. I want you pretty bad. But . . .”

  She stilled in the exploration of the little curls at his nape. “But?”

  “I want to give you time.”

  It probably wasn’t her best look, gaping at him like that. “Time?”

  “You know. To make sure you’re ready.”

  Oh, she was ready. She’d been ready since this afternoon. Before then.

  He loosed his hold on her breasts, his hands making the slow slide to her hips. And he edged her back. Away. The loss of connection made her ache.

  “Hanna, despite what it may look like, I didn’t bring you here to seduce you on the first night.”

  “Who says you’re seducing me?”

  His lips quirked up into a smile. He stroked her cheek and tucked a curl behind her ear. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

  “Oh. A gentleman, are we?” Something that tasted like annoyance, impatience with a dash of lust, raked her. She slowly unbuttoned her top button. “Were you being a gentleman when you tied my hands in the barn?”

  His throat worked. His gaze zeroed in on her busy fingers. The second and third buttons released. “Hanna . . .”

  She leaned closer and whispered, “Or when you smacked my ass?”

  His nostrils flared.

  “Ooh,” she cooed. “I liked that.” She gave her hips a little swizzle, just for good measure.

  “Hanna, you’re making this very hard.”

  “Am I?” She glanced meaningfully at his crotch and purred, “How hard is it?”

  He groaned and scrubbed his face with a palm. “Baby . . . I’m achin’.”

  She sidled closer. Pouted her lips. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

  He jumped as she palmed him, stroked him, squeezed. But he didn’t pull away. In fact, he seemed riveted to the spot. His lashes fluttered. A groan escaped from his throat. “Honey, I can’t think when you do that,” he complained.

  She slid closer, into his arms. Nibbled his earlobe until he shuddered. “Thinking is overrated.”

  “But . . . We need to talk. To get to . . . ah. Jesus, Hanna.”

  She grinned up at him. “There’s more than one way to get to know each other. And Logan, I have dedicated myself to getting to know you. I want to explore you.”