“Are you getting tired?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
She blinked at the question and then paused as if expecting him to continue the debate. “I guess it is getting late.”
“You want to show me the Tarot flash cards before we call it a night?”
“Are you making fun of me?” She quirked an eyebrow, but her grin returned and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“No, it looked interesting. You could read my palm instead.”
“We could go over my progress report of the roll out.” Her words lilted at the end, letting him know she’d much rather play than work.
“Let’s do it tomorrow night.” He stood, taking her hand instead of waiting for her to accept his, and led her to her bedroom.
“Beds are not meant for Tarot reading.” And seeing him lounge against the pillows of her big bed was far too tempting. He was too tempting. Two minutes with him and she dropped twenty IQ points, losing the ability to think long term.
“How many readings have you done?” He quirked an eyebrow and settled himself deeper into the bed. “I like it in here. It smells like you—grapefruit, clean and warm.”
“Logan, you and me and a bed is not a good combination.” She could smell him too. The light and sexy notes of jasmine and sandalwood followed him everywhere. She pulled the cards from the box and set it on the desk.
“You and me and any flat surface is a fantastic combination. But you said no sex, so we won’t find out for sure tonight. Just sit. I promise I won’t try anything. Tell me my future.”
“I don’t—”
“Breeze, I heard you on the no sex thing. And I’m letting it go for tonight. So why don’t you sit down, relax and tell me what the winning lottery numbers are?”
“That’s not how Tarot works.”
“Then bring over the numerology book.”
“That either.” She stepped to the end of the bed and sat, keeping one leg on the ground. “None of it is magic as far as I can tell. They’re all about opening your mind and asking the right questions.”
“What questions are you asking?” He sat up straighter, his eyes twinkling.
“This is your reading, you ask the question.” She shuffled the cards in her hands. “I’ve never done this before, so don’t read too much into it. I only know enough to do a simple three-card spread. You, your question and what you need to know.” She set the stack on the bed between them. “Think about your question. Cut the deck into three piles, then stack them back together.”
He did as instructed, the slick cards sliding slightly on the mattress. “Do I have to tell you my question?”
“I think so. I’m not sure.” Her gaze locked with his and she could just bet what he’d asked.
“Why is Breeze so afraid of me?”
“Logan, this is about you. And I’m not afraid of you. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” She squared the cards in her hands. “You should ask a different question.”
“Let’s see how this one plays out.”
With a shrug, Breeze laid the three cards on the bed. The Lovers, Wheel of Fortune and the three of wands.
“You see?” Logan picked up The Lovers card. “Even the cards think we should be together.”
Breeze snatched it from his hand. “You’re supposed to ask a question about you. Let’s try it again.”
“Isn’t that cheating? I’ve heard of cheating at cards, but cheating at Tarot?”
“Fine.” Setting the deck aside, Breeze flipped over The Lovers card and read over the quick description on the back. “This isn’t necessarily romantic, you know. This card represents you in the situation. It can symbolize the obvious, of course, but this card asks you to look at your choices and make sure you are willing to commit to them.”
“Lord woman, you won’t sleep with me and already you’re talking about a commitment. You’re one for the record books, Breeze Cohen.” Logan laughed and leaned back against the pillows. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re card two. What question do the cards ask of you?”
With trembling fingers she lifted the Wheel of Fortune card and turned it over. New beginnings. Seize the moment. Her heart pounded. Their physical attraction was electric, their star signs a match. Could the cards be trying to tell her something too? She set it down and reached for the third.
“Hey, no fair.” Logan grabbed the Wheel of Fortune. Breeze watched his face as he read. “I like this game.” His smile brightened the room and Breeze pursed her lips together to keep from returning the grin.
“It’s not a game. The card in position three tells you what you need to know about the situation. The three of wands. Help others while you help yourself. Get ready for your ship to come in.”
She stared at the card, the words printed there. Maybe she was being too cautious. Or maybe she was tired and looking everywhere for an excuse to indulge in self-destructive behavior.
Feeling the mattress move, she looked up to watch him stand and rub the back of his neck. He shook his head slowly and walked towards the door.
“We can do another question.” She rose from the bed, not wanting him to stay or leave. Not knowing what she wanted at all.
He turned in the doorway, a sad smile on his lips. “I need to go. I promised you I wouldn’t try anything tonight. After those cards, I’ve never wanted to be with you more. In order to keep my promise, I need to walk away. Right now.”
A smug sense of satisfaction rolled through her, chasing away the tiny part of her that wanted to run after him, tackle him to the ground and do whatever came naturally. She knew she wasn’t ready to be physical with anyone, even Logan.
At least not in reality. Dreams were another thing altogether.
Breeze walked to the desk and lifted the book about dreams. It claimed if you thought about a problem before sleeping, the answer could come to you in your dreams.
Thinking about her recent dreams of Logan, she bit her lip. Even if she didn’t solve anything, she’d have a great time doing it.
Chapter Six
“Breeze?” Logan whispered, peering into the darkness at the shadow looming over his bed. He’d been lingering in an exhausted state of half-awareness, his mind running too fast for sleep, too tired to make any sense. He propped himself up on his elbows and prayed she’d changed her mind.
Moonlight streamed in the windows, silhouetting her figure. He sat up and reached out for her, his fingertips brushing the warm softness of her bare skin. He sucked in a breath meant to cool his rising temperature, but it had no effect. Breeze was naked, in his room, next to his bed.
“You want me.” Her whisper hung in the air.
“I do.” His right hand traced her thigh, up over the curve of her hip.
Pulling back the blankets, she sank down next to him on the bed. She pushed her dark ringlets over her shoulder, so one perfect breast was bare and proud before him.
Unable to resist, Logan reached out for her and cupped the fullness in his hand. Was this only a dream? She didn’t show any of the fear and trepidation that usually stood between them. Instead, when he traced his thumb across her puckered nipple she made a soft sound in her throat and rested her head on her shoulder. He leaned forward, his lips brushing softly across her cheek. Tracing the contours of her jaw with kisses, he made his way to her ear.
“What changed your mind?” he asked close to her ear, puffing the hot words to watch her wriggle in delight.
“You did.” Her bold hands found his bare chest, one working up to his neck, the other beneath the waistband of his boxers. She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him.
Blood pounded in his ears, his groin. Never breaking the kiss, he pulled her and her wandering hands across his body, maneuvering her onto her back. Her fingers pressed into his back, tracing up and down with the rhythm of the kiss. Her thighs parted beneath him, allowing him to nestle his torso inside and feel the exquisite heat of her core.
&nbs
p; He reached into her mass of ringlets, tangling his hand and anchoring her so he could deepen the kiss, explore every nuance of her mouth as he intended to do with the rest of her beautiful body.
They kissed hard and deep, until she began to grind her body against his. She needed more, and so did he. But since she’d been torturing him, making him wait, a wicked thought crossed his mind. He could do the same to her. By the time he finally gifted her with release, she’d explode.
With slow precision, he slid his mouth down her neck, circled her breasts, lingered kisses everywhere but where she wanted him. She arched her back, pressing herself to him, even fisted his hair with her hands, but his desire was beyond a little hair pulling. And then she gave him what he was after.
“Please, take me. Please.” Her breathy voice was rich with need, equalizing the hurt he’d felt at her constant rejection.
But he wasn’t ready to give in, not yet. Every spare second since he’d met her was filled with plans for this moment, when he finally had her panting beneath him, begging for more.
His mouth closed over one nipple, his tongue flickering fast against the nub. His fingers found the other, playing her like a finely tuned instrument. Her low moans set his tempo, and just when he guessed she was nearing crescendo, he released her, his hands and lips moving upwards to grip her face and seal their mouths in an orgasm-inducing kiss.
But her hands had a mind of their own, diving into the opening in his boxers and twining her fingers around his diamond-hard cock. Her hands slid against his hardness, slick and fast. His mind whirred, wondering when and what she’d found to lubricate her hands. Surely it couldn’t be her own wetness, could it?
That thought, and her tight, quickening pace had him careening over the point of no return. “You want me.” Her whisper taunted in his ear, followed by a wicked laugh.
He sat up with a jolt, staring about the empty room. The biting chill of the air conditioner cut into his damp flesh. His heart raced as his gaze darted from corner to corner, finding nothing but the blankets he must have kicked off himself in his fevered fantasy.
Running his hands through his mussed hair, he chuckled softly. The digital alarm clock on the bedside table glared four thirty. Not even Breeze got up this damned early.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and found the plush carpet. He continued to shake his head and laugh at himself as he cleaned up in the bathroom, the haggard eyes in the mirror unfamiliar and more than a little pathetic. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
Pre-dawn light filtered through the windows as he crossed the suite, twisting the doorknob on Breeze’s bedroom door in silence. She lay peacefully curled up on her side, the pink ribbon of her nightgown decorating her bare shoulder. It really had been a dream.
Closing the door quietly, he shook his head and smiled at his hopeful mind. If she’d been naked, he might have thought their interlude had been real.
On her tiptoes, Breeze crept from her bedroom to the kitchenette. The sky beyond the bank of windows glowed a sunrise pink. Not unlike the chemise she’d slept in.
Accustomed to a freshly laundered nightshirt every time she lay down, she’d been struggling with sleeping in the same one each night. The sleeping attire Anthony, or more likely Lonnie, deemed appropriate was more feminine and revealing than she was comfortable with. But clean had been too much of a temptation to resist.
Opening the cupboard, she found a teakettle and filled it. After setting it on the stove and cranking up the heat, she searched until she found tea bags and a mug. Then she leaned on the counter and waited for the clatter of tiny bubbles simmering inside. She didn’t dare let the kettle whistle and risk waking up Logan.
Had he been dreaming of her? The dream guide she’d finished reading before falling asleep said shared dreams could predict the future.
Gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “in your dreams”.
Last night’s dreams made no sense, especially with the ridiculous interpretations in the guide. In one she’d been on a rooftop, the only way down through a chimney. Only in dreams could she have found herself at the bottom, in the middle of one of her training classes.
The dream that woke her could have been a memory. She and her mother, tending the large vegetable garden behind her parents’ house. It had felt so real she’d smelled the coming rain, though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Butterflies of every size and color flitted about as they collected vegetables in baskets. She held out a finger and one landed, its wings moving with exquisite stillness.
“Look, Mama. I caught one,” she’d called out. Her mother had turned, a sad smile on her face.
“Let it go, baby. It’s more beautiful when it flies.”
“But it wants to stay with me.” She stared down at the purple wings and they stilled.
Suddenly in front of her, her mother’s fingers were warm on her wrist, flicking both their arms upward and launching the butterfly.
“I didn’t want to let go either,” her mother whispered, pulling her close. “But I had to let you fly.”
She’d woken with eyes heavy and full of tears she refused to spill. It was only a dream after all. But after looking up parts of the dream in the guide, she knew even her subconscious was conspiring against her.
If she believed in that sort of thing, the chimney would be a phallic symbol, showing her guilt at behaving improperly with Logan. The garden would be a place of peace, the coming rain washing away old ideas, and the butterfly a sign to throw off old habits.
Good thing she didn’t buy into any of this. The only thing she decided the dream meant was that she needed to call her mother. Tell her there were rumblings about a promotion before the holidays. One of these calls, her mother would see that she’d made the right choice when she’d escaped the rumors and mayhem to start fresh. No one could argue with success.
The rumbling of the teakettle alerted her to why she stood in her nightgown in the kitchen in the first place. With a shake of her head, she poured the steaming water into her mug. Her thoughts swirled like the tea in the cup, but in the middle of it all one idea rooted.
If no one ever found out, then indulging in Logan couldn’t hurt her. Sipping the hot liquid, she winced as it scalded her tongue. She knew better. She’d been down that road once before, trusted someone to keep a secret, only to have it revealed in a way so hurtful she’d run for her life.
The front door clicked, then was pushed open. Breeze gasped and looked about the room for somewhere to hide. She’d counted on Logan being asleep when she’d ventured from her bedroom before her morning shower.
He stepped into the room wearing nothing but swim trunks and shoes, damp hair curling over his forehead. His smooth golden skin stretched over his trim, muscled physique. She closed her eyes, sealing the image to memory. Until she realized he might be doing the same.
Her eyes flashed open and she held her mug of tea in front of her as protection. Why hadn’t she just stayed in her room?
“Good morning.” Logan closed the door with his foot, then toed off his Kicks. The newspaper sat perched beneath the crook of his arm and he held a white paper bag.
“You’re up early.” She eyed the door of her bedroom, but her stomach grumbled, hungry for what might be in the bag.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a swim.”
“Bad dreams? I have a dream guide that might help you.” She stepped to the table, eyeing the bag.
Logan chuckled under his breath and laid down the paper and sack. “What about you, Breeze? Any dreams to decipher from last night?”
Intensely aware of his gaze on her, she looked at the window, the colors clearing in the wake of the rising sun and rousing city. “I put as much faith in it as I do the Tarot. But I dreamed of my mother, so I might call her this morning.”
“Do you talk to her every day?”
“My mother?” Breeze shook her head. “No.”
“You should.”
She turned to look at h
im. “You don’t know my mother. She’d think all this new age stuff I’m reading means something other than I get bored on airplanes and in hotel rooms.”
“It does. But you should call her anyway. Every day.”
“It was just a silly dream. If I started calling every day, she’d think something was wrong and chase me across the country.”
“Lucky you.” With a wistful smile he turned his attention back to the bag, the paper rustling beneath his hands. “Waiting for the perfect time to call only keeps you from doing it. And you’ll regret it.”
Breeze stepped closer, resisting the urge to lay a hand on his arm. She knew he wasn’t talking about her anymore. But asking about it would be crossing the line in the sand she’d drawn. “I didn’t dream there was anything wrong with her. I’ll call though. What did you bring? More of Kentucky for me to experience?”
“I think muffins are universal.” The smile returned to his voice. “But these caught my eye. They’re cute and tiny.” He tore open the bag, revealing teeny muffins, no bigger than her thumb. “Like you.”
“That has to be a record. Not even six in the morning and you’re flirting with me.” Breeze reached for a muffin and popped it in her mouth. At the center of the sweet corn muffin was a blackberry. “Oh, that is good.”
“I know. I had some downstairs.” Logan sat on the tabletop and picked up a handful. “What are your plans for the day?”
“The district manager will be here after lunch. We’re driving to Louisville for three training classes.” She reached for another muffin—banana with a walnut hiding inside.
“Will you be back for dinner?”
“I think so. The district manager invited me to Sunday dinner at her house, but I think that would be awkward.”
“Have dinner with me.” A new, heady light gleamed in his eyes. He reached out a hand, his fingers toying with the ribbon at her shoulder.
“Don’t do that.” She stepped back, feeling his eyes rake over her body barely shielded behind the thin layer of silk. “One false move and the whole thing falls away.”
For Kicks Page 6