She stood back and smoothed the blue boat neck sweater she’d borrowed from Bobbi’s closet, down over her hips. It left her shoulders bare and fit her curves perfectly. Paired with skinny jeans and funky black shoes—again courtesy of her sister’s closet—she thought that maybe she’d gone a bit overboard.
It’s not like she was looking to get laid.
Holy hell, where had that thought come from? She swallowed. She gave herself a mental shake, but…was she?
No. Not a chance because that would be a bad idea.
Wouldn’t it?
A long shuddering breath escaped her lips and she glanced in the mirror once last time, aware of the flush that touched her cheeks and the energy that thrummed in her chest. She was on edge and if she didn’t know better, [i]aroused[i].
Her hands fell from her cheeks, down to where her nipples strained against the soft cashmere sweater. Hello. She stifled a groan and froze when her grandfather yelled up the stairs.
“Billie, there’s a young man here for you.”
“Okay,” she croaked.
Crap. There was no way she could waltz downstairs with the unmistakable nipple salute that was out there, front and center. No way in hell. Logan would never let her live it down.
Her eyes fell on the leather jacket slung across her bed. It was old and out of fashion, but it would be enough to at least hide the evidence. She scooped it up, grabbed her purse from the dresser and left her bedroom.
She paused at the top of the stairs, listening to the low murmur of Logan and Herschel’s voices. They were chatting about the NHL standings. Her grandfather was a Canadiens fan, while Logan was all about the Flyers’ Giroux and Hartnell. She wrinkled her nose. The Rangers was her team.
With the leather jacket held firmly in front of her chest, she descended the stairs and didn’t stop until she was on the bottom step.
Logan Forest looked good enough to eat. No, he looked better than that. He looked so damn good that for a moment she wasn’t aware of anything but him.
His hair was damp, as if he wasn’t long from the shower and he hadn’t shaved, the shadow along his jaw and chin giving him the kind of dangerous air he so didn’t need.
And Billie was a sucker for the rough look.
He wore faded jeans, the kind that looked as if he’d had them for years, but she was willing to bet they cost a small fortune. Didn’t matter. Either way they fit his long legs perfectly. A crisp white collar peeked out from beneath a thick, steel-gray, cable knit sweater and it did nothing but enhance his wide shoulders.
He was a walking billboard for sex.
“Who’s there?”
Billie’s gaze swung from Logan to her father, who had been in the family room. He was clad in green and white striped pajamas and a matching bathrobe. In one hand he held a newspaper and the other, his reading glasses.
“Dad, this is—”
“I’m not stupid, Billie-Jo. I know who this is,” he interrupted sharply. Trent Barker took another step, and thrust out his chin. “Your Max’s son.”
“Yes, sir.” Logan answered respectfully.
“You the oldest?”
“No, that would be Travis. I’m Logan.”
Billie held her breath. Bobbi had warned her that along with their father’s memory issues, there were mood swings to deal with. Not only was he agitated at times, he became confrontational. Angry. Hard to deal with. She hadn’t seen this side to him yet and it made her uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and sad.
“You had your hands all over my daughter the other day.”
Seriously? She shot a helpless look toward her grandfather who had moved closer to his son.
‘I,” Logan began as a muscle worked its way along his jaw. “I’m sorry, sir. That was inappropriate.”
“Damn right it was,” her father answered aggressively.
Trent’s gaze swung to Billie, his eyes narrowing as he looked her up and down. “Since when do you paint your face like that? Like a cheap whore.”
She wanted to die. She wanted the floor to open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. “I—”
“You be smart, Billie, you hear? Hockey is your career, not babies.” His eyes clouded for a moment and he shuddered. “Why are you home, again?”
[i]Oh, dad.[i]
Herschel stepped between them and grabbed his son’s arm. “Come on, Trent. There’s a documentary on the TV you’ll enjoy.”
“But—”
“No buts. Let the kids have fun.”
Her father cast another mean look toward Logan. “You treat my daughter with respect, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
She watched as her father retreated into the family room just as a door slammed in the kitchen. Seconds later, Bobbi walked up the hall from the back of the house. She’d come in late from work and paused a few feet from Logan, tossing her jacket on the bench beneath the window, before turning to Billie.
“I see you’re moving on from Shane.” Bobbi said.
Billie swallowed painfully. She so didn’t want to do this right now. Not in front of Logan. Not ever.
“And wow, you look good, too,” Bobbi continued, crossing her arms over her chest. “But that’s not surprising since that sweater cost me a small fortune.”
Billie opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Bobbi had already turned to Logan.
“So, where are you two headed?” Her voice was cool and crisp.
“To the city.” Logan answered.
She arched a brow. “Twisted Lemon?”
Logan smiled, but it was a cool, frosty one. “Good guess.”
She shrugged. “It’s where you take all your girls, isn’t it?”
Billie’s face flushed as red as the scarlet runner along the hardwood floors. That was a barbed reminder that she was only one of many women Logan had dated. And this wasn’t even a date. It was a…she wasn’t even sure what the hell it was but Billie was starting to think the entire night was nothing but a big, fat, mistake.
“I’ve never taken you there,” Logan answered sarcastically.
“And you never will,” Bobbi quipped. She pursed her lips for a moment and then surprised them all. “How’s Shane?”
Logan arched a brow. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” He didn’t wait for a reply but turned to Billie. “Are you ready?”
[i]No![i]
“Yes,” she said quietly.
Logan opened the front door and waited for her to join him. “Let’s go.”
The ride into the city took just under half an hour—a half an hour of stilted conversation and awkward silence that was only broken when Logan flipped a CD into the player. The smooth sounds of “Matchbox Twenty” filled the dead space and he relaxed a little.
His night had barely begun and already things were unraveling. First off, Billie looked too damn good. Holy. Hell. It was enough to make him forget about his plans. His need to get her out of his system for good. His need to make her pay.
On what planet should a guy like him be stuck in such close confines with a woman whose hair was so long and silky, he was dying to sink his hands into it? And her sweater, shit. He had to wonder just how in hell it stayed in place, what with her shoulders bare. Paired with slinky jeans that cupped her ass in a way that made his mouth water, she was something else. And then she’d pulled out the big guns by wearing a pair of shiny, black, come-fuck-me heels.
What. The. Hell.
But it was the sadness in her eyes that got to him. She tried to hide it but it was there.
The tense atmosphere in her house and the animosity between Billie and her sister was palpable and Christ, her father couldn’t be the easiest person to deal with either. His mouth tightened when he thought of Trent’s derogatory comments to his daughter. His insinuations.
He glanced over to her and felt something twist inside him. Her hands were balled in her lap, little fists of tension, and her shoulders were rigid. Her long hair covered her face and though he couldn�
�t be sure, was that a sniffle he heard?
When Logan pulled into the parking lot of the Twisted Lemon, he’d already come to the conclusion that there was no way in hell he could go through with his original plan—the one where he bedded and discarded Billie.
He wasn’t that that guy. He could never be that guy.
He put his truck into park, though he didn’t cut the engine. For a moment he said nothing. He stared out into the night, at the shadows cast from his headlights against brick. At the couple walking into the Twisted Lemon holding hands. At the small cat scrounging for food at the edge of the parking lot.
And then he spoke.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
For a moment there was silence, broken only by Rob Thomas’s mournful lyrics, a sad lament for something lost.
[i]And I don’t know how, to get it back, to good…[i]
“I don’t want to go home,” she said quietly.
Logan glanced over to her and damn if he didn’t feel like he was punched in the gut at the look in her eyes. His physical response to this woman was insane.
“Okay,” he said softly and then he cut the engine.
Chapter Nineteen
The Twisted Lemon was one of those treasures that you find by accident. A few years back, he’d been in the city with his parents and they were to meet friends at another restaurant down the way, but it had been full. By chance they’d ended up a new place that had just opened—The Twisted Lemon.
It was a wonderful eatery with a great location near the water, and more importantly, great ambiance. Located in an old factory that had been renovated into a new life, with a market, bakery and sweets shop, the Twisted Lemon had become an instant hit. The décor was very European, subtle and beautiful, with bold strokes of color on the walls, to compliment the simple tables and rich flooring.
The owner, a small Frenchman by the name of Andrew, greeted him at the door.
“Ah, Logan. It’s been a while. Why you not visiting us these last few months?” his accent was heavy, even though the owner had moved to the US from Canada, nearly two decades ago.
Logan grinned and shook Andrew’s hand. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
Andrew nodded and grinned at Billie. “A good busy, my friend.”
Billie blushed, a gentle flush of color he was beginning to adore.
“And you are?” Andrew bowed and took her hand.
“Billie,” she answered.
Andrew kissed her hand in a grand gesture that caused many heads to turn. “Charmed.”
Andrew indicated they follow him and Logan put his hand to Billie’s back as she wove around various tables. It was a possessive move, one a man used on a woman who belonged to him.
And it felt totally right. In fact several men turned as they walked by, their eyes appreciative, and he fought the urge to go all caveman and tell them to back the hell off. She was his.
They were seated in a small alcove that looked out over the water, though with no moon to light the immediate area, it was dark outside.
Logan ordered a bottle of wine and Andrew went in search of their waitress. He settled into his chair, loving how the candlelight did amazing things to her face. It made her eyes look huge and mysterious, and man, her lips looked like they needed to be kissed.
Worshipped.
Billie looked everywhere except at him, her fingers twisting around her water glass nervously. “This place is beautiful,” she said hesitantly.
He nodded. “It is.”
She cleared her throat and took a sip of water.
“Contrary to what your sister said earlier, I don’t bring many women here.”
That got her attention. Billie’s eyes shimmered in the candlelight as she gazed across the table at him.
“It’s really none of my business,” she said.
“No, it’s not. But I wanted you to know that.” He leaned closer. If she kept biting her bottom lip in that way that she did, it would take a fucking army platoon to get him off her because he’d jump across the table in an instant and take what he’d been dreaming about for…forever it seemed.
“In fact, the only woman I’ve ever brought here has been my mother.”
It was a realization that only dawned on him as the words fell out of his mouth.
The waitress appeared just then and Logan sat back, his mind a whirl of thoughts as he politely tried the wine and agreed with their waitress, Lisa, that the Argentinean cabernet/sauvignon was indeed, perfect.
After Lisa left them to peruse the menu, he held his glass aloft and gazed into the eyes that belonged to a woman who really was the most interesting female he’d ever met. The fact that he couldn’t figure her out?- It didn’t matter. What did matter was that he had her all to himself tonight and he was going to make the most of it.
“To a great night,” he said.
For a moment, Billie was silent, and then she picked up her glass and nodded, a small smile claiming her lips. “I’m going to hold you to that, Logan.”
“I’m good with that, but if I don’t deliver, just so you know, I will be more than happy to try again.”
She laughed—and not a polite I-don’t-want-to- draw-attention- to-myself, kind of laugh—but a full bodied, reach down to your toes kind of laugh.
He was entranced. Most women he knew—or at least the ones he’d dated—spent every minute evaluating their performance, tilting their head just so, eating like birds, thinking way too much before answering a simple question. All of it aimed to present themselves in a better light when, really, if they were just themselves it would have been so much better. By the time he got to know the real person behind these women, he was already bored or just couldn’t be bothered anymore.
Billie took a sip of her wine, and Logan thought that maybe her laughter was the sweetest sound ever.
“So,” he asked carefully watching her. “What’s up with you and Connor?”
“Connor?” A slow grin touched her mouth and she shrugged. “Connor’s a great guy but…”
“But?”
“He’s not my type.”
“What’s your type?”
“I’ll let you know when I find it.”
Logan sat back, strangely relieved.
More than two hours later, after finishing their second bottle of wine—most of which Billie drank because he was driving—she reached across the table and gently touched the corner of his mouth. Her finger grazed a drizzle of chocolate and he was mesmerized.
They’d just finished the most decadent dessert he’d ever eaten—and he wasn’t a sweets kind of guy but hell, when she practically begged for the triple chocolate brownie/sundae concoction, how could he say no?
For a second neither one of them said anything. His heart began a slow, steady beat—one that immediately went south and woke up his cock. Damn, he shifted in his chair trying to alleviate the stress between his legs. He was suddenly hornier than he could ever remember feeling, and well aware that the female across from him felt the same.
Her mouth was open slightly and he could just see the tip of her pink tongue. Her chest heaved as the pulse at the base of her neck told him exactly how hot and bothered she was—though the luscious nipples that strained against her sweater wasn’t something she could hide either. They begged for his mouth. For his hands and tongue and whatever else he could use on them.
For a second his eyes moved down to what was left of their dessert. There was still a generous amount of sweet, chocolate syrup oozing across the plate.
An image of her engorged nipple, encased in the decadent, sweet chocolate, had him cursing under his breath as he reached for his wallet.
“We should go,” he said, not sounding at all in control.
“Hell, yes,” she breathed, not missing a beat. She grabbed her wine glass and downed the last bit of it before grabbing her purse.
The sexual tension between them was palpable. He felt it as if it were a living, breathing thing a
nd for a moment he had to remind himself that he was in a fine dining establishment. He couldn’t grab a fist full of her hair—that mane of silk that had been teasing him all night—and throw her across the table.
Even if that visual did a whole lot more than calm him down. Holy hell.
Logan signaled the waitress and handed over his credit card. While he waited for her to return, he noticed a couple men at the bar who were staring at Billie as if she was on the menu. He stood and moved toward her—again where the hell was this caveman thing coming from?—and was glad when he spied their waitress with his receipt.
He wasn’t in the mood to bust anyone’s chops, but he sure as hell didn’t like the way the men were staring at his woman.
Logan guided Billie out the door, his body hot and tight. He didn’t know what exactly the next few hours held because he knew his original plan—the one that called for him to bed Billie and then hopefully exorcise her from his head—wasn’t going to work.
No way did he want that to work.
He wanted her in his bed all right, but he was kind of seeing it as more of a permanent thing. And that was crazy. This was Billie. Billie-Jo Barker.
Betty’s sister.
He’d warned Shane not to get involved with any of the Barker women and here he was, panting at Billie’s heels like a dog in heat.
His eyes fell to her ass as she wove through the tables and said goodbye to Andrew. She kissed the small Frenchman—on both cheeks—and he shook the man’s hand on his way out.
Billie was a little unsteady on her feet and he grabbed her elbow as they walked out into the crisp, October air. Her coat was on her arm and those gorgeous breasts were still begging for his mouth, causing another twitch between his legs.
Keep it together Forest, he thought.
“Logan?”
They were at his truck.
She clung to his chest and glanced up at him—every gorgeous inch of her pressed against his body. There was no way in hell he could hide how he felt and by the look in her eyes, she knew it.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said softly.
Again, he found himself staring into eyes that he could lose himself in if he wasn’t careful. Eyes filled with secrets and desire and—she licked her lips—plain old lust.
Offside Page 15