by Lisa N. Paul
“Okay.”
Her quiet agreement almost made him feel bad for his tactics. Almost. Instead, he scooted closer so their thighs touched, giving him the opportunity to stroke her hand, inhale her scent, and be in her space. “What was your major in college?”
The look of surprise on her face was exactly what he was going for.
“I never went to a four-year college,” he said, “because of the band. We were so busy living the rock-and-roll life, dreaming the dream, that college wasn’t even a thought. But when I stopped performing and wanted to open Shades of Music, I needed knowledge in business. I took college classes at a two-year school while I worked full-time.” He shrugged, remembering those days as if they were both yesterday and a hundred years ago. “I guess I’m interested to know about your experience.”
The tension that had been sitting on her shoulders since the second he mentioned her job eased as her face softened. “I majored in early childhood education. I wanted to be an elementary school teacher.”
“Really?” That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. Not because she wasn’t smart, sweet, or kind, but because where she currently worked couldn’t be further from her dream. When her brows knitted together, he quickly added, “That came out wrong. What I meant was, I assumed you had gone for business management or design. Something that would lead you to the garment industry.”
“No… I wanted to be a teacher.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “But it wasn’t meant to be, and that’s okay.”
The last part of her sentence was infused with false cheer. Even though Logan wanted to push further, he decided to back off of that topic for the time being and move on to her current employment. “Which leads us back to the factory. What do you do there?”
*
“I’m uh… Crotch Quality Inspector number thirty-four,” she mumbled, praying that he wouldn’t dare to ask her to repeat herself.
“Crotch”—cough—“quality inspector?” The question came out tight and slightly high-pitched.
Her eyes snapped to his as he fought to keep his composure. Is the title really that damn funny? Fine, it was. It was hilarious. She hated it, and she hated that Dave the douche had come up with it, but it was stupid funny. Instead of getting offended, embarrassed, or pissed off, her usual response to someone laughing at what she considered another one of her life flaws, Wren found herself smiling at Logan’s reaction.
“Are you laughing at me again, Mr. Enders?”
“Absolutely.”
Biting her cheek, she squeaked, “Why?”
“Because, Ms. Jamison, it’s a funny job title, and you don’t seem proud of it. In my opinion, if you aren’t proud of what you’re doing, the least you can do is find humor in it until you have the ability to change it. You’re crotch quality inspector number thirty-four.” His eyes shone with sincerity. “While I can’t wait to hear how that job became yours, I also want to know why discussing it makes you frown.” A half-baked denial was ready to leave her mouth when Logan interrupted it with a chuckle. “Wait, do you think thirty-three other people inspected crotches before you, or are you the thirty-fourth person on the line?”
Narrowing her eyes, she was ready to launch into the prepared speech she used to defend herself and her job. But before the first word left her mouth, she realized she had no desire to do so. Once again, Logan wasn’t wrong. Everything about the job was frustrating or silly or douchey—except the company owners and some of the employees, like Mrs. Russell—but that didn’t change the fact that she needed the income. Therefore, she would continue to inspect underwear as long as they would employ her.
She needed to do something with her hands, her legs. The anxiety she felt just from sitting there and watching Logan recover from her occupational bomb was wreaking havoc on her system. Humor danced in his eyes, and a smile played across his full lips. Mmm… his lips. “Do you want another drink?”
His hand encircled her wrist, gently staying her movement. “What I want is for you to stay right here next to me, Lucky. Stop running away, and talk. I can’t promise I won’t laugh—because you’re funny—but I swear I’m not making fun of you. I’m enjoying you.”
Gulp.
“Now,” he insisted, “inspector number thirty-four?”
Forcing herself to relax, she began to explain. “There’s this guy, Dave, who I work with—”
“Judging by the nasty face you made when you said Dave’s name, I’m guessing you aren’t a fan.”
“Nope.” She popped the “p” so loud they both laughed. “That’s a different story for a different day. Anyway, ever since I was sixteen years old, my inspector number had always been eight.”
Logan chuckled. “I’ll have to pay more attention to the little number tag that comes in the packaging of my boxer briefs.”
Her belly clenched at the thought of touching his underwear, and she laughed nervously.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked repeating her earlier question.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Why?”
“Just thinking about your underwear. That’s all.”
Those two simple sentences turned him from relaxed and cool to smoldering and freaking hot.
“Now you look like you do need some water,” she teased.
Logan closed his eyes for a moment. His nostrils flared at the same time his broad chest rose and fell. The dark hair that shadowed his jaw glimmered in the orange flames, suggesting it had been a few days since he’d last used a razor. The hand not holding a beer gripped his jean-clad thigh, drawing her attention to the thick muscles of his quadriceps and the equally impressive muscle bulging between his thighs. Shit. Quickly she pulled her eyes away from his… muscles and rested them back on his face. So much raw masculinity, yet he was gentle and funny. Oh, God, he’s delicious. Her core tightened, and she exhaled. Mmm.
Slowly his lids opened, and the molten chocolate had simmered. Jeez, the man had amazing self-control. After the one-sided visual intercourse she’d just had, she sat on the floor in a noodle-like state, feeling a strange combination of turned on and exhausted, but not the least bit in control.
“Don’t think for a second you can get away with that.”
Gulp. “Get away with what?” she asked, her cheeks flaming. How the hell would she explain the eye raping?
“Get away with not telling me about being inspector number thirty-four.”
He may not have heard her heart slamming into her ribs, but her huge exhale was more difficult to ignore.
“Christ, Wren, what did you think I was gonna say?” Something about the way he asked the question made her wonder if he had in fact known she was practically slobbering over him while he wasn’t looking, but he was too nice of a guy to embarrass her.
“Nothing.” Shaking her head as if to clear away the lusty cobwebs, Wren continued explaining how her job title and inspection number changed all because of Dave the douche. “Dave was hired on as the packaging inspector the summer before I left for college. He was a nice guy.” Logan’s brow arched, and Wren giggled. “Not that kind of nice. He was my friend.”
“Ahh, I see where this is going.”
Wren crossed her arms and glared.
“Don’t give me that look, Lucky. I’m saying the guy didn’t want to be friend-zoned. That’s all. Continue your story.”
“Whatever. Anyway, we hung out a bit that summer, but every time I came home after, he would ask to hang out. At first it was with groups of people, then with just me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You wanna hear this story?” she asked, trying to contain her smile. When he nodded, she said, “Then can it. Emmy wasn’t a huge Dave fan, so when she said he liked me as more than a friend, I didn’t believe her. But when I saw it for myself, I nicely explained I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship, and he accepted it.”
“Uh-huh.”
Rolling her eyes, Wren said, “I get it, okay? You and Emmy were right. I told you, I m
ake bad choices. Hence the Fortune Eight Ball.” She eyed the ball on the coffee table. “Sooo, I get home the summer going into my senior year. I’m having lunch in the crowded lunchroom, and Dave struts in and asks me what it would take to get me to go out with him. He wasn’t quiet about it, and I swear to God, Logan, every pair of eyes was on us. I’m not a mean person, but I wanted to kill him for embarrassing me. So I told him there was no chance I would ever go out with him. When he realized the scene he’d caused, instead of backing down, he amped it up even more.”
“He harassed you in public, and he still works there?”
Was it anger or jealousy swirling in Logan’s eyes? She wasn’t certain, but if he fisted that bottle any harder, it was sure to crack. She needed to end the stroll down memory lane quickly so he knew she had handled herself and the situation just fine.
She leaned in close, weaving her arm around his and resting her head on his shoulder. The heat of his body radiated through his shirt, making her want to snuggle closer. “So he continued the ridiculous conversation by loudly saying if there were only ten men left in the whole world and I had to pick him at some point, where would I place him from one to ten. Inside I was plotting his torture, but I stayed calm and said equally as loud, ‘Thirty-four, Dave. On a scale of one to ten, you would be thirty-four.’ The entire place broke out in laughter, and Dave had no choice but to smile and slink away. The following Monday, I learned that Dave had been promoted to floor manager. What do you think his first task was?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent.
“I got to my station, and I was no longer cotton panel inspector number eight. Nope, I was rechristened… quality crotch inspector number thirty-four.”
“And your bosses were okay with that?” he asked with a low growl.
Mr. Hayden had been unhappy that such a decision was made and put into place without either he or Mrs. Hayden being consulted. He was also worried about Wren. They were very good to their employees, always worried about their happiness and interested in their lives. But Wren was fine with her new number. In fact, every time she saw it, it felt like a great big fuck you, Dave.
“They were after they knew I was. And I truly was,” she said.
“He doesn’t still work there, does he?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “He’s still there.”
“I’m assuming once he turned manager, he stopped asking you out?”
She snorted. “Oh yeah, his goal is certainly not to date me anymore.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Chapter Eleven
I’m Not Going Anywhere
Logan thought he was a pretty calm guy. One would have to be when working with kids all day every day, and as if that wasn’t enough, working with their parents proved to be even more stressful. He navigated his life by planning and problem-solving, living to enjoy each day. He wasn’t some Zen guru and there were days when he got stressed, but those days usually ended with a hard workout, some good music, and time with friends. But every word Wren said about Dave made his insides boil.
“Logan,” his name whispered from her lips sounded like a song. “I’ve gotta deal with Dave all week. Do you really want me thinking about him when I’m here with you?”
“Fuck no. Beautiful, the only thing you should ever think about when you’re with me is us.”
Hell, earlier, when she had made the comment about his underwear, it took all of his resolve not to strip down and show her exactly what pair he was wearing. He thought a few deep breaths would calm his libido, but it ended up having the reverse effect. It was almost as if he could feel her presence the moment he closed his eyes. Not to mention the deep breaths only burrowed her vanilla scent deeper into his lungs. Without her noticing, he’d cracked an eyelid in time to catch her eye-fucking him in a way that no fantasy could have topped. He knew by the way she sat with her hands between her thighs and her bottom lip between her teeth that she was aroused by him, and that knowledge made it impossible for him to hide his reaction to her. Rock-fucking-hard he was, sitting through the longest seconds of his life. Pretending to be calm when he was anything but. Pretending he didn’t hear her moan had proved to be too much.
That was before. Now, their bodies were close. Touching.
“Hey.” He tipped her chin up. “Earlier, when you were stroking my body with your eyes, was it thoughts of you touching me or my hands on you that got you so worked up?”
It was a bold move, but fuck if the flushed look on her face didn’t turn him on. Her response blew him away.
“I knew you weren’t thinking about my damn inspector number when you opened your sexy eyes.” Tossing him a shrug that was too casual to be real, she said, “Shame, because I was practically a puddle for you to play in. All you needed to do was touch me.”
“When are you gonna understand, Lucky? You don’t need to give me easy. You don’t need to play hard to get. You just need to be you. I’m interested.” He tipped his head closer, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m attracted.” The pad of his thumb slowly ran across her lush bottom lip. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Restraint snapping, he crushed his mouth against hers in a ravenous kiss. One not meant for a club, a bar, or a coffee shop. A fiery kiss that burned with possession and smothered with mastery. Meant just for her and him and no one else.
His hand slid up into her dark hair, gripping the silken strands, twisting them around his fingers. The gentle tug had her lips parting as a sweet moan mewled from low in her throat. Seizing the opportunity, Logan slid his tongue into her mouth and cupped her head, pulling her closer to deepen the embrace.
After weeks of wanting her and days of craving her, Logan was starved. But something told him to hold back, be gentler, less fierce. The last thing you want is to scare her away. He loosened his hold, forcing calmness he did not feel, only to have her wrap her legs around his torso and press her body tightly against his. She clearly not only shared his hunger but matched it. Her softness, her heat, her scent, all of it was intoxicating.
A husky groan, that no doubt came from him, filled the trifling space between them as he cupped her denim-clad ass and grinded into her, removing even the air that dared part them. Her sweater tickled his palm as he inched it up her torso, over her ribs. Their kisses got hotter as her tongue massaged his, her warmth and wetness making his dick pulse.
Caught in a thick haze of desire, Logan slid his hand higher, cupping Wren’s full breast, moving his… she tensed. It was a split second, maybe something no one else would notice, but he did. Gently returning his hand to her waist, he pressed his lips to her forehead before placing his forehead against hers.
“Fuck.” He barely recognized the rasp of his voice as he broke their connection and leaned back on his elbows, putting a few inches between them while admiring his strength and cursing his morals. As much passion as he felt sparking between them, reservation was still close to her surface. She wanted him, thank fuck, but when they finally gave into what was building between them, he needed to know she was going in without doubts.
“You’re stopping?”
The accusation in her voice was hard enough to hear, but when it was clear that she wanted more and not less, it took superhuman strength for Logan to stick with what he knew was right. “Not stopping, beautiful, just slowing down.”
She slid off his lap and onto the rug. Emotions—something somber but crestfallen—crossed her face before the mask of indifference slid down. “You finally get me alone and decide you don’t want me? No problem. I—”
Logan didn’t mean to laugh, but his other option was to get angry at her absurdity, and he refused to ruin their afternoon. “That was you wrapped around my body like a boa constrictor just then, right?” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “It sure as shit looked like you—all sexy and curvy, kissing like a vixen and purring like a kitten. Since it was you, I know damn well that you felt just how much I wanted you.” He peered do
wn at the bulge in his jeans before returning his gaze to hers. “How much I still want you. So let’s not put words in my mouth. Okay?”
“Well, I had my tongue in your mouth, but you pulled away,” she muttered, instantly slamming her eyes shut as if shocked at her own audacity.
“Trust me, it wasn’t easy. I want you like crazy, but the last thing I want to become is one of those bad choices you keep swearing you make.”
“Oh. So you think this could all be a mistake?”
Looking at her tussled hair and kiss-swollen lips, there was not one thing about Wren Jamison that said mistake to him. “A mistake?” He shook his head. “Babe, I don’t live my life that way. I see something I want, and I find a way to get it. When something comes around that grabs my attention, regardless of if it works out or not, no way would I ever call the effort I put into it a mistake. Nah, I’d call it a life-changing experience.” Their gazes met, her blue to his brown, and the heat between them sizzled up his spine. “You, Lucky, are a life-changer.”
She drew her knees up to her chest, her arms encircling them. “If that’s the case, then why did you stop kissing me?”
“You froze.”
“I did no—”
Logan leaned forward and lifted her chin. “You froze, Wren. It was barely a second, but it happened. And while I would’ve liked nothing more than to keep your tongue in my mouth and your body against mine, I will never ignore your needs in favor of my own.”
“I don’t want you to think… look, I’m not a virgin or anything.”
Ouch, is this what jealousy feels like?
“It’s just… I haven’t been physically involved with someone in a really long time, and even those experiences didn’t make me feel the way kissing you did.”
Her admission awakened not just his inner caveman but his need to protect what he assumed had been hurt in her before. “When you’re ready, when you trust me, we’ll move forward. It’s your call, Wren.” His thumb made another pass at her bottom lip. “Until then, I think the kissing is pretty phenomenal, if I do say so myself, and getting to know you has been as informative as it has been entertaining. So are we good?”