Читать книгу Run the Risk - Lori Foster - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

COULD ANY MAN TASTE BETTER, smell better, or be more tempting?

Heat poured off him, and Pepper wanted to feel it all over her body. She pictured him working outside, all macho in jeans and heavy boots, the sun on his bare shoulders and chest, and her pulse raced. As his mouth moved over hers, his chest hair drew her fingers again and again. Using care not to exacerbate his sun-kissed skin, she stroked him, carefully, over his shoulders, his chest—and down to his taut abdomen.

Oh, God, she wanted to feel every inch of him.

He made a sound of approval and somehow, at the same time, lowered her to her back on the couch. The plush cushions gave way to their combined weight, and she sank into them.

Having a man’s solid body over her, pressing into her—she’d missed it. So damn much.

Each kiss grew deeper, hungrier, until they were both breathing hard. He had his tongue in her mouth, exploring, and she just naturally twined her own with his.

He ran a hand down her side to her hip, his spread fingers covering a wide path, touching so much of her. He squeezed at her hip with appreciation, and even through her long skirt and underwear, it electrified her senses.

He moved his hand down her thigh until she stiffened, ready to stop him if he took things too far.

Instead, he brought that seeking hand back up her body, up, up, to her left breast.

Before she could think better of it, she arched her back, pressing into his palm, alive with sensation.

He cuddled her, but his movements slowed, became more of a search than a caress.

Lifting his head but staying very close, he said with a touch of confusion, “What kind of bra is that?”

No, she didn’t want reality to intrude. Not yet. Not now. “Sports bra,” she breathed, and took his mouth again.

A very tight, very restrictive sports bra.

Hoping he might not think too much of it, she caught his wrist and tugged his hand away. Please let me have a little more.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured, and his hand went back to her waist, this time slipping up under her loose shirt.

Sexual frustration mounted, warring against desperation, against common sense. She knew she had to be strong, but then she felt his rough palm at her waist, at her ribs, and her resistance began crumbling—until a knock sounded on his door.

She jumped, at first alarmed, and then, reluctantly…relieved for the jolt back to sanity.

The pizza delivery boy had saved her, because she hadn’t been strong enough to save herself. She’d take the interruption as a warning—to show more care.

Logan pressed his forehead to hers. His heartbeat rapped against her breasts, and the tension in his shoulders amplified.

“Rotten timing.” Using both hands, he held her face, his thumbs stroking her jaw, his breath hot. “I don’t suppose you’d want to put off dinner?”

She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d cave. Staring at his left shoulder, she shook her head.

His sigh teased her lips. “All right then. Pizza it is.” As he sat up, he pulled her up, too.

She closed her eyes with stark regret, and when she opened them again, she encountered his intense scrutiny.

His smile went crooked as he tweaked a long hank of her hair. “You are so sweet.” And with that, he left the couch.

Sweet? What was that about? Pepper checked her hair and felt the way her ponytail had come undone. Worse, her top was all displaced, her skirt hiked up on one side all the way to her knee, and she’d lost one slip-on canvas shoe.

While Logan answered the door, she decided to make a hasty exit to right herself. “Excuse me.” She snatched up her shoe and rushed down the short hall into his bathroom. She closed and locked the door.

Get a grip, she ordered herself. But it was oh-so-difficult after those scorching kisses and exciting touches.

A few deep breaths helped a little. She stepped into her shoe, tugged her shirt into place, and moved away from the door. One glance in the mirror over the sink and she winced. Her hair was more out of the ponytail than in it. Hastily, she pulled the band free and finger-combed her long hair back, then resecured it.

She straightened her clothes again, but could do nothing about her aroused flush. Blast her fair skin.

A tap sounded at the door. “Everything okay, Sue?”

“Yes.” Other than unfulfilled lust, she was just peachy. Head down, Pepper opened the door and walked around him, up the hallway and into the kitchen.

He’d already put slices of pizza on plates, set out napkins, and moved their drinks to the table. Surprising her, he pulled out her chair.

Why, oh, why couldn’t he be wearing a shirt instead of flaunting that awesome body? As to that, why couldn’t he be out of shape instead of so ripped? Or unattractive instead of so appealing? Or—

“It’s just pizza, Sue.” He tipped his head. “I won’t pounce on you while you’re eating, I promise.”

She didn’t want to get that close to him again, but she didn’t want to look overly foolish, either. “Thank you.” She brushed past him and sat.

After trailing the backs of his fingers over her cheek, he took his own seat. “Dig in.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

He thoughtfully watched her as he ate. “You know, I just had my tongue in your mouth, so you don’t have to be so formal.”

Pepper gasped—and choked on her pizza. What was he thinking, saying something like that over dinner? Did he have no sense of propriety at all?

After a bout of wheezing, she caught her breath, looked at him, saw he was still eating while studying her reaction, and decided that no, he did not have any sense of decorum.

“It bothers you?” he asked. “Kissing me, I mean? Is that why you’re over there strangling yourself?”

“No—”

“Sure looked bothered to me.”

“I didn’t expect to discuss it over dinner!”

He ignored that. “I’m wondering,” he said, “if I mentioned how bad I want to get you naked, would you keel right over?”

Throwing the slice of pizza at him seemed like a good idea. Instead she put it back on her plate. Should she leave? Show disdain? Embarrassment?

She decided on a dose of honesty instead. “You’ll never see me naked.”

“No?” As if only mildly curious, he asked, “Why not?”

“Because I won’t allow it.”

His eyes narrowed—and his gaze went to her chest. “Too shy, huh?”

She sat back in her seat. “You don’t talk like a man who ever hopes to be successful. You’re so mocking, it’s almost an insult.”

“Don’t mean to be.” He put another gigantic slice of pizza onto his plate. “Truth is, Sue, you confound me.”

“Confound you?”

She had to wait while he devoured half the pizza. After he wiped his mouth with a napkin, he crossed his arms over the table. “You’re as interested as I am. I wasn’t the only one on the couch who wanted more.”

Since he waited, she said, “No.” She’d probably been far needier than he was. For certain, she’d been celibate longer.

“So why are you so skittish? Why the mixed messages?”

Shoot. She had been pretty inconsistent. But how could she possibly explain the past that held her back, the fears that dictated she show discretion in all things?

He saved her by reaching for her hand. “You can tell me, you know.”

No, she most definitely could not. She eyed him warily. “Tell you what?”

“If someone hurt you. If you’re just inexperienced. If you’re modest or afraid or…whatever the problem might be.”

All that? What exactly did he think? That she’d lived in a convent? That she’d been a victim of abuse? For certain she couldn’t tell him any part of the truth. Even with the passing of time, even with Morton Andrews’s club, Checkers, being in another county—distant enough that they wouldn’t run into him, close enough that Rowdy could keep tabs on him—the truth would be risky.

But she had to say something, so she looked at his big hand holding hers. “I am shy. And I am modest.” A really good liar, too.

“But you want me.”

Did she ever. Whether she should or not, whether it was wise or not.

“Sue? Whatever you tell me, it’s okay. I’m not going to start rushing you.”

Baloney. That’s all he’d done so far. She met his gaze. “Yes.”

It took several heartbeats before he repeated, “Yes…what?”

“I want you.” Let him deal with that. “Your interest has been flattering,” she added, trying to sound a little more uncertain. “But I’m not comfortable with anyone seeing me.”

His sharpened attention moved over her. “Naked, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

A heated stillness fell over him. “You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen, right?”

She almost choked again. He had no idea the surprises she kept hidden. “I’m not disfigured, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I wasn’t. Just making a point, that’s all. And if modesty is the only problem—”

“It’s not.” No, there were a million reasons why she shouldn’t get too involved with him, physically or otherwise.

And yet, here she sat. Having pizza. Talking.

After allowing him to kiss her into oblivion and grope her on the sofa. She put her head in her hands and fought off a groan.

Pushing his chair back from the table, his dinner forgotten, he concentrated on her. “What else?”

Because it felt as if he might pounce on her at any moment despite his promise not to rush her, Pepper left her chair and stood behind it. Judging by the look on his face, he saw it as a defensive move. She knew it was more a matter of control: around him, she had none.

Slowly, he stood.

Before he took a step toward her—and before she pounced on him—she said, “I barely know you.”

“Okay.” He held out his arms. “I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

Why do you want me so badly? No, she couldn’t ask him anything that blunt. “Everything, I guess.”

“Will you sit down and finish eating while I give you a verbal resume?”

Why not? She was still hungry, the pizza still hot. “Okay.” Not looking at him, she took her seat and again bit into her pizza.

“Long or short version?”

Everything, in minute detail. She shook her head. “I don’t mean to pry exactly—”

“Long it is.” He smiled, waited until she got a mouthful, then said, “Never been married, but was engaged once. Have a degree in business, but haven’t used it because I enjoy the freedom of construction more. I’ve been all over the country, but prefer the Midwest. I’m thirty-two, love watching all sports and enjoy playing softball or football. I detest shopping of any kind, even for groceries, but I’m a fair cook when forced to it. I really like animals, but don’t have any because, well, living in a place like this, it wouldn’t be fair to the animal, right? Dogs especially deserve a big backyard. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t really trust anyone who doesn’t like animals, so do you?”

It took Pepper a moment to realize he’d slipped a question in there. She swallowed down her bite and nodded. “Yes, but for the same reasons you just gave—” and many more “—I don’t have any pets, either.” Someday, in her fantasy future, she’d love to have pets, lots of them. Kids, too…no, she wouldn’t, couldn’t think that way.

It’d only depress her.

“So we have that in common,” Logan said. “My folks have an ancient German shepherd that loves to swim. I think it’s easier for him than running, less stress on his hips.”

Slipping in her own question, she asked, “Why didn’t you marry?”

“Haven’t met the right woman, I guess. I want to someday.” He gestured. “You know, home, hearth, holidays with two kids, a cat and a dog. All that.”

“You were engaged?” she prompted.

“Yeah, for over a year.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was all good until she decided I had to take a job with her daddy, and her daddy was a grade-A prick, so…” He shrugged. “Couldn’t work it out.”

That sounded like the absolute truth, but could that really be the whole story? “You don’t sound particularly heartbroken over it.”

His expression warmed. Belatedly, she decided that prim and proper Sue Meeks should have reacted some to his language. But, oh, well. Too late now.

“Funny thing, that. I never was.” Done eating, he slouched back in his chair and cradled his beer on his midsection. “I mean, I was pissed. Maybe even a little…” He searched for a word and settled on, “Disappointed. But I guess I never really loved her, not the way you should love someone if you’re going to spend a lifetime together.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Few years.” He gave her a searching look. “What about you? Ever been serious about anyone?”

“No.”

Because she’d answered so quickly, he laughed. “Okay.” He nodded at her empty plate. “All done?”

Thrown by the change in topic, she looked at her plate and was surprised that she’d eaten so much. “Yes, thank you.”

“So.” He stood and carried the dishes to the sink. “What now?”

Bemused, she watched as he rinsed each plate, loaded them in the dishwasher and did a general cleaning of their dinner mess.

By the time he finished, no sign of dinner remained. “You’re a lot tidier than I am.”

“No offense, but I’m thinking a lot of people are probably tidier than you.”

“It’s true.” She didn’t really get into the whole domestic routine. She let out a sigh. “My place isn’t really dirty or anything, but it is cluttered.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like to fuss.”

“Good. Fussy women are annoying.”

Distant thunder rumbled, and they both looked toward the balcony. The bright evening sunshine had faded beneath thick gray clouds that darkened the sky. A troubled breeze carried in cooler air.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Logan said, “but this is the weirdest date I’ve ever had.”

That brought her back around to face him. “It wasn’t a date!”

“Sure it was.” Mood teasing, he came closer. “A little necking, dinner and conversation, getting to know each other.”

Oh, God. Maybe it was a date.

“Usually doesn’t happen in that order, and I can’t recall ever talking marriage on a first date.”

“You brought it up!”

“To appease your curiosity.” A light patter of rain danced over the patio doors. “But it wasn’t bad for our first. Was it?”

Not bad at all. In fact, it was the first time in ages that she’d forgotten, for just a little while, how much her life had changed. “No, I suppose it—”

Bright lightning splintered the sky, chased by a deafening crack of thunder that reverberated in the floor beneath their feet.

She said, “Wow.” And the electricity died.

It needed only this.

The combination of no lights and black sky left the apartment cast in deep mysterious shadows.

Logan walked to the patio doors just as the storm hit in earnest, pounding the earth with a deluge of rain. It blew in against his bare chest, dampening his skin, his hair and the front of those well-worn jeans.

He shut his doors and, after swiping off his face, crossed the floor to get the kitchen window, too.

Because she stood there in a lustful daze, he prompted her. “What about your windows? They open?”

How had she forgotten that? “Damn it,” she said, and bolted back to her own apartment. She didn’t want Logan to follow her, but she didn’t take the time to tell him not to. The way the rain blew in, everything she owned would be soaked in under a minute.

She got the balcony doors closed while he shut the kitchen window for her. She darted into the bathroom to get that small window, and Logan…went into her bedroom.

No, no, no.

Face soaked, shirt and shoes wet, she waited, but he didn’t come back out. Knowing proximity could get the best of her, she nonetheless stepped into the bedroom behind him. He had his back to her, eyeing her treadmill.

“Logan?”

When he turned, she saw his jeans clinging to his body, his chest hair darker with the rain, his nipples tight from the chill.

Her mouth went dry.

“Sorry.” He ran a hand over his face and pushed back his hair. “It was coming in pretty good. Your floor’s wet, and so is the bottom of your bed.”

She stayed by the door, her thoughts rioting with explicit images of him naked, the things he’d do, the things she wanted to do to him.

A sudden shift in the air, in his mood, sent a thread of excited alarm up her spine.

He took a step toward her. “What about you, Sue?”

Not knowing what he asked, she shook her head in confusion.

“It’s too damn dark for me to tell,” he whispered, coming closer. In a husky, suggestive tone, he said, “I’m betting you’re wet, too.”

So many ways she wanted to reply—all of them dangerous.

She couldn’t think when she looked at him, so she turned her back and tried to order herself to caution.

“Thank you for the help.” It was an obvious hint for him to go, but at the same time, she had that image of him standing there, at the foot of her unmade bed. Tall, bare-chested, sexy as sin…

His hands settled on her shoulders; his scent settled around her.

And before he said a single word, she knew she was a goner.

* * *

LOGAN IGNORED the not-so-subtle suggestion for him to hit the road, especially since her voice had gone all thin and high. She was nervous, he got that.

Why, he didn’t yet know.

But he had her in a bedroom, in the near-dark, and with every fiber of his being, he was aware of her as a woman.

Not of his plan to get hold of her brother. Not of how she could assist him in his goal to obtain justice.

Just…her.

The way she trembled, the scent of her damp skin, her arousal.

They stood in the shadows while lightning flashed outside and occasional thunder rattled the windows.

Holding her shoulders, he drew her back into his chest and bent to inhale the heady fragrance of her damp skin. “I don’t want to leave you alone in this storm.”

The silence grew taut, and he knew she warred with herself, with what she wanted—and probably her damned brother’s rules.

Finally she whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

“You want me to stay.” And knowing that, he went about convincing her, putting soft love bites on her throat, teasing her ear with his breath and his tongue, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close enough that she felt his erection against her soft ass.

“Logan…”

“Your shirt is wet,” he told her and boldly smoothed a hand up and over her breast. The restrictive bra confounded him. It couldn’t be comfortable.

“Don’t.” She caught his wrist and drew his hand down to her waist, but she didn’t step away from him.

“Okay.” He pressed his hand lower, to her belly, and asked, “Is this better?”

She shocked him by nodding.

Need held him in a powerful grip; he pressed his hand lower, between her thighs, cupping her through the long skirt and insubstantial underwear.

They both breathed harder.

She parted her thighs.

Amazing. So this was okay, but her breasts were off-limits? Prodded by concern, by the idea that she could be scarred, or worse, he asked, “Why, honey?”

Pressing back against him, she put her hand over his, encouraging him to continue while muttering low, “No questions.”

Not being a fool, Logan agreed. When he got her in bed, he’d get her naked, and then he’d figure it out on his own. He’d reassure her and let her know whatever it was, it didn’t matter, not between them.

She flattened her hands on his thighs, and her nails dug into him. He heard the catch in her breathing, savored the heat of her, how she moved against his exploring fingers.

For the longest time they stood there like that, in the dark with the storm all around them, damp, hot, necking and petting. He grinned against her shoulder. “I haven’t done this since high school.”

It took a little while before she asked, “This?”

“Making out. Fooling around with my clothes on.” He pressed his hard-on against her. “Getting so frustrated, I almost can’t take it.”

She groaned—and started to step away.

Logan turned them both instead and brought her down to the bed. He sprawled out over her, kissing her hard, deep, hoping to obliterate any objections.

She had none.

Of her own accord she parted her legs so that he fit between them. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she held him close while he kissed her.

When he again reached for her breast—dying to see her, to touch her—she stalled. “Wait.”

Of course he did. Balanced over her, edgy with need, their breaths mingling, he…waited.

Her body beneath his was an indistinct form, but he felt her urgency, the way she stared at him, and her indecision.

Her hands kneaded his chest. “If we’re going to do this—”

“I hope we are.”

“—then I need the curtains closed.”

Even though it was black as pitch outside? He looked toward the window. Was she afraid a flash of lightning would show him something? Like what? Thinking to encourage her, he said, “You don’t need to—”

“And you have to keep your hands to yourself.”

Thoughts, ugly suspicions, bounded this way and that. He gave her a gentle kiss. “I don’t understand.” Any of it, including the driving need to discover her hang-ups. “I’ve got my hands on you now.” He emphasized that by tucking her hair back, smoothing her cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t want you…feeling around on me.”

Moving his body over hers, he growled, “I can feel you. All of you.” He closed his eyes at the giving softness of her curves, the open cradle of her thighs. “You’re soft and hot and—”

A little panicked—or else very close to the edge of release—she said in a high voice, “Promise me right now, or we’re done.”

Unease warred with conviction. He couldn’t keep from brushing gentle kisses on the bridge of her nose, her brow, and he wanted to go on kissing her. Everywhere. “Whatever it is, honey, I swear to you, it’s okay.”

“It’s me.” Stroking her hands around to his back, fraught with uncertainty, she clutched at him. “I need my clothes on. I need the lights out. I need you to keep your hands mostly to yourself.”

Jesus. “When I mentioned high school, I wasn’t looking for a reenactment.”

She sucked in a breath. “Fine.” Shaking, she pushed against him while trying to turn away from him. “Then let’s forget about—”

“No way.” He brought her face back around to his and again kissed her, softer, deeper. “You can trust me, Sue.” Like hell. “I won’t hurt you.” Damn it.

In the near darkness, they watched each other. Her eyes glimmered, but he couldn’t see her well enough to decipher her thoughts.

She touched his jaw. “Let me up.”

Damn, damn, damn. Flopping over to his back with a groan, Logan stared toward the ceiling, hot, frustrated, but mostly troubled. From the knees down, his legs hung over the end of the bed.

The part the rain had soaked.

The wind howled eerily, suiting his mood. Thunder crashed, and he felt it in his chest.

He didn’t want things to end like this.

He rose up on one arm. “Sue?” It amazed him that he kept the forethought to continue using her alias. There remained just enough light filtering in for him to see her shadowy form as she lifted her skirt.

Lust tied him in knots. He drew in necessary oxygen. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my panties.” She dropped them on the floor and crossed to the window to close the heavy curtains. “Only my panties.”

His heart thundered. “Yeah, all right.” Lust cut into him. When he felt her approach, he dropped back to the bed in an agony of suspense, breath held, erection straining.

Her hands went to the fastening of his jeans. With a small tug, she opened the snap. “I shouldn’t do this,” she said.

He heartily disagreed.

She pushed his jeans down to his knees. “I’ll probably regret it.”

He wouldn’t let her feel regret. Somehow he’d make it okay—

Her hand curled around him, and his thoughts shattered on a rough groan.

Keeping his cock held tight in her small, hot hand, she climbed onto the bed to straddle his hips. She’d lifted her skirt; her panties were indeed gone. “Please don’t ruin this for me, Logan.”

“No.” Hell, no. “I won’t.”

Sitting back a little, she stroked him once, then released him. “Can you put on this condom?”

Where the hell had she gotten it?

Screw it, he didn’t care. He found her hand in the darkness and took the rubber from her. “Yeah, no problem.” Amazing that he felt so close; it hadn’t been that long for him. He shouldn’t be so wired, so fucking desperate to get inside her.

She was plain, timid, with a nondescript build and more secrets than he could count.

She was a pawn in his scheme to corral the murderous Morton Andrews.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this.