“Got it,” he said, smiling as he tapped his temple. “What do you like then?”
I had to remind myself he was only asking about beverages.
“Coffee,” I said, feeling weight fall off my shoulders. “With a little bit of milk and one raw sugar.”
Logan nodded as he studied our entwined hands. He turned mine over, seeming to inspect every line and freckle, until he lifted it to his mouth. He pressed a gentle kiss into the backside of my hand, letting his mouth linger there for a bit longer than normal. So long, my heartbeat started to pick up.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, setting my hand down before hopping out of bed.
As soon as I heard Logan’s footsteps thumping down the stairs, I lifted my hand above me. I turned it over and stared at the patch of skin Logan’s mouth had just touched. My heart still pounded from that kiss. I hadn’t expected that. The intimate kiss or the way my body had reacted to it.
I’d never felt the level of desire I’d experienced last night with Cole at any time in Logan’s and my relationship and, even though it was only a fraction of what I’d felt when Cole’s mouth had been on mine, it was of the same type of desire. That kind that never truly goes away and only explodes the instant the object of that desire comes within arm’s reach. The kind of desire that is so appealing and all-consuming it leads girls to stray on their boyfriends.
So why, after months of Logan kissing me, had one gentle kiss to the hand done a number on me?
I thought about that question for a good minute before I decided it would have to be grouped into that cluster of questions I couldn’t answer.
“I know this doesn’t make up for pretty much forcing you to drink something you hate,” Logan’s voice broke me from my stewing as he reentered the room, “but think of it as a fresh start in the beverage making process.”
Logan was carrying a new mug and had changed out of his baseball uniform. He had on his well-worn khaki shorts and an equally well worn-in tee that he must have snagged out of the laundry room downstairs. Topped off by the apology in his eyes and smile, I was reminded why so many girls at my high school had given me the cold shoulder the whole first month after Logan and I became an item. When you went to school with less than a couple hundred students, the pickings were slim.
And Logan Matthews was the kind of guy who would even stick out at one of those huge schools in Seattle.
“What have you got there?” I asked, smiling at him.
“We didn’t have any raw sugar, so I added a little regular,” he began, holding the cup out for me, “but it’s my way of apologizing and begging for forgiveness.”
I took the mug from him and brought it to my lips. “Thank you,” I said before taking a sip. It was the first cup of coffee I’d had at Logan’s house, and while it was watered down and tongue scaldingly hot, it qualified as one of the best cups of coffee I’d ever had.
It embodied what could happen when I stood up to someone and they actually listened.
I took another sip and closed my eyes in satisfaction.
“So?” Logan said expectantly. “Am I forgiven?”
I settled the cup beside his plate on the nightstand and sat up on my knees so I was at eye level with him. “Not quite,” I said, looping my arms around his neck and scooting to the edge of the bed. My chest formed against his and I felt his shoulders tense before they relaxed. I dropped my lips to his and gave him the soft, chaste kind of kiss that made up ninety-nine percent of Logan’s and my physical intimacy.
“There,” I said, leaning back. “You’re forgiven.”
Logan didn’t smile his easy grin then. He didn’t give me one final hug before picking out a movie and going to town on his sandwich. He was hungry, but in a way I wasn’t familiar with. At least, not coming from Logan.
His pupils were fully dilated, his breathing coming in short bursts, and his hands weren’t letting me go. They were pulling me closer.
Before I could wonder what had come over him, Logan’s mouth was back on mine. His lips didn’t move over mine in the soft, languid pulls I was used to. I almost started gasping from being unable to breathe.
Logan’s hands twisted into my shirt at my back as his thumbs polished over the skin just above my skirt. I didn’t know what was happening, I barely recognized who I was kissing anymore, but I couldn’t stop. When I slid my tongue inside Logan’s mouth, teasing the tip of his, he let out a rough, low groan. It was so similar to the sound Cole had made last night in response to what I’d done to his body, it made me lose all abandon with Logan’s.
Detaching my mouth from his, I grabbed the hem of his tee and tugged it over his head. It was on the floor behind him before he registered I’d been about to take it off. I saw him about to protest. I’d gotten his shirt off a total of once in two years and it lasted for a whole five seconds before he put it back on and made me sit on the opposite end of the couch.
I wasn’t going to be so easy to order this time.
Before he could say anything, I slid my tank up and over my head and tossed it on top of his shirt.
Now me shirtless . . . that was a first. Sure, Logan had seen me in my swimsuit, the boring black racerback one I wore when he came to the swimming hole, but a swimsuit and a bra were a whole world of different.
As Logan’s eyes that were unable to pry themselves from my pink cotton bra could attest to.
“Elle . . .” There was warning in his voice, but his entire expression was all want. Desire, even. I needed this. I had to know if a flame burned between Logan and me like the one that so obviously burned between Cole and me. I had to know if I married this man, my life wouldn’t be punctuated by small sparks that fizzled into oblivion.