Feeling warm, I unzipped my fleece and tossed it where the blanket had been. His eyes turned hungry as I circled the bed and a shiver danced down my spine. This attraction between us was too much. I didn’t know how to deal with it.

Dropping my gaze, I waved him out of the room. My purse was on the table and I went for it. It was best if he left. Digging inside, I found my keys and pulled them out. I took the key for the boutique off the loop and handed it to him. “Here you go. The boutique is closed on Sunday and Monday, but Peyton might be there. Just in case she’s not, the pass code for the alarm is . . .” I faltered.

He was standing right beside me. Excitement stirred in the air. He was so close that I could smell his heavenly scent. He smelled of the soap in the shower and he smelled like pure man. For some insane reason, I wanted to bury my nose in his neck and sniff him.

Shoving the key in his direction, I finished, “two-five-six-nine. If you forget it, just spell blow.”

Instead of taking the key and leaving like I thought he would, Logan swirled it around his own key chain and set it on the table. Then he stepped even closer. So close our bodies were almost touching.

I wanted them to be.

Then they were.

Like magnets, we were drawn together.

He had leaned forward just a bit and then his fingers were on my face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

Feeling electrified, my body jerked as his flesh came in direct contact with mine, and my breath caught at the intensity of the physical connection.

“I want you,” he whispered at the same time he lightly nipped at my bottom lip. “Right now.”

I nodded, silently telling him I wanted him too—and right now.

The feeling of his lean, muscular body pressed against mine only served to further ignite my desire. With a desperation I didn’t understand, I pulled myself closer. Close enough that my hard nipples pushed against his unyielding chest.

Logan made a sound of approval deep in his throat.

I wanted to close my eyes but couldn’t. I had to see him. I looked up into his eyes, those light and dark eyes, and lost myself in him.

He looked at me like nothing else mattered but having me.

I shivered from that look alone.

It wasn’t long before his hands were running up my sides and when he lifted me, I wanted this like I’d never wanted anything. Responding in the only way that made sense, I wrapped both my arms and legs around him and then did just what I had wanted to do—buried my face in his neck. With my lips touching his skin and his scent invading me, my senses came alive. The edges of his hair tickled wonderfully against my cheek. The feel of his hands, now firmly grasping my hips, seared me as if he were branding me. His heavy breathing was all I could hear.

What came next happened so fast. We were moving. He was setting me down on the sofa. His hands were dragging up my body to the hem of my shirt. He lifted it over my head, leaving me almost bare. Putting his hands all over me.

My body hummed with pleasure. My belly tightened, thighs trembled, and my clit pulsed. With shaky fingers I unzipped his sweatshirt and he helped me take it off. Then I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and his chest was bare too. Now, both our hands were all over each other.

With a lick of my lips, I allowed my eyes to graze over him—he was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. No, handsome didn’t convey how devastatingly good-looking he really was. Maybe ruggedly beautiful better described him. I’d have to come up with the perfect phrase. He was soft and hard at the same time, muscular but not overly so. The line of his jaw, the shape of his nose—they were hard, but his features were softened by those incredible hazel eyes outlined in dark, thick lashes.

My gaze slid down. Seeing the lines in his muscles made my heart beat fast, watching the flexing of his biceps had me biting down on my lower lip, and the way his abs rippled down into the waistband of his pants caused my body to clench with a need that I’d never felt.

Logan dropped his gaze. I noticed yesterday in the shower that he didn’t look into my eyes when he was fucking me. Today, I was coming to the conclusion that was also true when it came to foreplay.

It was fine. I didn’t want to talk. He preferred not to look into my eyes.

We both had hang-ups.

I understood that.

I accepted that.

But right now, they just didn’t matter.

He made up for his avoidance of eye contact by moving in a way that told me he was determined to have me. He pulled off my sneakers and tossed them to the ground and then he took off his shoes. In silence, he lowered himself onto me, and there was no denying how much he wanted me.

Heat flared in my belly.

I forced myself to believe we weren’t on opposite sides and I focused on his movements.

Everything became this man.

Everything he did was all I could think about, including the way he slid his hands to the back of my neck and pulled the ponytail holder from my hair. I even thought about how although he wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t rough. I especially liked the way his fingers tangled in my locks and tipped my head back, exposing my throat.

Oh God.

Then he slid those soft lips down my skin and his fingers followed.

I felt each beat of his breath and mine.

Logan didn’t stop until he reached my bra, and when he did, his tongue licked the lacy edges of the fabric and then his fingers pushed one of the cups to the side.

Excitement danced in my belly.

My nipples were tight, like hard steel tips. No, they were hard, aching steel tips. When Logan skimmed his thumb over one, I sucked in a breath and nearly gasped. But when his mouth closed around it, and I felt tongue, teeth, and lips all at the same time, I practically whimpered.

It felt so good—warm and wicked.

Eventually, my squirming must have given away how much more I needed, because Logan stopped his ministrations to my breasts and worked his way back up to my throat. That torture was equally sweet as he sucked the sensitive skin between his teeth along the way. The bites didn’t hurt, but they did send sensations ripping through me.

We were on the sofa and room was limited, but still I bucked beneath him with writhing need. Like a lioness out of her cage, I felt wild. My hands found the back of his head and I threaded my fingers in his hair. Tugging it, I pulled him to my mouth where I wanted those lips on me.

He groaned, and that was when his hands slid down from my breasts to my hips to inside the waistband of my pants. He didn’t take them off right away and although I wanted him to, I didn’t want his mouth to leave mine either.

Luckily, it didn’t have to.

He somehow knew what I needed and his palm pressed against my clit on the outside of my panties. Again, I writhed beneath him. I’d never felt this sexually charged. I was thirty years old, a self-proclaimed sexually repressed adult, and I was melting beneath this man like a sex-starved teenager.

Soon, I was reduced to nothing but a body of tingling nerve endings. The way his fingers slid inside my panties and found my slick heat electrified me from head to toe. He knew what he was doing, though; he took his time, teasing me, gliding up to caress my clit and back down.

Over and over.

He remained quiet except for the sounds of sucking in a breath and a few groans.

I’m not sure if he read my signs or didn’t want to talk because he feared waking Clementine, but either way, I was glad for it.

This was far too enjoyable to end. In truth, I’m not sure I could end it.

Breathless, I moved my hands to his bare shoulders and slid my tongue down his throat, and just like he had, I pulled his skin between my teeth. I might have been rougher, he might have a mark—I wasn’t sure. I just couldn’t control myself.