He sat back and ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Well, yeah, sometimes.”

“The answers to that question are either ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ not ‘sometimes.’”

His coyness was adorable. “I don’t really count how many times. Do you . . . masturbate three to four times a week?”

“Next question,” I said, feeling oddly embarrassed by that one. It wasn’t that I was immature; it was just that my reasons for masturbating in the past weren’t the same as Logan’s, and admitting that wasn’t something I was proud of.

His laugh was low. “It’s okay if you do. In fact, I wouldn’t mind watching you sometime.”

Suddenly it felt like 1,000 degrees in the room. The thought of that turned me on as much as the thought of watching him pleasure himself.

He laughed again, and it was low, and growly, and deep. “Number three.” He cleared his throat as if trying to ward off the laughter. “Sex drive increases with exploration.” There were a couple of clicks and then he turned the screen toward me. “Wow, look at that.”

My hands moved instinctively to cover my face. I wasn’t really feeling embarrassed, though, so I peeked through my fingers and saw he had clicked a link to demonstrate various unusual sexual positions. Dropping my cover, I commented, “Kinky.”

His grin widened and he pointed to a picture. “We’ve done this,” he scrolled down, “and this,” he scrolled some more, “and I think this. Oh, we should try this one.”

Rising on my knees, I leaned over and snatched the computer, closed the top, and set it on the table. I was really close to him. Really, really close.

He breathed in deeply and when he turned his head, his lips grazed my throat.

Heat flooded me.

“You smell so good.” Logan’s voice was hoarser than it had just been, the playfulness replaced with something more lustful.

“It’s lavender,” I told him, my voice husky too.

He breathed me in again. “I really like it,” he said, and dragged his tongue up my throat to my mouth. His lips felt so soft against my skin, his tongue so wet. He was easing me closer now and I was putty in his hands.

The fabric of my simple white blouse seemed to come alive as soon as his body covered mine. My nipples tightened and strained against it. The denim of my jeans also seemed to give way as my knees got weak with his legs between mine.

As soon as I felt his erection straining through the fine fabric of his pants, instant arousal spread through me like a wildfire out of control.

His tongue flicked my lips. “You taste good, too.”

“Pretzels,” I said, a little breathy.

Our mouths parted and the onslaught of needing to be closer, needing to consume each other, took over.

His tongue stroked mine.

I stroked his back.

Wet, wild, pleasure. That’s what I felt with his mouth on mine.

The kiss broke and left us both breathing hard.

He lifted a little to look down at me. “I know you have a lot going on in that mind of yours, but Elle, you don’t need to try to categorize yourself as asexual, sexual, or anything else.”

“You don’t understand,” I said and then leaned forward, my mouth seeking his. When I reached it, I found it closed to me. I felt a little disappointed.

Did seeing me reading that article worry him?

Logan’s eyes glittered green with small flecks of brown. “Let me finish.”

I blinked my stupid fears away and smiled at him. “Go on.”

He sat up.

I gathered myself together and sat up too.

He looked at me. “I don’t care what you were or thought you were. All that matters is what we are—together. And that is pretty great.”

“Do you really think so?’

He tilted his head to the side. “I’m pretty certain you know I do.”

We looked into each other’s eyes for a long silent moment.

“I don’t know why it matters to me. My whole life I’ve tried to figure myself out and just when I thought I had, whatever this is between us happened and I feel like I have to go back to the drawing board and figure myself out all over again.”

“Then let me help you.”

I gave him a huff of laughter. “I think I am.”

He wasn’t laughing. “You said this thing between us was just about the fucking. What if I told you I thought it was more?”

There was a feeling of ease with Logan. One where the truth was the only thing that needed to be spoken. No games. No beating around the bush. “I’d say I think it is too.”

“So can we agree to figure out what we are—together? Because I have to admit, this is all new to me too.”

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe he had a point. I didn’t have to be asexual or sexually repressed or whatever it was I thought I was. It didn’t mean I was a sex addict either. Maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t turned out like either of my parents. “Yes,” I answered, and launched myself at him.

Just as my lips found his, my stomach roared with the loudest hunger cry I’d ever heard.

Our mouths connected, we both laughed.

“I need to feed you,” he said.

I sat up again. “I skipped lunch and I am a little hungry.”

As he rose to his feet, his full form took my vision—the width of his shoulders, the length of his torso, the narrow hips. I was hungry all right, hungry for him.

“Elle,” he said.

I bit my lip. “What?”

“I asked what you feel like eating.”

Okay, so I wanted to say you. “It doesn’t matter. Anything.”

The room service menu was on the desk and he glanced down at it. “Fish, steak, or pasta?” he asked.

I twisted my lip. “Pasta, I think.”

“Good choice. I think I’ll have that too. Spaghetti, linguini, or penne?”

“Spaghetti, please.”

“Carbonara, Arabiatta, Bolognese, tomato, aglio olio, or lemon capers.”

I laughed. “Too many choices. I’ll go with the traditional tomato sauce and a meatball.”

His eyes twinkled. “You’re easy.”

“I prefer simple,” I said saucily.

He shrugged and picked up the phone. “Easy.” He winked.

“I’d like to place an order,” Logan said into the phone.

I liked what this was between us. It seemed with our secrets confessed everything was lighter, easier, and dare I say fun.

His harsh tone drew my attention. He was still on the phone. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow, I said, for now, just deliver my order. I’ll pay with cash.” Logan’s voice was gruff and laced with anger as he slammed the phone down.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

He stalked toward the bedroom. “Nothing. I’m going to take a shower before the food arrives.”

Whoa.

Mood change much?

“Logan,” I said, my voice harsh.

He stopped.

“What we just talked about—the figuring out what we are, you talking to me is part of it.”

Even before I finished speaking, he had turned around. He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My grandfather wants me back in New York and to get me there, he’s frozen my accounts. The front desk told me my company credit card was declined earlier today, and now they won’t allow me to charge to my account.”

Not expecting anything like that, I offered, “I have some money if you need it.”

His laugh was dry. “I’ll take care of it. I might have to move to my pop’s until I can talk to my grandfather, but trust me, I’ve got enough not to worry about paying this bill.”

Logan was out of the room before I could respond.

Why is iteverything in life comes with a price? I thought.

Logan didn’t need me to point out which one was Lizzy.

Her red hair gave her away.

While we were eating, he had filled me in about what the day had brought. Like him, I was certain the woman Declan had mentioned had to be my sister. I just wished I knew more.

“It was the only picture I could find,” I told him. I was on my phone searching for other photos of my sister on Michael’s Facebook page—Lizzy didn’t seem to have one—and as far back as I went, I still found only that one picture of her in some group shot with a bunch of people. I had no idea who they were. I found it really odd and it was bothering me.