Logan drew closer. Jessica pretended to brush wrinkles out of her shirt. The memory of their kiss made her want to bolt, but she wasn’t sure in which direction—toward or away.
Logan grabbed the metal bar at the top of the fence. His sweat-stained shirt was old and thin, and gaped around the arms enough for his hair-covered chest to peek out. She swallowed and took in a shuddery breath that didn’t satisfy her sudden need for oxygen. The intensity of her attraction for him knocked her off-kilter every time they met.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Jessie.”
A breeze stirred at her back, swirling around her knees and tossing her hair—the universe’s gentle nudge forward. She obeyed and curled her hands over the fence between his. She wasn’t petite. Yet between his hands, hers looked delicate, and a foreign awareness of all her curves and edges had her shifting on her feet.
“You’re in really good shape.” Why did the most inane things pop out of her mouth around him? She forced her lips together before she could espouse further on the perfect symmetry of his butt. Yet even through her embarrassment, the urge to lean forward and lick across the taut, sweat-dampened skin of his biceps was strong. “I mean … I suppose you have to stay in shape to keep up with them.” The hand she swept toward the field happened to brush his upper arm. The muscle jumped.
His smile was bemused. “Jeb told me your car will be good as new on Friday. You going to head home or what?”
His fingers spread open. My God, his hands were huge. A cut scored the back of one, white and nearly healed.
Home. Head home.
Her thoughts moved as slow as molasses during a cold snap.
He continued. “I heard tell Lilliana’s been supplying you with books.”
A laugh covered the confusion running rampant through her unsteadily beating heart. “Have to find something to do to pass time in this backwater town.”
His expression shuttered. “Yeah, Falcon’s not as exciting as Richmond or Atlanta, I guess.”
No doubt, Logan would be happy to see her gone. What had she done except complicate his life? “You don’t have to worry about me hounding you over the job offer.”
“Did you decide I was a lost cause?”
“Deep down, I knew that from day one. No, I quit my job. I’m no longer employed by Montgomery Industries.” She let out a long, slow breath. Saying it to him made it feel more real than when she’d hit send on her resignation letter. A seed of panic sprouted in her chest, its tendrils wrapping her lungs tight.
Silence skipped between them. “Hold up. Are you telling me you’ve given up chasing your dream job? Why?”
Is that what she’d done? Given up? Nervous fingers tried to tuck hair behind her ear in an old, now useless, gesture. “Not given up. Deferred.”
“Has this got something to do with me?”
How to answer? Certainly, if she’d never come to Falcon and met him, she would still be clocking in and out at the Montgomery Industries offices in Richmond. But admitting it gave him too much insight. Instead, she laughed again, but it sounded forced and brittle to her ears. “That’s an incredibly arrogant question, Mountain Man.”
He opened his mouth to say something else, but a sharp whistle cut from the pavilion.
“Dangit, I have to meet with the defensive line.” He gave her one last defense-battering glance before jogging toward the pavilion. Only when he disappeared did she turn around.
Robbie Dalton and Darcy were whispering to each other, his hand cupped around her neck and her hand gripping his arm. The intimacy and sweetness of the moment made her heart cramp, and she kept her face averted until she located a fake smile to plaster on her face.
Logan busted through the double doors of the practice pavilion, his heart stuttering as if he’d sprinted the short distance. Quit? What did it mean? Was she sticking around or was she already packed?
Her jab about Falcon had hit him where he was vulnerable. No doubt, someone used to cities would consider Falcon a podunk backwater. And even though he loved Falcon, the closeness sometimes made him break out in hives. The claustrophobia was one reason he escaped to the endlessness of the woods. The squirrels didn’t get into his business.
He had dated several women around town, but never with any intention of settling down. He gave them a good time, in and out of bed, and that’s where it had ended. No bitter aftertaste marred those simple relationships.
One of the girls he’d dated married a podiatrist and another settled down with a college professor in Tuscaloosa. None of them had ever tried to tie him down with marriage. It had seemed a perfect arrangement, but one day the truth had hit him like a news flash. Those women had been using him in the same way he’d used them, and the knowledge oddly hurt.
Between football and opening Adaline’s, he’d been too busy to think about being lonely. But, after setting up a routine and putting together a trustworthy staff, Adaline’s was coasting along with only the occasional hiccup. He had been coasting too, until Jessica Montgomery landed in Falcon and woke his sleeping dragons. She frayed the edges of his fierce independence and left an ache.
He would have never pegged Jessica Montgomery as his type, but maybe he’d outgrown good-time party girls. Maybe a serious, intelligent woman with a sharp tongue and a depth of vulnerabilities was exactly his type. But would he have the chance to find out?
He rounded the corner, and at the end of the long corridor that led to Dalt’s office, he saw Scott and Hunter, the backup quarterback, fighting, throwing weak punches as they wrestled, emitting soft grunts. Scott had fifty pounds easy on the skinny backup and was clearly in control.
“Break it up.” Logan’s voice echoed off the concrete as he quickstepped toward the boys.
Hunter looked up with big eyes and stopped moving. Scott drew his fist back and punched him in the gut. Hunter crumpled and curled up on the floor with a low moan.
Logan pushed Scott against a wall before the boy’s foot could make contact with Hunter’s rounded spine. “What’s going on here?”
Scott’s face was flushed, his mouth twisted into a hate-tinged smile. He was close enough to nudge Hunter in the shoulder with the toe of his athletic shoe. “Nothing. Right, Hunter?”
Hunter coughed and sat up, his arms draped over his knees. “Right.”
Scott tried to break free, but Logan pressed his forearm against his collarbone, keeping him against the wall. Scott’s false smile fell, and Logan could tell the boy was contemplating escalating things.
“Hunter, you skedaddle so Scott and I can have a word in private, will you?”
Once Hunter had turned the corner, Logan released Scott and stepped back to lean against the opposite wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your entire attitude has changed since last year, and not for the better. There’s a fine line between playing aggressively and drawing unsportsmanlike flags on the field. You’ve been walking that line since summer practice started, and now it’s spilling off the field. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
In juxtaposition to Logan’s stance of contained aggression, Scott paced, clenching and unclenching his hands, lasering his gaze into Logan. “I want to play college ball. I’ve been working hard to get stronger, play tougher. Coach Dalton said I was going to start.”
Logan laid a hand on the boy’s upper arm, stopping his frenetic pacing. “I’m glad you earned a starting position, but I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t. You’re not my daddy.” Scott jerked out of Logan’s hold and stalked away.
Logan stood in the empty hallway a long time. He might not be Scott’s daddy, but he’d figure out what the hell was going on, whether the truth came from Scott or not. But right now, selfishly, his thoughts were consumed with Jessica Montgomery.
It slowly dawned on him that she hadn’t answered his “incredibly arrogant” question. Not really. Did her quitting have anything to do with him? If so, what did it mean? What did he want it to mean? None of the questions had good answers.
He pulled out his phone and bribed Brian, Adeline’s manager, with a bottle of the most expensive whiskey behind the bar to cover the dinner opening without him.
Three hours later, Logan stood at Hancock House’s front door. Lights were on and a pulsing bass line drifted outside. He rang the doorbell and waited, silently castigating himself. He should have called. He rocked on his feet and hit the doorbell again. Either it was broken, which considering the condition of the house was a possibility, or they couldn’t hear over the music.
He tried the door, not surprised to find it unlocked. Following the music into the kitchen, he stopped short in the doorway. Jessica faced away from him, barefoot and swinging her hips to the beat. Yoga pants molded the curves of her butt and thighs.
Blood rushed south, leaving him slightly dazed. She turned with a margarita glass held high, her eyes closed, her body shimmying. Her red tank top scooped low, her nipples peaked slightly against the cotton. He took a deep breath to keep from throwing her over his shoulder and stealing her away like a caveman.
Her eyes opened into his, and she straightened, some of her drink sloshing to the floor. A stiff, self-conscious stance replaced the sensual ease of her dance.
“Hi.” His voice cracked like a fourteen-year-old’s, and he cleared his throat. “I rang the doorbell.”
“Hey, Logan.” Lilliana emerged from the mudroom, side-eying them on her way past. “I left my book upstairs. I’ll catch you two later.” Logan ignored the teasing amusement in her voice.
“Do you want to have dinner with me?” The words poured out of him. Jesus, he was actually nervous. “Have you eaten? I didn’t even think…”
“No. I haven’t, but…” She ran a hand over her makeup-free face and through her sexy, tousled hair. Gesturing over her tank top and yoga pants, she said, “I can’t go out like this.”
His gaze roamed down her body again. “You look pretty enough to me.” A vast understatement. “But if you want to change, I’ll wait.”
She stared into his eyes. He tensed, waiting for her decision. More than dinner seemed to hang on her answer. If her interest had been purely business, she would throw him a lame excuse or, more likely, a cutting rejection. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll just be a sec.”
Satisfaction tinged with relief loosened his shoulders. She slipped past him to run up the stairs. He expected her to take her time, make him wait, but not ten minutes later, she was at the top of the stairs in the simple skirt she’d worn during their kiss and a tight pink shirt with black stilettos. As she got closer, he forced his gaze off her legs and up to her eyes like a gentleman, even though inside he felt like a damn animal.
“You look beautiful.”
Her gaze skittered up to the old-fashioned crystal chandelier, and she fingered the hair at her neck, clearly not comfortable with either him or his compliment. “Thanks.”
They stepped out onto the porch, and he took a deep breath. The still-hot air did little to dampen his lust. He was at the bottom of the steps when he realized she wasn’t at his side.
“What is
that?
” She stood at the top and pointed at his black Porsche 911 as if it were an alien spacecraft.
“It’s my car.” He’d bought the wrecked car at a salvage auction. Six months of blood and sweat and imaginative cursing followed. After overhauling the engine block, fixing the cosmetic damage, and repainting it, he’d taken it on a satisfying test drive to the beach. His truck was reliable, useful, practical; his 911 was temperamental, fast, fun.
“It’s a Porsche, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yep.” He opened the passenger door and gestured her down.
She burst into husky laughter. A snicker or giggle had snuck out of her a few times around him, but this was true laughter. The kind that brought tears to her eyes. Even though he wasn’t in on the joke, he smiled, enjoying the sight.
Her laughter turned gaspy as she slipped into the seat. “The irony is astounding.”
“What do you mean?” he asked after he joined her, the engine purring on its start.
“Why don’t you drive this car around town?”
“I only bring out it for longer trips and when—” He cleared his throat.
Laughter spilled out of her eyes. “When you’re looking to impress?”
He changed gears and glanced over. “Is it working?”
“You’re doing all right. Are we going to Adaline’s?”
“Nope. My place. Hope that’s okay. I’m a pretty decent cook, you know.” He covered his nerves by waggling his eyebrows and grinning like a fool. More husky laughter bubbled out of her.
“What are we having? Squirrel soup?” She shifted toward him and crossed her legs. The car bumped off smooth pavement and kicked up gravel on the shoulder.
Logan snapped his eyes back to the road and corrected their trajectory. Real fucking romantic to plow them into a tree because he couldn’t take his eyes off her legs. His neck grew hot.
She shifted again, the cotton skirt riding to mid-thigh. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. The woman was trying to get them killed.
He parked in front of his house and walked around to open her door. Of course, she had it open and had swung her legs around by the time he got there. Miss Independent. He held out both hands. Her fingers slid over his palms, and she tilted her head back and smiled.
His stomach swooped. The troubles and stress she’d packed from Richmond had vanished from her face. Her smile lit her from the inside. He wanted to pull her up and into his arms. Not to kiss, but in an attempt to capture the fleeting moment.
Her smile faded. “Is something wrong?”
“Not a thing.” He helped her up and kept hold of one of her hands, tugging her around to the back door. “Bluebirds are nesting in the front porch light. Don’t want to scare them.”
The funny look she gave him was wiped away with her astonishment. She pulled her hand free to admire the enormous tea rose bush at the base of the back stairs. “It’s amazing.”
He fingered a red flower. “Ada planted this when I was six from a cutting of a bush my great-grandfather tended. I took a cutting from this one and planted it at the restaurant. A Wilde blessing.”