Magic Kiss (Hope Falls Book 11) (23 page)

Ask Logan to facilitate the destruction of her writer’s block.

Between the kiss and the obvious chemistry she and Logan shared, she’d justified that things would most likely naturally progress to the bow-chicka-bow-wow stage and her plan served to speed things up a bit.

A noise that sounded a lot like Logan’s truck caused her heart to fly up into her throat. Her fingers tightened around the wooden railing of the deck as she held her breath. Frozen in place, she anxiously listened for the familiar sound of him pulling into the driveway. She waited, but all she heard were birds chirping and leaves rustling. Then the engine noise faded, indicating that the driver had continued past the cabin.

False alarm.

Emma let out the breath she’d been holding. If she was this nervous about Logan getting home, maybe this was a bad idea.

Yeah. Bad idea felt right.

As she turned towards the house, she caught her reflection in the sliding glass door. After her shower—which, of course, had included shaving, though not rushed this time—she’d blown out her hair, and it was loose around her shoulders. Then she’d put on her favorite lotion and the one and only summer dress she owned over her one and only matching-bra-and-panty set.

Pulling the left spaghetti strap up on her shoulder, she stared at the reflective surface and tried to look at herself objectively. The baby-blue color of the dress complemented her eyes, which were a shade darker. Then she ran her hands down the fitted bodice, stopping just before the flare of the full skirt at her waist. Turning from side to side, she had to admit that the silhouette accented her shape, which her mother had always described—with a fun combination of disdain and disappointment—as an hourglass. The hem hit her mid-thigh, which showcased her legs, and the cut of the bodice displayed a fair amount of cleavage.

Now, she was happy that she’d thrown it in her suitcase when she’d flown to New York. Overpacking for that business trip had been a saving grace in this situation.

She’d bought the dress online from a clothing store in Illinois called Bella two years ago, when she’d decided that it might be a good idea to start dating again. But this was the first time she’d worn it. The designer, Amber Webb, was known for creating pieces that celebrated the female form, and now, Emma knew how she’d attained that well-deserved reputation.

This dress was the perfect combination of sexy and sweet. If there were ever a piece of clothing that would bolster her nerves to face the events she herself had put into motion, this was it. Yet there she stood, shaking like a leaf in her wedge sandals while the butterflies in her stomach had a dance party, disco light and all.

What am I doing?

A sudden realization hit Emma like a slap in the face. This wasn’t a date, and there was the definite possibility that Logan may have changed his mind. It wasn’t like he’d seemed overeager to agree to this plan in the first place. What if he didn’t want to go through with this and she was all dressed up with no one to do?

That would be awkward, and the one thing this scenario didn’t need was more awkwardness.

Change of plans. Instead of waiting there like Logan was her prom date, she would go to her room, throw her sweats on, and pull her hair up, and if he came home and sought her out, then she would know that it was on like Donkey Kong. If he didn’t, then he could back out of their arrangement without them having to have the “it’s not you, it’s me” talk.

Emma opened the slider door. She’d made it halfway across the living room when the front door opened. Then she froze mid-stride and stared at Logan who was playing the role of headlights opposite her portrayal of a deer in this production of
An Awkward Midsummer Night’s Dream
.

“Going somewhere?” Logan’s baritone voice filled the silence as he stepped inside and lifted his aviator sunglasses off his head.

She couldn’t help but notice the round bulge of his bicep on his sculpted upper arm.

Why did this man have to be the epitome of sexy?

Why did everything he say sound so sensual?

Why did his lips taste so good?

Why did the feeling of being in his arms have the effect of feeling safe and dangerous at the same time?

It really wasn’t fair. In the last six years of being single, Emma had scoped out the playing field. She hadn’t exactly gotten into a game, but she knew the players and their stats. Men like Logan just didn’t exist. Even in her books.

“Emma?” He took a step closer, his brows knitting as his eyes narrowed on her with the laser focus that made her feel like he could see her soul. “Are you leaving?”

“Oh…I was just…” Clearing her throat, Emma moved her feet together so that she didn’t look like she was participating in a game of freeze tag. “I was going to go change.”

“Change?”

“Yeah. I was going to put sweats on.”

Start walking!
her inner voice screamed. But she was trapped. Trapped in the milk-chocolate gaze that held her in place like a beam of light from a ray gun in a science fiction movie.

At a knock on the door, he turned his head. She would’ve stayed there, frozen in time, the entire night if Logan hadn’t looked away. The second his stare was no longer directed at her, her feet heeded her earlier command. Putting one in front of the other, she made it to her room even though her legs were as wobbly as wooden pieces at the end of a Jenga game.

She could hear Logan’s voice as she closed her door. She had no idea who was at the door, but the high-pitched voice told her that it was a female. His string of admirers had slowed somewhat since she’d shown up, but they still trickled in. Honestly, it didn’t matter who it was. All that mattered was that they’d given her the opportunity to execute her Plan B. Hide in room. In sweats.

If Logan showed up at her bedroom door, great. If not, fine. They could both forget this whole thing. It would be business as usual. No harm, no foul.

Her internal pep talk was working as she reached behind her back and tried to grasp the zipper. She couldn’t get it from that angle, so she tried over the shoulder. No go. How she’d been able to zip it up in the first place was a mystery, since she couldn’t seem to reach it to do the opposite.

“I’m so stupid,” she mumbled to herself, growing more and more agitated. “Why did I think I could do this? Like I can pull this off. Yeah,
real
sexy.”

“Need some help?”

Spinning around, she saw Logan casually leaning against the doorframe. His athletic body filled the space and sent shocks of tingles exploding in her like popcorn in the microwave.

“Who was at the door?” she asked, trying to ignore her internal pop, pop, popping.

Shrugging one shoulder, he said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t ask their names.” He pushed off the door and walked towards her, his long legs carrying him across the room in two powerful strides.

A breath away, he was so close that a feather wouldn’t fit between their bodies. With bare feet, Emma was at least a foot shorter than Logan, and even in four-inch wedges, she had to tilt her chin up and let her head fall back to make eye contact.

Her heart pounded rapidly as she slowly moved her stare up over his muscular chest, past his strong neck, over the panty-melting five-o’clock shadow that covered his jaw. She paused only for a moment on his full and luscious lips before finally reaching his coffee-colored gaze.

Every single nerve in her body felt like it was raw and exposed. She was shaking with awareness as the air between them crackled with electricity.

She had no idea what was going to happen, but her body was certainly enjoying the anticipation.

‡

“T
urn around,” Logan commanded roughly.

A shiver of lust ran through her, flooding her with desire. Without hesitation, Emma pivoted on her heels, her shoulder brushing his hard chest.

For a moment, he didn’t move. But she could feel his heavy breath on her shoulder, the heat radiating off his body. There was a buzzing in her head that was accompanied by the audible thumping of her heart. Inhaling to steady herself, she only spiked her arousal further when the woodsy, clean scent that was uniquely Logan’s filled her senses, making her want to bury her nose in his throat just like she had all of those years ago in her kitchen in Seattle.

When the brush of work-roughened fingertips swiped across the back of her neck as her hair was moved to one side, she sucked in an audible breath. From just one featherlight touch, her core contracted and her body shook with need. She had to lock her knees so they didn’t buckle under the weight of her arousal.

The reverberation of her zipper being pulled down like an erotic soundtrack was the next thing that registered in her lust-addled brain. Then the crisp evening air drifting into the room through the open window spread on her now bare back.

Her mind was racing. Were they really going to do this? Was this really going to happen? Were they really about to have sex?

As she waited for the answers to materialize, she noticed that her chest was rising and falling in heavy pants. Maybe she should’ve been embarrassed that she was this affected and all Logan had done was unzip her dress, but since she needed to commit every second of this encounter to memory—for research, of course—there was no room in her brain to process humiliation. She could be shy and awkward tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted to fully immerse herself in the situation.

Instead of thinking, she focused fully on
feeling
. She let go and stopped trying to analyze what was about to happen. In a move that was very unlike her, she consciously gave complete control to the man standing behind her.

For so many years, she’d had to be the one making every decision, driving every action, responsible for every outcome. She’d not only been the captain of the ship, she’d been the crew as well. Tonight, she was handing the wheel over and allowing Logan to steer her wherever he wanted to go.

His finger trailed from the base of her neck, down her spine, to her lower back in an unhurried pace. Then, with just as much leisure, it moved back up again. Before she’d caught her breath from the rush of wild need that had assaulted her senses from his exploratory touch, his hands trailed across and over her shoulders, taking the straps of her dress with them. The soft fabric slipped down her body with ease and fell to the floor.

She stood perfectly still—other than the rise and fall of her breasts heaving. Her legs, which had been wobbly before, now felt like she was attempting to stand on noodles, and she was afraid they wouldn’t hold her for much longer. All of her strength was absorbed by heightened stimulation.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Logan whispered reverently against her ear before pressing his lips on the sensitive skin below her lobe.

At the crash of passion his kiss had ignited, her fear was realized and her legs crumbled beneath her. Before she fell even an inch, Logan’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. His hold pinned her body against his, supporting her while his mouth worked magic, peppering openmouthed kisses up and down her neck.

She closed her eyes as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, luxuriating in the sensations cresting through her body. His large hands spread across the bare skin of her stomach, tugging her even closer to him, and his jean-covered, rock-hard erection pressed firmly against her backside. Tilting her hips, she rolled her body against his thick, steel member as her hands reached up and gripped his biceps, her fingers digging into the muscles she’d been drooling over since she’d arrived.

When one of his hands moved past her hip, she opened her eyes to watch its progress. The stark contrast between his tan skin and the fair skin of her lower belly, was truly an erotic picture. But what was even more erotic was seeing and
feeling
his fingers slip beneath the waistline of her silk panties.

“Open your legs,” he rasped.

With her left leg, she stepped as far as she could, but her progress was stopped by the dress that was pooled at her feet. Just as she was about to lift her foot and rid herself of the constraint, Logan’s fingers dipped down between her legs, brushing over her distended nub, and she cried out as pleasure radiated from his touch.

“Mmmm, so wet,” he murmured huskily as he slid his fingers easily along the seam of her opening, touching her with gentle authority.

Her body contracted against his touch as a pleasure built in her belly.

“That feels so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” she pleaded as his fingers continued to intimately stroke her.

Every cell in her body felt alive with roaring urgency. Just because she hadn’t been with anyone in six years didn’t mean she didn’t know her body. She did. And her pleasure train was definitely on the track for a head-on collision at Orgasm Junction.

A sting of disappointment twisted in her heart at that realization. His masterful touch felt so good that it was almost
too
good. She didn’t want this feeling to be over, and although she’d written plenty of heroines who’d been able to achieve multiple orgasms, she’d never been able to make it into that particular club.