“That's normal enough. Your father didn't spank you?”
She shook her head. “He moved out before I turned eight.” Because she and her mother were fat and boring. Without thinking, she pushed Logan's hand away from her face.
His eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you physically?”
“I said no, didn't I?” She edged her hips sideways to turn more away from him.
With a grunt of exasperation, he used one heavy hand to flatten her on her back. “It was verbal, then. What did he say?”
“Listen, Logan,” she snapped. “I want to sleep, not play psychobabble games, okay?”
“Skinny,” he murmured. “I remember. Your daddy preferred skinny.”
She gasped, his words sliding like a knife into her heart.
“Uh-huh.” He wrapped an arm over her, sliding her more tightly against his warm body. His hand squeezed her hip gently. “Becca, your father was a blind asshole. I like you just like this.” He chuckled. “And I really like spanking curvy bottoms.”
The pain still lingered, but she relaxed slightly into his warmth. “Why did you ask me about spanking? Did you think I'd be pleased?”
“Sometimes physical or even mental punishment can revive old problems. You reacted like a pissed-off woman. I didn't see anything deeper, aside from you getting turned on.” His grin flashed. “But I might miss something important. And you need to learn to talk about your reactions, pet.”
He'd watched her that closely? Then again, why should she be surprised? He always did. She pursed her lips as something he said registered. “I wasn't turned on.”
“Oh, yes you were, or I wouldn't have been able to take you from behind without a whole lot more work.”
When his eyes crinkled, she could feel the heat in her face. God, turned on by a spanking? “That doesn't seem right.”
“People are all different.” He grinned. “I enjoyed putting you over my knees and walloping your soft ass. Watching it turn pink and feeling you squirm.” His hand brushed over her breasts, making her aware of how her nipples had peaked. “I could have chosen a different punishment, but I wanted to know how you react to pain within a sexual context.”
She glared at him. “Pain is pain.”
He pinched her nipple, and she felt the sting shoot straight to her core.
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Not exactly.”
Her face had flushed pink, her eyes dilating. What he wouldn't give to teach her more about pain and pleasure. And he wanted to delve deeper into those problems with her self-image, apparently originating from her asshole father. But he had no right to take this further.
In fact, considering his exhaustion, he should leave right now before he fell asleep. “I'm going to check something downstairs.”
Her hand slipped from his waist down his front, then wrapped around his rapidly reviving cock.
Talking about spanking her had definitely been a mistake.
Her soft pink lips curved in a smile. “Permission to assault, Sir?” she asked in a throaty voice. In a smooth move, she pushed him onto his back and wiggled on top of him, keeping her ankle raised. Opening her legs to straddle him, she slid down until her soft pussy pressed against his cockhead.
Rebecca awoke snuggled up against Logan's side with his arm wrapped around her. The time on the bedside clock glowed red in the dark room. Five in the morning. Not long until dawn. Not long until she needed to get into Matt's car and leave this place. And Logan.
God, she didn't want to leave. Not like this, with no plans to see him again.
Why did she feel this way? She certainly wasn't in love with him. No way. Not after knowing him less than a week.
Besides he would fail her perfect man list within the first few requirements.
Number one: smart. Well, okay, he passed that one.
Number two: liked the city. She wrinkled her nose. Maybe she shouldn't count that, considering her second thoughts about the city.
Then she probably needed to also drop the professional requirement. Besides, a business owner, whether deep in the wilderness or not, was a professional.
What did it say about her, though, that his strength gave her thrills? That she wanted him to tie her to a bed and do things to her? Heat slid through her veins, pooling in her lower half as if to illustrate the point.
Sheesh.
Come to think of it, he hadn't been a macho pig when they worked together on the trail. He obviously enjoyed arguing with her and conceded easily when she had a better idea. And in the games they played that afternoon, he hadn't acted as if she didn't have a brain.
Dominant in the bedroom; the rest was negotiable
. All right.
She scowled. He certainly didn't dress well, and he probably didn't like Chinese either. As if either really mattered, dammit. So why wasn't this overbearing, macho man asking her to stick around or to visit, or making plans to come and see her? He sure acted as if he liked her.
She bit her lip as butterflies made loop-de-loops from her stomach up into her throat. If he wouldn't say something, she would.
“Shhh, it's just a nightmare.”
Logan froze. He didn't move as the stench of sweat and blood and gunpowder drifted away, as screams faded from his hearing. Eventually he could hear the quiet breathing of someone next to him and his own rasping breaths. His hand wasn't in a fist but grasped a curvy hip. “Becca?”
A low laugh. “I never thought anyone's nightmares could be worse than mine.”
She had no idea.
Her hand stroked his chest, and she snuggled closer. “Logan. Sir. I was thinking. We're good togeth—Uh, I really like you, and maybe… I'm leaving, but I'd like…I'd like to see you again. Maybe come back here or—”
“No.” The word ripped out of him, born from the bloody haze still streaking his vision. He hadn't hurt her this time. What of the next? He sat up, dislodging her. “Becca…” He scrubbed his face with his hands—brutal hands that could kill, maim, shatter. “Our time together. I enjoyed it. But it's over.”
The cutoff breath was all he could detect of her distress, and he didn't want to see or hear more. Thank God for darkness. He had too much pain welling up inside him to take on hers as well. “Go home, city girl. Go back to your life.”
He rolled out of bed, not bothering to grab any clothing. He'd spend the rest of this god-awful night on Jake's couch and somehow manage to give her a gentler good-bye in the morning.
When the door closed behind him, Rebecca didn't move, just stared into the darkness. The candles had died while they slept.
Her side that had pressed against him slowly cooled. As his scent faded, a tear rolled down her cheek. She'd tried, dammit. She'd been a brave fucking woman and put herself on the line. And he'd shot her down cold.
Her stomach hurt, and her chest felt so squeezed by the pain that she could barely find air to cry. She wiped her face with her hands, not that it helped, considering more tears kept coming. She rolled over in the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and simply cried.
She didn't love him. No, of course she didn't. But he hadn't wanted her at all. Not even enough to speak politely. Obviously, she'd just been a convenient weekend…fuck. And after four days, he'd probably gotten bored.
She was boring. And fat.
Her stomach twisted, and she swallowed against the surge of nausea. Everything he'd said about liking her—liking her appearance—probably meant nothing. Actions counted. Did she see him here now?
Sobs hiccupped out of her as she dressed. She welcomed the pain in her ankle, something real and physical, able to overwhelm for at least a second at a time the ache in her chest. Grabbing her nightgown, she looked around the room. Nothing of hers left here.
And yet her heart leaped when she did hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The door opened, and Matt's face appeared. When he saw her, he frowned. “You okay, babe?”
Her hands clenched, fingernails biting into her palms as she made herself smile. “I'm fine,” she said lightly. “Just having a moment. My period must be due.” Just because she'd kill any man using PMS as an insult didn't mean she wouldn't use it when she wanted to.
“Oh. Okay.” Matt ran his hand through his hair and gave her a concerned smile. “Jake let me up here so I could help you down the stairs. Are you ready to go, or do you need a minute?”
Yes. There were reasons she had considered Matt perfect. And Logan really, really wasn't. She pulled in a breath, feeling her chest quake, and put weight on her ankle until the need to cry passed.
No more tears
. “I want to go home now.”
* * * * *
Hours later, when the sunlight came in the window far enough to hit the couch, Logan woke. He took a fast shower, skipped shaving, and headed downstairs. Thor rested by the fire on a pile of blankets. Logan stopped to check him. The gash on his paw looked clean. “Idiot dog,” he said, tugging on Thor's scruff.
He nodded at the three swingers lingering over breakfast in the dining room and walked into the kitchen. Somehow, he'd have to explain to Rebecca why there would be no visits. The thought of telling her—anyone—about his nightmares turned his stomach. Maybe she'd just accept a simple “weekend is over.”