Stud for Hire (20 page)

“What do you say we dig in?” Sam said, his voice low and gruff. But a wicked look glimmered in his eye. “And someone get this young lady some of our new chili.”

Ben and Brandon exchanged mischievous grins. “Oh yeah.” They both hopped up and rushed to scoop out a serving of Hank's Eye-Poppin' Chili.

Logan knew what they were up to. It was like a rite of passage in their family, torturing newcomers with the steamiest chili they could find. When he'd tasted Henry Stevens' chili, he'd just known it was perfect for their restaurants, which held chili-eating contests on a regular basis. Half the fun was watching the smoke come out of the greenhorns' ears.

His brothers were bound for disappointment.

As Hanna took a big bite of the chili, they all peered at her with smug smirks on their faces—all of them. Ben, Brandon, and Sam. Rafe, for some reason, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest and just grinned.

“Mmm,” Hanna said. “This is delicious.” She took another bite, one with a clearly visible chili pepper.

They all leaned closer, with bated breath, waiting for her eyes to bug out, her jaw to drop, for tears to stream.

But tears didn't come. No hooting and hollering and desperate pleas for water. She finished her bowl of chili—the chili she'd been raised on, in fact—and shot a sweet smile around the table. “Please sir,” she said to Ben in a cocky cockney accent. “May I have some more?”

“More?” Ben sputtered.

“More?” Brandon burbled.

Sam threw back his head and laughed. He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Oh, she'll do,” he said in an undertone no one else could hear. “She'll do just fine.”

The family stayed forever. As though they knew what Logan wanted to do and were deliberately blocking his action. He could see it in his brothers' eyes, but his mother and father genuinely seemed to want to get to know Hanna better.

Louisa liked her too. She curled up at Hanna's feet, sketching landscapes on a pad she'd brought, and occasionally held them up for Hanna's approval. She made a couple suggestions here and there, but generally praised Louisa for her efforts.

She would be a wonderful mother, Logan thought. She was gentle and kind, but not afraid to dish it out when it was necessary. In fact, once she warmed up to his brothers, she seemed more than capable of holding her own. And taking them down a peg or two.

“I really like her,” his mother whispered to him as she hugged him good-bye.

“I do too,” he whispered back.

“Is she . . .” She glanced over at Hanna who was making Roscoe dance and speak for a hunk of tri tip. “Is she
the one
?”

He knew what she meant. He knew exactly what she meant.

“Yes.” She was the one. The girl for whom he'd put his life at risk. And, if needed, he'd do it again.

As aggravating as this intrusion had been, it proved one thing, once and for all. Hanna fit in his life. She fit perfectly.

His mother rubbed his shoulder. “Good,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I'm glad you found her again.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he said. “And Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you keep them all away for a while?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Logan, Logan, Logan. You know your brothers. What do you think?”

Damn. That wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. Not at all.

***

“I didn't know you had a sister.” Hanna said as they finished cleaning up the dinner mess. She was glad she'd brought staples, but she really needn't have bothered. Her fridge was now brimming with leftovers. Probably not a month's worth . . . but close.

Logan grinned as he put the plates back into the cupboard. “She was a surprise. Mom married Sam when I was seventeen. I was thrilled to have brothers. But then, about a year later . . . Louisa.”

“She's a bundle of energy.”

“She is. A real joy. I know my mom always wanted a daughter to spoil.”

“And does she spoil Louisa?”

“Does she. Sam does too. We all do, probably.” He shrugged. “She's our baby sister.”

Hanna paused in wiping down the table. “I really like your family,” she said in a soft voice. They'd been funny, entertaining, and, even though she had the feeling they were vetting her, she could appreciate it. That they adored Logan, rallied around him when he needed it, was undeniable.

“I like them too.” He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder—it was a good look for him—and tugged her into his arms. “I'm sorry they intruded on your first night here.”

“I'm not.”

He stared down at her. “I am. I had, shall we say, other plans.”

It seemed natural to loop her arms around his neck, to cradle against him. It was not a sexual embrace by any stretch of the imagination, but she liked it. She liked it a lot. “The point of this exercise, as I understand it, is to get to know each other. Correct?”

“Um . . . yes.” It was adorable the way his nose wrinkled.

“Well, I learned a lot about you tonight.” She kissed the underside of his chin.

“Did you?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“And what did you learn, exactly?”

She tipped her head. “Well, I learned that as a boy you didn't make your bed or clean your room as often as you should have.”

He snorted.

“And I learned that it took you fourteen hours of hard labor to come into the world.” She tsked. “Such an uncooperative child.”

His hold on her tightened.

“And I learned that you have one lazy eye. You never crawled . . . just stood up one day and walked. Oh, and you make a wicked tamale pie.”

“You learned all that?”

“Yup.”

Logan huffed out a laugh. “Women do like to talk, don't they?”

“Yes, we do.”

“I feel terribly inefficient. The only thing I learned about you is you like really hot chili.”

“Who doesn't?”

“Excellent point.”

She patted him on the cheek. “Don't feel bad, Logan. It's not a competition.”

“I do . . . want to get to know you better.” He kissed her, just a brush of lips, but it sent a tingle through her.

“There's not much to know.” There wasn't, really. She was boring.

“There's worlds to discover.” His mouth settled on hers again, a leisurely exploration, a temptation, a seduction. She leaned into the kiss, pressed her body fully against his. Something hard and long prodded her belly.

“We have time,” she murmured against his lips.

“Mmm.”

She loved the way he scratched her back as he kissed her, lightly, tentatively. He left sizzling trails in his wake. Then, after a while, he flattened his palm and stroked her. She wasn't sure which she liked the best, but then decided it didn't matter. She liked all of it. She liked everything. About him.

Heat rose between them. His searching hands became more inquisitive, more insistent, skating from her back to her sides, to cup her breasts. “You know what I've been thinking about all evening?” he murmured.

She chuckled as he stroked a nipple. It peaked to his touch. “I think I can imagine.”

“It's been a long time, Hanna.”

“Only a week or so.”

“Too long.” He pressed into her, just the arch of his back, nothing greedy or brash. Just a nudge to remind her of his need. “I want you. I want you pretty bad. But . . .”

She stilled in the exploration of the little curls at his nape. “But?”

“I want to give you time.”

It probably wasn't her best look, gaping at him like that. “Time?”

“You know. To make sure you're ready.”

Oh, she was ready. She'd been ready since this afternoon. Before then.

He loosed his hold on her breasts, his hands making the slow slide to her hips. And he edged her back. Away. The loss of connection made her ache.

“Hanna, despite what it may look like, I didn't bring you here to seduce you on the first night.”

“Who says you're seducing
me
?”

His lips quirked up into a smile. He stroked her cheek and tucked a curl behind her ear. “I'm trying to be a gentleman here.”

“Oh. A gentleman, are we?” Something that tasted like annoyance, impatience with a dash of lust, raked her. She slowly unbuttoned her top button. “Were you being a gentleman when you tied my hands in the barn?”

His throat worked. His gaze zeroed in on her busy fingers. The second and third buttons released. “Hanna . . .”

She leaned closer and whispered, “Or when you smacked my ass?”

His nostrils flared.

“Ooh,” she cooed. “I liked that.” She gave her hips a little swizzle, just for good measure.

“Hanna, you're making this very hard.”

“Am I?” She glanced meaningfully at his crotch and purred, “How hard is it?”

He groaned and scrubbed his face with a palm. “Baby . . . I'm achin'.”

She sidled closer. Pouted her lips. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

He jumped as she palmed him, stroked him, squeezed. But he didn't pull away. In fact, he seemed riveted to the spot. His lashes fluttered. A groan escaped from his throat. “Honey, I can't think when you do that,” he complained.

She slid closer, into his arms. Nibbled his earlobe until he shuddered. “Thinking is overrated.”

“But . . . We need to talk. To get to . . . ah. Jesus, Hanna.”

She grinned up at him. “There's more than one way to get to know each other. And Logan, I have dedicated myself to getting to know you. I want to explore you.”

“You . . . do?”

“Mmm hmm.” She nodded and stroked again. “Every inch.”

***

Holy hell.

How on earth was a man supposed to resist this?

He fully intended to keep his distance—at least sexually—until she had had time to settle in. Until they'd had a chance to get to know each other a little better, re-warm the pot.

But this? This invitation? This demand?

Irresistible.

She stroked him again, teasing the tip through his jeans, and something within him snapped.

Without a word—other than perhaps a feral growl—he whipped her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He hoped it was the bedroom she'd chosen, but frankly, he didn't care.

His cock was hard, thrumming with every ping of his rocketing pulse. His need rode high and he could
smell
her arousal. She wanted him, needed him, with a passion that matched his.

He tossed her onto the bed, a queen, thank the lord. Every other bed they'd shared had been far too small. She bounced a little as she landed. Her curls tumbled over her face. She shook them back and stared up at him like a hungry tigress.

“Unbutton your blouse,” he barked. Swear to God, if she didn't and didn't do it quickly, he was going to rip it off her. Her eyes flared. Her fingers went to work. The little peep of her tongue, bespeaking her enthusiasm, didn't help him retain control one iota. He fisted his hands at his sides. That was about all the control he could manage. “Now the bra,” he rasped as the blouse fluttered to the ground. “And the jeans. I want you naked.”

A shiver walked over her skin. The ripples fascinated him, but not as much as the flesh she exposed as she madly loosed herself from her clothing.

And then, there she was, splayed on the bed, naked. His angel. Her red hair fanned out on the pillows, her pink-tipped breasts standing high. Her belly quivering with excitement.

“Aren't you going to strip?” she asked in a taunting voice.

“Not. Yet.” A growl. All he could manage. “Roll over.”

She blinked. “Roll over?”

“Onto your belly. And don't talk back.”

Oh yeah. He saw it. The lowering of her lids, the flutter of her lashes, the tremble of her lips. He watched, enraptured, as she assumed the role. As she assumed the position he'd commanded.

God, she was beautiful. Body and soul.

He sat next to her and stroked her back; her skin quivered to his touch. It was silky-soft and warm. And, though he was tormenting himself, as well as her, he loved the draw of tension, the sharp bite, the ache of arousal. Because soon . . . soon he would be in her.

“You shouldn't tease,” he said in a dark voice. The darkest he could manage.

She peeped at him over her shoulder, put out a lip. “But I'm good at it.”

A thrill speared him. Oh, she was. She knew what he wanted, needed, as much as he knew what she craved. His hand came down on her ass, hard enough to leave a pink, five-fingered print. She flinched, but there, in her eyes, he saw how much she liked it. Wanted it. Wanted more. So he gave it to her.

Each smack made her writhe and with each smack, her legs parted, just a tad. He couldn't help himself. He allowed one palm to skate over her warm ass and down. She was wet between her legs, wet and steamy. Ready.

Logan clenched his teeth.

God, he'd wanted her. Ached for her. The desire to mount her, cover her, take her, possess her, filled his mind. But he held back.

Not yet, he reminded himself.

Not yet.

Slowly, deliberately, he circled her nub, that hard, swollen bundle of nerves.

She whimpered.

“Do you like that?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How about this?” He found her entrance and teased a finger in. She warbled a moan. Clenched around him. A bolt of lust skewered him. He pulled out and she whimpered, but he didn't give her time to protest. He slid in again, with two. And three.

Her body spasmed as he searched her folds and found it. That tiny spot, so sensitized, so hungry. He stroked her relentlessly as she writhed and gasped and shuddered. He set his hand on her ass, on the still glowing crisscrossed prints of his hands, and held her still as he worked her, played her, tormented her to higher and higher frenzy.

Her body broke. Drenched him. Drenched him in bliss and agony.

All the while she stared at him, over her shoulder, eyes bright and needy, then glazed, then sated.

“Roll over.”

She murmured something, a protest, perhaps. He smacked her bottom, playfully this time.

“Roll over. I want to take you face-to-face.” She did as he requested, though languidly, as though boneless. He stared at her, intently, even as he stripped off his shirt and jeans. By some grace of God, he remembered to fish for the foil packet in his pocket. Ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it on, and then he joined her on the bed. He covered her, but to the side, keeping his weight from her body. Because he couldn't resist, he cupped her breast and bent his head to suck a nipple. Her sigh was beatific.

He lifted his head and caught her dreamy gaze. “Are you ready?” he asked, though he needn't have.

“Logan.” Her response. Her only response, other than shifting her legs farther apart.

He rose above her and fit himself into place. Her heat scorched him, befuddled him. He could barely think, but happily, didn't need to. His body knew what to do.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed in, wheezing as she closed around him in a tight, velvet fist. He intended to go slow. He intended to take her gently. He intended lots of things.

All of them nonsense.

Because as soon as he entered her, all thoughts of a slow and gentle loving fled.

A beast rose within him. A beast determined to take, to possess, to claim her as his own.

Staring into her eyes, he thrust her knees farther apart and plunged in deep. Her lashes fluttered. Her jaw went slack. A noise, something as feral as his own, something from the base of her being, echoed in the small room.