Taste: A Love Story (15 page)

“Jake is your only friend?”

“Yup and Cotton, but that’s through marriage. Jake is a plumber.”

“That guy in the sweater vest is a plumber?”

“Yup, he gets that look a lot from people, but he’s actually very well respected. Third generation. He likes to tell people he’s a plumber without the coin slot.”

Logan laughed, clearly getting the reference to plumbers’ frequent wardrobe malfunction.

“We met when he came to give me a quote for some work on my house. He also did a lot of work in my backyard, all the plumbing when I was building my . . . I mean . . .”

“Your what?”

“Oh, nothing. I lost my train of thought there for a minute. Anyway, we met when he was working on my house. I love him; he’s family.” Kara walked toward one of the barns. She wasn’t sure where they were going, but her body followed his. She was so aware of his every move that it was almost painful, sort of like she had an itch out of reach and if she could just reach up a little farther . . .

“Why do you only have one friend?” Logan asked, picking up a cup that had been left on the ground and throwing it away.

“My life is complicated.”

Logan laughed. “What, like which car to drive?”

His laughter grew louder and Kara was lost in it. She wanted to touch him, so she did. As soon has her hand made contact with his chest, her control slipped further. She tightened her hand on his shirt.

“You know what you need, Logan Rye?”

“Oh, we’re using last names now. What’s that, Kara Malendar? What is it I need?” He smiled and even though her face was pleasantly numb, the feel of his body, the tilt of his head, and the humor in his eyes, finished her off.

She grabbed his shirt tighter and pulled him into the breezeway of the nearest barn. She was doing this. She was going to show him exactly what he needed, but by the time they were alone, her nerves chased away her fuzzy wine buzz. She chickened out, let go of his shirt, and they stood in the silent barn lit only by the glow of the outside festival.

“Kiss me, Kara.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Stop looking at me like that. I can’t take it anymore. Make your move, or I will.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’m not looking at you any—”

Logan took her arm, and then the other one, and pulled her into him. The words she thought she had were gone and she tried to steady her breath.

“Here’s the thing. You look at me and I like it. I look at you too, but now I want to touch and so do you. It’s stupid, I know that.”

“Why is it stupid?’

“Because I’ll kiss you, taste you, and then you’ll destroy me. You’re like some huge storm that just rolled overhead.”

“Did you just say I’m huge?”

Logan grinned, heated and sexy. He was still holding on to her. “A hurricane—that’s what you are. Beautiful, out of nowhere, cool rains on a hot day, incredible storm. I want a closer look, I want to close my eyes and soak the whole damn thing in, but I should know better. There’s dust and wind. Shit, people get killed in hurricanes.”

Kara had been around smooth talkers all her life, but Logan’s jumbled, breathy words as he ran his hands up her arms, were almost eloquent and he again pulled her closer as if that would somehow give him his next breath. He was so close, pushing her to admit things she wasn’t sure she could. She had far too many people in her life pushing her. At least with Logan, she could push back. She could try.

“I am not a tornado, I’ll have you know that—”

“Hurricane.”

“What?”

“I said you were a hurricane, not a tornado. Big difference.”

“Whatever, I’m not that and while your ego clearly needs its own room right now, I have no intention of kissing you.”

“Suit yourself.” He held the back of her neck, tilted his head.

Her hands went to his chest and clung to him like magnets. She could feel his breath on her skin. His eyes narrowed and the deep gold was mesmerizing. Despite her very best efforts, Kara’s eyes fell to his lips: full, moist, and wanting. Logan seemed to settle in. Was he waiting for her to protest, to slap him? She was going to disappoint him then because she couldn’t move.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

“No.”

Logan smiled and it reached his eyes. What was already sexy became an older, scarier version of familiar. She knew his lips, knew he would take her right out of her skin with the simple slide of his tongue. Kara brought her hands to his shoulders and allowed herself to feel the muscles beneath his shirt. A sigh escaped her lips. She wasn’t closing her eyes; she wasn’t about to be taken.

“You close
your
eyes,” Kara instructed in a tone that almost disguised her racing heart.

Logan licked his bottom lip, smiled, and closed his eyes. She noticed his lashes. They were bleached on the tips. He stood before her rough, worn, and yet a little vulnerable with his eyes closed. He was beautiful and Kara hesitated for a moment as she admired him.

“Exactly how long do you want me to—” Logan’s words fell as Kara gently put her lips on the dip of his neck, the part at the end of the suntanned, corded muscle, and moved toward his shoulder. She could feel his pulse pounding.

“Shhh.” She slid her other hand into his hair, kissed along his stubble-lined jaw, and then found herself at his mouth. The anticipation of his lips was unbearable. It hung in the air between them. She waited one more beat and as her own eyes softly closed, she heard him moan and she was ready to “make her move,” as he’d said. She kissed him and his arm snaked around her waist. Their lips strained and then Logan was taking over, driving the kiss. She let him. She knew better than to interfere.

Unlike most men Kara had dated, Logan seemed perfectly happy to stay in the kiss forever. As he tilted her head for better access, her hazy mind acknowledged that nothing had changed between them. It was as if they had been transported back to Paris, standing in line at the Louvre on their day off, his fingers making tiny circles under the hem of her T-shirt. His hands had driven her so crazy that day. The same hands were now on her face and all she could do was hold on and move with his lips. Her fingers closed around the fabric of his shirt as he gave it his all.
Good Lord, the man could kiss.
Soft and then nipping. He seemed to love lips and tongues, her tongue in particular at the moment. She was about to surrender completely when he pulled back.

“Shit,” he whispered, his lips barely off of her.

Kara’s eyes flew open and she pulled away. In that moment, she demanded that every insecurity threatening to come bubbling to the surface stay right where it was. Maybe he didn’t feel what she felt. Maybe he was just screwing with her for leaving him. What the hell was she doing in a damn barn?

This is not your life
, she reminded herself,
and now you’ve given him the upper hand, genius.

She turned to walk out of the barn and Logan followed. They walked in silence for a few steps, nothing but hay and gravel crunching. She wanted the safety of her car. A full moon lit the entire farm and the crowds began making their way toward the front parking lot. Rows and rows of crops that seemed to go on forever were laid out in front of her as she walked toward the side entrance where she’d parked. It was magical, even though every instinct in her told her to leave. She could smell the smoke from the fires still burning at the festival. Taking off the shirt he had loaned her, she welcomed the shiver of the night air, recognized it as reality.

Still walking, Kara handed the shirt back to Logan. He grabbed her instead and pulled her to the side of the barn.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He kissed her again. This one felt reluctant and then frustrated.

Their eyes met for one quick look, pooled in moonlight, and they went back under. When his hands moved down her back, Kara knew she needed to leave before she made a fool of herself. She yanked free.

“I thought it was shit. Do you often go back for more shit?”

Logan shook his head. “You honestly think I meant that kissing you was shit?”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Shit.’ Not exactly what a girl wants to hear.” Kara pushed the hair out of her face.

“Pretty sure I’m never going to understand you, princess.” He followed her again as she approached the side gate.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“I know you did. Back to the kiss, ‘shit’ can mean a lot of things. It amazes me that someone who prances around like you do needs to have—”

She turned on him, pushed his chest. It didn’t move. “I do not prance.”

Logan lifted his finger to her lips. “A woman who carries herself like you do, as if any man on the planet would be lucky—”

She’d had enough, interrupted him again, and continued walking. She was not going to stand there, moonlight or not, and have one more person tell her who she was and what she was lacking. Logan followed, but gave her space. When they reached the fence, he opened the gate for her and walked the rest of the way to her car. Kara beeped the lock open, took the little purse she was carrying on her wrist, and threw it in the car. She steadied herself and turned to him.

“Goodnight, Logan. Your family’s farm is . . . well, it’s truly lovely. I’ll have some great material to work with for the third piece of the article.”

He nodded and held the door open as she got into her car. She turned the engine and he knocked on her window. She rolled it down.

“Did you put your seatbelt on?”

Kara scrunched her forehead in frustration and pulled the strap across her chest.

“Good. Strapped in. Now, ‘shit’ can mean a lot of things. In this case, in my case, I would have gone with ‘holy shit,’ but forming two words at that moment was damn near impossible.”

Their eyes met and Kara’s breathing eased down from angry.

“‘Shit’ in that situation,” Logan continued, “meant I’m in trouble, or shit I’m on the edge of the storm and I just got knocked on my ass.” He bent down, rested his arms on her window. “I can’t figure you out, Kara Malendar, but kissing you . . . Hell, I could do that for at least a few days straight.”

Kara wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She simply stared at him as he stood and patted the top of her car.

“Night, Kara. Drive safe.” He started to walk away.

“Hey.” She finally found her words.

He turned back, still looking thoroughly kissed in the moonlight, and she smiled.

“You’re shit too,” she said.

Logan let out a full-bodied laugh and Kara realized she liked him—liked who he was as a person. Every part of her body wanted him, and that was wonderful, but above all he was a good man. Before she got out of the car and jumped him again, she drove home.

Chapter Twelve

K
ara knew it was only a matter of time before Jake would want some one-on-one time with Logan. When she reminded Jake that they had just met at the Fall Festival last week, he had countered with, “I know, but that wasn’t good question-and-answer time. Besides Cotton hasn’t met him yet.” The look on his face told Kara there was no point in arguing, which was why they were currently sitting in the large black leather corner booth at The Yard. Logan was busy, but Travis must have given him a breather because he came over to take their order and “chat,” as Jake liked to call it.

“Logan,” Kara said as he approached the table, “you’ve already met Jake, my best friend in the world, and this is his husband Cotton.” All three waited for the usual puzzled look over Cotton’s name, but Logan just came right out with it.

“Cotton, is that a family name?” Logan asked.

Cotton, who was a very tall, slender Southern man, laughed and gave his standard answer.

“According to my parents, I was named after Cotton Mather, who was a minister involved in the Salem witch trials. It’s beautifully ironic that their son grew up to be a gay man, don’t you think?”

Logan laughed and Kara swore it filled the space around them. Maybe her draw to him was rooted in Paris or that kiss or the fact that he was so damn sexy with his disheveled hair and glasses. Maybe it was because of how fun it was to watch him in his element. He seemed tired, but tired was working for him. Kara must have been staring at him while he and Cotton talked farmers markets because Jake cleared his throat. Kara turned to him and he wiggled his eyebrows. She shook her head while Logan and Cotton continued in animated conversation. Jake nodded his “watch this” nod.

“So, Logan”—Jake put his hand on Cotton’s shoulder—“sorry to interrupt, but Kara tells me you two met in Paris?”

Logan hesitated and deferred to Kara for direction, but she gave him nothing. She wanted to see him handle this one.

“Y—yes we did. We were both part of a food and culture exchange program through UCLA.” Logan was polite and probably hoping that would be the extent of the curiosity. If so, he was so very wrong.

“Really, so tell us, is our girl here a good cook? She never cooks for us.”

Kara chewed a bite of her salad that had been delivered amid the conversation and knew exactly where Jake was going.

Logan smiled.

“I like your friends, Kara.” He dropped into a squat so he was level with, and resting his arms on, the table. “Yes,” he answered, this time catching Kara’s eyes. “She was a great cook. She was a natural, especially with the spices. She was always great with spices.”

Kara held his look in a dare.

“Is that so? Spices always seem like the sexy part of cooking. Am I right?” shameless Jake asked.

“Yes, very sexy.” Logan smiled, playing along. “Kara always was pretty sexy.”

Kara should have probably warned him that he was heading into Jake’s trap, but she was looking forward to watching him squirm. Besides, the way he said sexy, the way he looked at her, brought back delicious memories of his mouth kissing hers, his hands on her. There were worse images. Kara sat back and enjoyed her salad.

“So what happened with you two? I mean, I know about Kara’s charade, but why didn’t you call her up?”

And BOOM, just like that Logan needed to check something in the kitchen.

“Maybe you should take it easy on him. Seems like a nice fella,” Cotton said.