Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“And be careful of the paparazzi.”
“Loitering outside a community center?”
“Maybe somebody will spot you and call in a tip. It’s happened before. Just be careful.”
Once Bryce has hung up, I sit back, waiting for Lucy to arrive.
She must sense something is off about this.
Does she think I want to meet her here, in private, so we can get her application going?
I try to tell myself that is why we’re here…it’s why I’m here.
Not to pull down those jeans, revealing her beautiful round ass. Not to slide my fingers into her hot needy core, deeper and deeper, until she starts to shiver and cream all down my hand.
Not to kiss her, fuck her, and tell her we belong together.
None of that.
It’s like Bryce said.
I need to hold myself back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lucy
Logan steps from his car as I walk into the parking lot; my body is covered in a fine layer of sweat from the bus. I can feel my summer dress sticking to my thighs and chest especially.
I should’ve brought another change of clothes with me.
But it’s too late now.
Logan walks over, his stride confident, looking nowhere near as flustered as I am. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt, letting me see a glimpse of his rock-hard chest. His hair catches the sun as we meet at the door, Logan towering over me, looking down with a gentle smirk on his lips.
“Hello again,” he says.
His voice causes warm shivers to move down my back, over my skin, making me feel more sensitive than I have any right to. Physically sensitive, like he can caress me with sentences or how a single breath could make my clit burn.
“Hey.” Pushing those thoughts away – or trying and failing – I smile up at him. “Sorry… I mean, I’m oh-so apologetic I’m late.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, all business. His demeanor seems surface-level, restrained.
It could be that I was right before when I thought he felt bad for oversharing.
Maybe he wants to reset. Maybe all that talk yesterday meant nothing.
“You’re not,” he says. “But thanks for trying to not use the S-word. Shall we head in?”
“Sure. I’m dying for the AC.”
I grab the front of my dress, flapping it back and forth to generate some cold air. I do it a couple of times, then realize Logan’s staring at me, the surface-level shield gone.
His jaw is tight. His brown eyes don’t look haunted or disinterested.
He looks hungry. For me.
Only me.
I let my hand drop. His eyes flit to my breasts and cleavage, and an unmistakable sense of triumph overwhelms me.
There’s something there. Attraction, at the very least, even if he doesn’t want everything I do.
He walks ahead of me, unlocking the door and gesturing me into the lobby.
As I walk by him, his heat leaps from his muscled alpha body to mine.
It’s like our bodies are roaring at each other. Mine’s screaming, and his is booming like a war drum.
Closing the door behind us, he walks beside me, his hand trailing across my arm. I’m not sure if it’s by accident, but the sensation makes my panties even stickier and not with sweat.
Fantasies from last night return to me when I imagined him in my room, in my bed, his big fingers pressing against my sex, pushing it deep, knowing exactly what to do, how to make me crazy.
Because I won’t know….
We walk into the main hall where he gave his speech the night we met. It’s empty now, all the chairs and tables tucked away.
“There’s an office upstairs,” he says. “Next to the bedroom.”
I pause, and he turns, a smirk on his face.
“It’s a small room for support when people want to stay overnight.”
“Oh,” I say, laughing dully. “For a second, Mr. Locke, I thought you were going to be inappropriate with me.”
“It would be, wouldn’t it?” he goes on, his voice gruff, deep. “Look at me, hair as gray as….”
“I think of it as silver,” I cut in.
He tilts his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
It’s because it’s not gray, not really.
It’s silver like the moon. It’s a powerful color, not faded at all, not old.
“The point is,” he goes on, “you don’t need to worry about an old man jumping your bones.”
“You’re not old,” I say. “Forty-one, it’s mature, experienced, but not old.”
“Still, age gaps can be difficult.”
He’s speaking in an ironic way. After a moment, I realize I’ve been doing the same. It’s like we’re skirting around this topic, almost like it’s a joke, but slowly I’m starting to think he’s not joking.
I know I’m not.
“It doesn’t bother me,” I tell him honestly. “Not even a little bit. I hate immature boys my age. They’re so….”
Not you, I almost say.
Logan steps forward, capturing me in his gaze.
“So what?” he prompts.
I shake my head, words suddenly lost to me, when he moves even closer.