Run the Risk

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly, teasing the skin of his shoulders.

“What?” He ached with lust, but he didn’t think she meant that.

“The sunburn.” She drifted her hand up to his nape, around to his collarbone.

It was such a bold move for her, so unexpected, that he forgot his plan. He caught her wrist, kissed her palm and then flattened her hand against his chest. “Sue?”

She stared at his mouth with yearning. “Your skin is so hot.”

Fuck it. She begged for a kiss, and God knew he wasn’t a saint. In the end, what did it matter if he made his move now or later? One way or the other, she’d be his.

His to enjoy.

And then his to use.

He put his hand around her nape and pulled her in as he leaned forward. At the first touch of his mouth on hers, she made a sound of pleasure, and Logan knew he was a goner.

CHAPTER THREE

COULD ANY MAN TASTE BETTER, smell better, or be more tempting?

Heat poured off him, and Pepper wanted to feel it all over her body. She pictured him working outside, all macho in jeans and heavy boots, the sun on his bare shoulders and chest, and her pulse raced. As his mouth moved over hers, his chest hair drew her fingers again and again. Using care not to exacerbate his sun-kissed skin, she stroked him, carefully, over his shoulders, his chest—and down to his taut abdomen.

Oh, God, she wanted to feel every inch of him.

He made a sound of approval and somehow, at the same time, lowered her to her back on the couch. The plush cushions gave way to their combined weight, and she sank into them.

Having a man’s solid body over her, pressing into her—she’d missed it. So damn much.

Each kiss grew deeper, hungrier, until they were both breathing hard. He had his tongue in her mouth, exploring, and she just naturally twined her own with his.

He ran a hand down her side to her hip, his spread fingers covering a wide path, touching so much of her. He squeezed at her hip with appreciation, and even through her long skirt and underwear, it electrified her senses.

He moved his hand down her thigh until she stiffened, ready to stop him if he took things too far.

Instead, he brought that seeking hand back up her body, up, up, to her left breast.

Before she could think better of it, she arched her back, pressing into his palm, alive with sensation.

He cuddled her, but his movements slowed, became more of a search than a caress.

Lifting his head but staying very close, he said with a touch of confusion, “What kind of bra is that?”

No, she didn’t want reality to intrude. Not yet. Not now. “Sports bra,” she breathed, and took his mouth again.

A very tight, very restrictive sports  bra.

Hoping he might not think too much of it, she caught his wrist and tugged his hand away. Please let me have a little  more.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured, and his hand went back to her waist, this time slipping up under her loose shirt.

Sexual frustration mounted, warring against desperation, against common sense. She knew she had to be strong, but then she felt his rough palm at her waist, at her ribs, and her resistance began crumbling—until a knock sounded on his door.

She jumped, at first alarmed, and then, reluctantly…relieved for the jolt back to sanity.

The pizza delivery boy had saved her, because she hadn’t been strong enough to save herself. She’d take the interruption as a warning—to show more care.

Logan pressed his forehead to hers. His heartbeat rapped against her br**sts, and the tension in his shoulders amplified.

“Rotten timing.” Using both hands, he held her face, his thumbs stroking her jaw, his breath hot. “I don’t suppose you’d want to put off dinner?”

She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d cave. Staring at his left shoulder, she shook her head.

His sigh teased her lips. “All right then. Pizza it is.” As he sat up, he pulled her up, too.

She closed her eyes with stark regret, and when she opened them again, she encountered his intense scrutiny.

His smile went crooked as he tweaked a long hank of her hair. “You are so sweet.” And with that, he left the couch.

Sweet? What was that about? Pepper checked her hair and felt the way her ponytail had come undone. Worse, her top was all displaced, her skirt hiked up on one side all the way to her knee, and she’d lost one slip-on canvas shoe.

While Logan answered the door, she decided to make a hasty exit to right herself. “Excuse me.” She snatched up her shoe and rushed down the short hall into his bathroom. She closed and locked the door.

Get a grip, she ordered herself. But it was oh-so-difficult after those scorching kisses and exciting touches.

A few deep breaths helped a little. She stepped into her shoe, tugged her shirt into place, and moved away from the door. One glance in the mirror over the sink and she winced. Her hair was more out of the ponytail than in it. Hastily, she pulled the band free and finger-combed her long hair back, then resecured it.

She straightened her clothes again, but could do nothing about her aroused flush. Blast her fair skin.

A tap sounded at the door. “Everything okay, Sue?”

“Yes.” Other than unfulfilled lust, she was just peachy. Head down, Pepper opened the door and walked around him, up the hallway and into the kitchen.

He’d already put slices of pizza on plates, set out napkins, and moved their drinks to the table. Surprising her, he pulled out her chair.

Why, oh, why couldn’t he be wearing a shirt instead of flaunting that awesome body? As to that, why couldn’t he be out of shape instead of so ripped? Or unattractive instead of so appealing? Or—