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I giggle, resulting in Logan narrowing his eyes at me. “I agree. He’s a silver fox.”
She leans in and whispers, “Have you seen that Jeffrey Dean Morgan? I’ve become a huge fan of The Walking Dead lately. I’d let zombies chase me just to be saved by that man.”
“Gram,” Logan grumbles, shaking his head. To me, he points and states, “Stop encouraging her.”
“Sorry,” I say with a giggle. “We better get going before the hooligans are out for the night.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “Ross Moore is almost thirty with three kids. I’m pretty sure he’s not sneaking around, terrorizing your rose gardens again.”
“That young man is a menace. He cut all my prize roses,” Bernice bellows, crossing her frail arms over her chest.
“He was seventeen, and I believe he took them to his mother, who was in the hospital.”
“Still. I had to remove my horticulture entry from the county fair. I was a shoo-in.”
Smiling, Logan steps forward and kisses his grandma’s cheek. “Good thing it’s November, and not gardening season.”
“Good thing,” she replies, shaking her head. “Now, go. John Larroquette is waiting.”
As we push through the front door, the cold air slaps me across the face. Winter is knocking on the door, and despite living my entire life in Wisconsin, I’m not ready. The older I get, the more I really dislike the cold months. Of course, the fireplace at the cabin has been pretty amazing these last several weeks.
Perhaps my next home should have a fireplace.
“Night, Gram. Lock up.”
“Yeah, yeah, I will,” she replies as she waves before closing the door and engaging the lock.
Logan takes my hand and leads me to his truck. As I climb inside the cab, I look his way and that familiar buzz of awareness and desire sparks to life. I shift in my seat, the ache between my legs intensifying once more, just from a look. The moment is drawn out, the air growing heavy around us. It’s as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about, maybe because he feels it too.
He leans in and presses his lips to my own in a chaste kiss. “Buckle up.”
With a frustrated sigh, I do as instructed. He closes my door and walks around to the driver’s door, climbing inside. I want to scream in irritation. I’m wound tight and ready to burst. I’m certain he knows, yet he didn’t do any of the things I had hoped. You know, kiss me like his life depended on it or throw me in the back seat and ravish me from head to toe.
We drive to the cabin in silence, and the moment we stop, I have my seat belt released and the door open. Logan hurries to catch up to me, and even though I have a key, I wait for him to use his. By the time I would have dug in my purse and found the right one, he would have the door open and I’d be inside.
When I cross the threshold, I toe off my shoes and leave them by the door. I move into the kitchen and place my purse on the table. My intention is to go straight to bed—and most likely take care of my little problem between my legs.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Yes,” I state, crossing my arms and spinning to face him.
“Why?” he asks, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Because I…” I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat. I have no idea why I’m so emotional all of a sudden. Maybe because of what Bernice had to say while Logan was changing her light bulb. Add in a rush of sexual frustration, and I can’t seem to think straight. Clearing my throat, I lift my chin and reply, “I thought you were going to kiss me earlier.”
He pushes off the doorjamb and slowly makes his way toward me. “I did kiss you.”
My mouth goes dry as his brown eyes turn molten.
“Was that not the kinda kiss you wanted?”
I shake my head.
When he’s standing directly in front of me, he whispers, “How did you want me to kiss you?”
“Like you meant it.”
Logan slides his fingers into my hair and gently pulls me against his body.He tilts my head to the side and brushes his lips across mine. He does this twice before firmly pressing his mouth to my own. His tongue slips out, sliding along the seam of my mouth and coaxing it open. Once I grant him access, his tongue delves inside, tasting and savoring. He never hurries, despite me grinding myself against him in desperation.
