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“I’m, um, having some trouble.”
Concern pinches his brows when he steps inside the room, hands poised and ready, and I nearly laugh. It’s incredible how much he’s changed, like I’m meeting an entirely new person–and even more incredible is how much I’m starting to like this version of him.
“I need you to take my clothes off.”
Yup. Just throw it out there, why don’t you?
“Unless you’re uncomfortable or something. Totally understand if you don’t want to see my skiddly-doos.”
With a smirk on his lips, he positions himself at my back. “Just what are you hiding beneath those pajamas, Pen?”
I face the mirror fully, thankful it’s thinly fogged enough to hide my answering smile.
“Can you lift your arms for me?”
The question whispers through the hair at the base of my neck where my ponytail has become a balled up, tangled mess.
“I tried before, but I’m really sore.”
When I move to show him, he carefully holds my biceps, keeping me still. “That’s okay. I don’t mind helping you.”
His mouth is close enough to brush my ear when he places a finger beneath the strap of my tank top. Gradually, he tugs the silk material down my arm. “I need to get it over your elbow. This may hurt a little.”
He waits for my subtle nod, but I cry out when I’m forced to bend it through the stretched loop. “Satan’s ass crack. You weren’t kidding.”
“Sorry,” Logan mutters, but it’s wrapped in a silky soft laugh that butters my insides.
“God, I’m so pathetic. Pathetic Penelope.”
“Not true.” I hear the grin in his voice when he says, “You’re loud, maybe a little obnoxious when you want to be, stubborn as hell, of course—”
“Do you have a point?” I grumble.
His fingertips trace beneath the scratches on my back before moving to the opposite strap. He patiently waits for me to give the okay before lowering it, and a deep chuckle warms the top of my shoulder. “You’re far from pathetic.”
“Maybe I’d believe you if you really knew me.”
It’s a weightless jab, but these walls don’t give too easily, no matter how much he’s weakened them.
“Guess you’ve been so busy pretending that you’ve forgotten I know the real you. And you know what? I like the real you.”
An endless stream of flutters free fall in my stomach as the parts of me that crave acceptance, the parts that want to please and be pleased, preen for him.
I bite my lip as he stretches the fabric far enough to accommodate my lower forearm, helping me adjust as he goes. Thick, steamy air glides across my bare breasts when my top slips down my waist and settles at my hips.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My heart slams against my sternum.
Logan’s a tall man. There’s not much a fogged mirror can do to shield me from that, and it definitely can’t hide the quickening cadence of his breaths behind me, or the way his hands suddenly freeze.
His fingertips tease the edges of my naked ribs, and a lightning bolt of arousal spears the center of my thighs, so intense, I groan.
“Are you all right?” he asks deeply, headily, as if struggling for self-control.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I-I don’t think I can get my shorts, though.”
Between several thundering heartbeats, he offers a throaty, “Okay.”
