Page 18 of Winter’s Fire

Everything.

Images collided and crashed through her mind, memories of her research on the resort, where this man would take her just a few days from now. Take her. Oh, how that phrase was open to interpretation…

“Kiss me again… please.”

God, she could devour him, as if he’d never been the annoying thorn in her flesh at work. She wanted him with a ferocity that defied all logic.

Even though they were in public, only the exaggerated, disapproving tutting of an elderly lady, passing by with her husband, succeeded in tearing her mouth from his.

“Oh, leave them be, Bren. We were like that once.”

Lucy bit her lip in an effort not to chuckle at the gentle reproof.

As for Logan, his mouth was clamped firmly shut, but the look of humour in his eyes revealed his true reaction. It lent him a youth that took him a million miles away from the aggressive pain in the arse who’d greeted her a short time ago. Lucy let her forehead fall against his chest, using the movement as cover while she took a minute to regain at least a little control.

“Come on—let’s walk.” He offered her his hand. “There are things we need to discuss.”

Chapter 6

If he’d thought last night was bad, it had nothing on the way Lucy was affecting him now.

A lack of sleep had given rise to the foul mood with which he’d greeted her that morning. He’d blamed her for his restlessness, even though she’d been miles away across the city. Tonight, she was just feet away, and try as he might, Logan couldn’t escape the memory of how sweet she’d tasted when he kissed her, and the thought of how many more of those kisses it would take to satisfy the hunger that had taken hold of him ever since.

He might kiss her forever and never be satisfied.

A glance at his watch confirmed how long he’d been awake, and the dents in the pillow told their own story of frustrated punches. Inner turmoil was tying him in knots.

He wasn’t supposed to be fixated on the damned woman like this. Hell, she was his worst nightmare, yet here he was, within a fucking hair’s breadth of all-out obsession.

Damn it, he should have arranged for another Dom to train her, someone like Alex Lombard. Until he’d fallen into the tiger pit of wedded bliss with his stunning sub, the man had had a rep for being one of the best—if not the best—trainers in the club.

Hindsight was a fucking wonderful thing. That horse had already bolted, so Logan was stuck with the teaching gig. Thank Christ it wasn’t a long-term undercover op. If he’d had to fake a real, ongoing relationship with her…

To which his dick responded by being a dick and pointing out to him how good it would be to get intimate with her. She was under his skin, all right. His treacherous flesh was consumed by her supple curves, the sway of her hips when she walked, the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed… hell, it was even infatuated with the colour of her hair, and the way the sunlight picked out glints of gold in that mass of spun silk.

Who the hell was he kidding? His worst nightmare was also his unachievable dream.

With renewed determination, Logan switched off the bedside lamp and turned onto his side. His balls nudged his thigh, as if reminding him that their best buddy—his cock—occasionally needed to come inside a condom rather than in his hand.

His balls were sarcastic bastards.

His cock was ganging up on him, too. The concept of fucking Miss Winter made his cock very, very happy, and gave him an erection that wouldn’t quit. All it took was a squeeze, a few strokes, and a vibrant, mental image of Lucy on her knees, with that pretty mouth wrapped around his dick. Eyes closed, he could almost feel that wet heat, the swirl of her tongue over the crown, her hand around his shaft, stroking up and down, driving his arousal higher and higher until he came. Hot, creamy-white jets of sperm splattered over his belly.

A rush of shame wiped out the fleeting pleasure of jerking off. He was a bastard for using her like that, even if it had only been in his mind. Logan grabbed a handful of wet wipes and set about cleaning up. He reminded himself that this was only the first night—he had five more to get through, and then the trouble really started. If he didn’t get his shit together before then, he’d be the one to send the op into a death spiral.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, had Lucy not been under his roof, Logan would have worked off the tension sizzling through his nervous system by going for a run. He was wound tighter than a cheap watch, and if he didn’t do something involving strenuous physical activity, he was likely to lose it big style. He had no problem with patience when he was driving a sub to the pinnacle of pleasure, but in this situation, patience was a commodity in short supply.

Sometimes, a man had no choice but to admit defeat. He was never going to settle like this. His guest was probably asleep already, and the sooner he went, the better his chances of getting back before she woke up. He dressed quickly and stuffed his feet into the well-worn running shoes. As stealthily as if he were stalking a dangerous enemy, Logan made his way to the front door, only to be stopped in his tracks by a quiet, concerned voice.

“Logan? Is everything okay?”

His gut clenched. He didn’t want to see her. She’d be all soft and ruffled and sleepy, and too much damn temptation. And if he did turn around, he’d risk her seeing the very visible evidence of his arousal at the mere sound of her voice speaking his name. “Go back to bed.”

Logan closed his eyes and cursed his own stupidity. The last thing he needed right now was the image that last word branded upon his consciousness. The night had just gone from bad, bypassed worse, and was heading straight for clusterfuck. She needed to move, and now. “I’m going for a run. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.”

“I can’t sleep, either. I’ll come with you.”

His stomach dropped five thousand feet in a life-threatening crash dive. “I’m a big boy, I don’t need a babysitter.” He had to make her stay behind.