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I spend the next hour scribbling anything and everything I remember about what I saw on those files. In the morning, no matter what he says, I’m going to work. He’ll get bored of babysitting me sooner or later. Or get a call to go sell drugs to minors. Probably go play mysterious thug lover to his revolving door of women. With his looks, I bet he has a new woman in his bed nightly.
Eventually, my hand gets tired, and I take a break. I listen for the TV, and it sounds like an infomercial playing over and over. Unless he has horrible taste in shows, he’s probably fallen asleep. Bingo! This is my chance to try to steal my phone back. Even better—his. I bet he has important contacts. I slide off my bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. Cracking my door open, I peek outside. Yes! Fast asleep! I tiptoe to the couch, holding my breath so I don’t wake him. I don’t see my phone, but I sure do see his. Hitting the jackpot, I slowly bend down and reach for it next to him on the couch. I wrap my fingers around it and—
My high-pitched squeal slices through the air as I’m flipped and tossed onto the couch, the heavy weight of Logan hovering over me, his forearm jammed against my throat. “What the fuck are you doing?” he growls.
“I…I…I was getting something to drink. I was going to turn the TV off for you so you could sleep better. I have manners, you know…”
“And did you mistake my phone for the remote?”
Possibly.
“Of course not! Oh, look at that.” I wave his phone in my hand. “Silly me. These devices nowadays, they all look the same.”
“What exactly were you going to do when you got my phone, baby girl?”
I’m absolutely ashamed of the tremor that runs down my body. “I was…”
“You were what?” he demands, leaning harder into me.
I struggle to finish my sentence. It’s not every day I have to answer a simple question while having a man built from steel with striking eyes and lips made from heaven staring down at me.
“Answer me!”
“Lips!” Shoot. “I mean, not lips—” He’s heavy against me, his chest pressed tightly against my—“nips—No!” Jesus, Addy! I squeeze my eyes shut. Get it together. “I’m trying to say…” Deep breaths. Act semi-normal. “Dips. Yes, dips. I was hungry and thought I’d make us some dips. I needed your phone to look up a recipe.”
I open my eyes to him studying me. He lowers his gaze down to transfix on my chest.
“Dips, huh?” I make the mistake of inhaling too sharply. With a painful slowness, he works his gaze back up and stops at my lips. “What kind of dip?”
I hate him. And myself. Mostly my word vomit. “I—I don’t know. Maybe…uh…French kiss—I mean dip. French onion dip.” He tortures me with his silence, and his unwavering attention on my lips. “Do you like dip? I mean, I’ve never had it. I don’t really like French food, but I like ranch. I can actually make ranch.” I just want to disappear into my couch.
His forearm loosens up on my throat and slides down my neck, stopping just above my breastbone. “Nice try.”
“So, no dip?”
Just like that, his serious face returns. “What are you up to? What do I have to do to convince you you don’t want to go through with this story?”
“Normally pizza would get me to—” Ugh, stay focused! “Nothing. Because I’m going to go through with it.”
“You know I’m gonna shut you down every chance I get. Every corner you turn, thinking you’re being sly, I’m going to be there stopping you.”
“That sounds like you have a lot of work on your hands.”
He stares at me too long, and the weight of him suddenly feels heavier. His eyes flicker to my lips as they part. As if living out a real-life fantasy from my romance book, I pull a classic move and lick my lower lip. A fire ignites in Logan’s gaze, and I chuckle on the inside. It looks like that does work.
His head dips lower, inch by inch, and I close my eyes and part my lips. He may be a grump and super bossy, but holy cow, he knows how to kiss, and I ache to have his lips back on mine.
Logan’s phone goes off.
My eyes reopen as he jumps off me, looking at the screen. “I gotta take this. Go back to bed, Addy.” Without another word, he walks out my front door.
I sit there for a few seconds, pouting. “Go to bed, Addy,” I mock. How dare he talk to me like I’m a child. He wants to treat me like one? I’ll act like one. I get up, walk over to my front door, lock it, and go back to bed. Take that.
