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“What?” she answered breathlessly. Billie was still stuck to Logan, every inch of his hard body pressed into hers but she didn’t have the strength to pull away.
A smile curved that sexy mouth of his and something inside her stilled. Oh, the power this man had. What would it be like to wake up to that smile every single morning?
Okay, where did [i]that[i] thought come from?
Her cheeks heated even more, if that was possible, and she bit her lip as confusion and anxiety rolled around inside her. She ached everywhere, all the nooks and crannies that made up her body were empty and hollow. Unsatisfied.
His eyes rolled over her face in a slow, sensual, way that felt like a caress.
“You’re definitely not a kid.”
The wind picked up, lifting long strands of her hair into the air. She stared up at Logan for several long moments, nothing but silence between them, and then she pushed against his chest, wanting some space.
“Logan, I…” she licked her dry lips and tried to form a coherent sentence. “I don’t know why I just did that.”
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry you did.”
Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. It was enough to singe every single hair on her body.
He straightened and ran his hands through his hair, which only managed to mess it up even more. “But I don’t play games, Billie.”
She swallowed thickly not sure where this was headed.
“Were you with Shane last night?” he asked, his gaze direct, all traces of desire gone.
For a moment she was confused, but when his meaning took hold, she opened her mouth to retort angrily. She’d give Logan Forest a piece of her mind. Did he really think she’d sleep with Shane Gallagher and then play tongue tag with him the next morning? That was a Betty move, not hers.
Billie opened her mouth to retort, but a voice slid between them. A weak, hoarse, and oh-so-familiar voice.
“Chantal?”
A confused and angry voice.
“Move away from my wife or I’ll kill you.”
Billie’s eye widened and she glanced over her shoulder just as a vehicle pulled in behind Logan’s truck. Gerald Dooley’s. Even through the glare of sunlight on the windshield, she saw Bobbi’s thunderous face. Great. Could this get any worse?
She stepped out of Logan’s arms and turned…just as her father stumbled down the front steps, a shotgun aimed at Logan and aa crazed look in his eyes.
Just as her grandfather rushed out onto the porch, feet encased in wooly slippers—the ones with the big beaver heads that wobbled when he walked. His pale belly jiggled, prominently displayed over his green and red Christmas boxers—the Grinch smiling viciously at them all.
They were two sizes too big and currently hanging so low she was afraid they would drop down to his knees.
She blinked.
Exhaled.
They slid.
As the boxers slowly slipped down Herschel’s hips Billie closed her eyes. If her life was a reality show, this would be the big finale. The money shot, so to speak.
You really could not make this shit up.
Chapter Eight
For a moment no one spoke. Not one word was uttered as Herschel yanked his boxers back up to where they belonged and scratched his head. He pulled his ball cap in place and settled his hands on his hips as he slowly perused the situation.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he muttered and took a step down, but paused when his son, Trent Barker, shot him a warning look.
