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Chapter Twenty
Two eyes stared at Billie when she woke up.
No. She rubbed her eyes and forced them to focus. Correction, one eye.
Billie rolled over and slowly got up onto her knees as she glanced around a room she knew wasn’t hers. It was early. Outside the sun was just poking through, covering everything in that pre-dawn haze of gray.
As the memories from the night before poured into her head, she bit her lip and fell back onto the bed. She stretched and her hand sank into the cat that was curled up beside her, absently stroking its fur as she closed her eyes.
She was in Logan’s bed. Alone.
A groan slipped from between her lips once more and her cheeks heated up as she thought of the way she’d thrown herself at him. She’d practically begged him to do her in his foyer.
She grimaced. He should have done her in the foyer because at least then, they could have satisfied this itch that wasn’t going anywhere.
No. Instead he’d brought her upstairs to his bed. His large—she stretched again—and soft bed. A bed that would have been perfect for all the fantasies she’d dreamt up over the last few weeks. A bed where she had, instead, passed out like a lightweight. She grimaced. Damn wine.
The cat meowed.
Yes, she was alone in Logan Forest’s bed with a cat that only had one eye.
Billie turned onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut. He had left her water and some pills, which she must have downed sometime in the night because she wasn’t hung over.
Nope, not hung over.
Just embarrassed and—she slid her legs along the bed, biting her tongue as that all too familiar ache reared its ugly head—horny as all hell.
Billie’s eyes flew open and she sat up again. Where [i]was[i] Logan?
Her gaze darted around his room, a room which surprised her. It was masculine for sure, with deep cherry wood furniture, sage green walls and such. But it was classy. There was art on the wall, tasteful paintings that caught her eye.
She rolled off the bed, her eyes and fingers touching things—private things—that belonged to Logan. She eyed his college diploma, displayed above an antique desk near a sitting area. A pair of jeans was slung over the chair there, and his shoes were on the floor. A fire place was on the wall opposite the bed, and the table nearby was stacked with books.
She wandered over to his bathroom. Again, it was clean and free of clutter. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, touched lips that were still bruised fr
om his kisses the night before.
She spied a tube of toothpaste on the counter and she grabbed it, running cold water in the sink and using her fingers to freshen her mouth.
She splashed cold water on her face, took a drink from the tap and then wandered back out into his bedroom where she paused, gaze moving over the bed and the cat—a cat that was just about the ugliest thing she’d ever seen—and then she stopped at the bedroom door.
Billie wasn’t sure what was going through her brain, but it didn’t matter really since her body seemed to have a mind of its own. She let herself out of his room and found herself on the upper level of a beautiful century home. The window at the far end—the one that looked out over the front of the house—was stain glass. And on either side of the stairs were two sets of doors. Four bedrooms in total..
So which one held Logan?
Carefully she started forward, her bare feet gliding over the worn hardwood. She paused, grimacing when a loud creak sounded underfoot, but then continued forward, her mind set. Her intention clear.
She opened the doors on her right but both rooms were empty. Carefully she made her way to the other side of the landing and opened the door, closest to his bedroom.
She peeked inside and bit her lip. Jackpot.
Logan was asleep in the bed—on his stomach with his arms flung above his head. The sheets—sweet Jesus—but the sheets were riding his hips so low she was able to see the rise at the top of his ass and it was obvious…
Her mouth went dry as she eyed that yummy tattoo she had first spied in the changing room.
Maybe not obvious, but the man [i]seemed[i] to be completely, totally and unequivocally…naked.
Billie’s chest rose and fell as the ache between her legs intensified. Before she knew what she was doing—before she could tell herself, [i]no[i], her body reacted.
