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Marti cleared her throat and reached up, fingering the jewelry around her neck. “Maybe you should save those kinds of gestures for when other people are around.”
It was a rude thing to say, but Logan just rolled his eyes, taking her in stride like he always did. “Don’t worry, McBride, they’re still intact.”
She frowned. “What are?”
“Your walls.” He flashed her a knowing smirk, and her spine stiffened in response.
She snatched the flowers from his hands, cheeks burning, and stormed into the kitchen where she retrieved a vase from under the sink. Why did it seem like every time things seemed to be going smoothly, something happened to set her off? Then again, things had been going a little too smoothly. She’d looked forward to seeing him a little too much, had thought about it all day, in fact. Even during their staff meeting when Blue snipped at her for daydreaming.
She filled the vase with water and plunked it down on the counter with sharp, stabby movements. Had Logan hit a little too close to home with the wall comment? Was that why she was so annoyed?
“Do you always have to be so crass?” she asked, turning to him and spearing him with her gaze.
“Do you always have to ruin a moment? Read into everything?”
Marti’s chest heaved, and she braced her back against the counter to steady herself. They hadn’t had a heated exchange like this in a while, and in an odd way, it grounded her, made her feel better because it reminded her of where they started. “Sorry for reading into a gesture that usually indicates a man’s interest in a woman. I guess I’m unclear on the proper etiquette for a man who is pretending to be your boyfriend for his own personal gain. I didn’t realize sweet, private gestures were a part of the package. My mistake,” she said, unable to stop herself from reminding him this was more for his benefit than hers, even if it was a lie.
“So you’re saying you thought the gesture was sweet?”
With a growl, she pushed off the counter and brushed past him, hands curled into fists. Good. Anger was good. It was far better than the softening in her chest.
Her shoulder bumped his arm and he reached out, catching her. A beat of silence stretched between them, so she turned and inclined her head, meeting his gaze as his hand slid down to her wrist. Everywhere he touched sparked to life. If that was his intention, to light her skin of fire, he’d succeeded. Little did he know, it only made her resent him more.
With a little tug, she pulled her arm out of his grip. Tucking her hands behind her back to hide her trembling.
His eyes softened on her face, despite her glare. “I like you like this,” he whispered and raked a hand through the side of her hair.
Her breathing hitched as he trailed a thumb down her cheek and over her jaw, up to her lower lip, sending her heart into overdrive. “Like what?” she managed.
“No makeup. Bare,” he said, as if he could see right through her. “It’s just . . . all you. No masks. No barriers. Just pure Marti.”
She swallowed, even as her throat tightened. “I need to go finish getting ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOGAN
HE WAS AN IDIOT. HE knew that better than anyone. Because what started as a means to an end for him had turned into something much more. While he wanted a relationship, the last thing he wanted was to fall for a woman with a heart of stone. It was like begging someone for a dagger, then drawing them an anatomical map of the exact place to drive it home.
She was as emotionally unavailable as they came, the opposite of what he wanted. Yet, that didn’t stop his heart from aching at the sight of her. It didn’t stop him from lying in his bed at night, dreaming of her lips, unable to sleep at the thought this might end before he was ready. Somehow, over the last few weeks, he had become determined to make her crack, break her resolve, and smash her walls.
And if his instincts were right, she felt something for him too. She was just too scared to admit it.
So, he’d play her game, at least for a little while.
He sauntered through her living room, toward the open doorway she disappeared into, curious as to what clues he might find in her personal space that could tell him more about the woman who eluded him.
He paused in the doorway to her bedroom and leaned casually against the frame, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like she hadn’t just put him in his place and flicked a big fat verbal finger in his face.
She hurriedly brushed on mascara, then capped it and picked up a tube of lipstick and began to paint her lips. Her eyes flickered up to him as she did, and much to his satisfaction, her hand shook slightly when she noticed his presence outside her bedroom door.
He watched intently as she finished, then rubbed her lips together, and blotted with a tissue. The action nearly killed him.
Spinning around, she walked to her closet, where she began to rummage for what he assumed were her shoes.
Without waiting for permission, he stepped inside her room and reached out to her vanity, touching the tube of lipstick she just applied, only a little jealous it got to touch the softest lips on the planet.
“Just how many of these do you need?” he asked to cover the direction of his thoughts when she caught him staring.
