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She pushed his hand away. “No, penis of destruction, you did not.”
He blew out a breath. “Brat.”
She hadn’t quite gotten him to let go all the way, but he was a damn sight closer. Loose and limber with outstanding sex, she rolled off the bed.
He adjusted himself back into his boxers and jeans and propped his head on his hand. “You’re awfully chipper.”
She rolled her neck. “I didn’t intend to have a nice little orgasm this afternoon, but—”
“Little.” He scooted off the bed and stood in front of her. “Little orgasm?”
She lifted her shoulder. “Yeah.” Ridiculously self-conscious that she was naked from the waist down and he was dressed, she tried to be blasé about it. She padded into the bathroom to clean up.
Their combined scents were familiar and distracting. Because there was part of her that was still restless, she wondered if she should get into the shower. She pinned her hair up and tried not to smile. Logan was boring holes into her forehead.
He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “Little?”
She plucked her toothbrush out of its holder and arched her brow. “Amazing orgasm?”
He frowned. “Was that a question?”
“Not sure what you want me to say. It was awesome and now I feel all loose and yummy.” She loaded her brush and started with her molars.
“Yummy?”
She pulled the brush out of her mouth. “Are you just going to parrot things back at me for the rest of the day?”
“I’m still trying to get past the little orgasm part.”
She finished up and rinsed. “Since when are you an egomaniac about sex?” Deciding she was going to take another shower after all, she whipped her shirt over her head, slung her bra on top of the shirt, and stepped into the stall.
She smiled up into the spray when he continued to stand there for a full five minutes before wandering back into the bedroom. It really was mean to tease him about it, but she couldn’t quite help herself. Not when they were alone with each other day in and day out.
They played pool, and she was getting better at it. She still sucked, but when she had nothing else to do but practice, she had to improve somewhere. She read until her head was so full of fiction, even she was tired of it.
Considering that happened…never, she knew they were getting antsy.
Logan was worse. He stared at his guitar every day—even picked it up and strummed, but he could never seem to get past a few notes of a song. Both of them were too used to being busy.
And all the downtime left her too much time to think.
About Nic and Adam.
About the fact that Adam still hadn’t come out of his coma. That Aimee was photo-journaling herself from every port of call from the Mediterranean to London. The newspapers were constantly talking about her and the hockey player.
The world was going on without them.
They were in stasis in this beautiful cabin. And for the most part they were fine. They were getting to know the people they’d become after the bookstore had been destroyed.
She still had nightmares some nights. Still woke screaming with soot in her lungs and tears streaming down her face. And in the deep dark of the cabin in the heart of northern Maine, he’d hold her as long as she needed him to.
And in the morning they tried to be as normal as possible. The loss haunted them some days more than others, but they were learning to get around it. They were learning to be a couple again.
But she really wasn’t sure how much longer they could be here—away from everyone. And yet, she wasn’t sure how to leave. She still didn’t like Logan out of her sight for very long. She liked their cozy cabin with winter pushing at the windows.
She shut off the water and jumped when Logan thrust a towel in her face as she stepped out. “Anxious to go to the store?”
“It started snowing.”
