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I leave in a week for a new assignment in Cambodia, and I’d be lying if I said the sense of déjà vu at my imminent departure isn’t strong.
Not complete déjà vu as Logan now tells me he loves me any chance he gets. It’s the first thing he whispers in my ear as I open my eyes. He says it again when he holds me close at night. Or when we cross paths at the museum. He puts it at the end of every text exchange. Leaves it written in cheesy messages in the foggy mirror after a shower. But even if I’m sure of his feelings, long-distance relationships suck.
We had a taste of how much being apart blows when he had to fly back to Thailand a mere week after we’d reunited in the States. He surprised me in LA three days after his airport declaration, and we spent every waking hour together, kissing, talking, making love, and then, puff, he was up in a plane again headed here and I was stuck back home, fifteen time zones away.
And now, the prospect of me doing the same and packing up to go to Cambodia for two weeks is daunting. I used to love the idea of embarking on a new adventure, of traveling the world, but now all I crave is putting on a pair of slippers and spending a quiet night in with Logan by my side.
“You’re not dressed.”
The object of my fantasies yanks me out of my reverie, placing himself in front of me, hands on his hips, signature scowl on his face.
I used to find his constant frowning upsetting. Now it’s one of the things I love to tease him about.
I bat my lashes at him from my position in front of the dresser where I got lost in thought, wearing only a towel. “I could argue you’re too dressed.”
His features immediately soften and he squats next to me. “And on any other day, I’d take you up on that offer.”
My turn to frown. “Why not today?”
“Because we’re going to be late.”
“Late for what?”
Logan gives me a saucy grin. “Your private tour of the exhibition before the grand opening tomorrow.”
I throw my hands in the air, standing up. “This is what I get for dating an archeology professor, someone who’d prefer going to a museum rather than having sex.”
Logan stands up, a playful grin curling his lips, and pulls me in for a kiss. “You’ll be glad you came, I promise, my love,” he says, nuzzling my neck.
My skin sizzles under the gentle scrape of his stubble. “You’re not making the argument of museum versus sex a strong one.”
“Sorry.” He pulls back and gives me a playful spank. “Go get dressed.”
In a last-ditch attempt to provoke him, I let my towel drop.
The low growl I receive in response brings me great satisfaction. I saunter to the closet and pull on a cotton summer dress, peeking at Logan over my shoulder only when I’m fully covered again.
His gaze is fixed on me, predatory.
“I’m ready to go,” I say, the image of innocence.
Logan pulls me into a passionate kiss and lets me go only when I’ve turned into a limp rag doll in his arms.
He winks and gives me a gentle push toward the door. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The museum is already closed to the public when we arrive. Logan uses his employee badge to let us in from a side entrance. From there, we hedge along a narrow corridor and then move one floor up to the main lobby where the new exhibition is situated.
Logan guides me with a hand on the small of my back that does nothing to convince me I’d not rather be under the sheets in our hotel room now.
“Close your eyes,” he bends to whisper in my ear.
A shiver runs down my spine. I comply with the request only to make the visit shorter so that I can bring him back to the hotel and finally have my way with him. The mental countdown to my departure has started in my head. We’re at minus six nights before I leave, and I want to make the most of our time together.
With me blind, Logan has to guide me forward, gently steering me by the shoulders.
We stop as he pushes a door open, ordering, “Don’t peek, not yet.”
