“Or the way you moaned when I touched you.” His hand cruised experimentally up the side of her ribs to her breast, his thumb stroking the underside of it.
Cat bit back another moan, conscious of the building ache inside. Strength seeped from the muscles in her arms until her hands no longer pressed against him in resistance. She could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and the heavy thud of his heart. She hated this needy weakness she felt, born out of a desire to feel all those sensations again.”
“And I know you don’t want to hear about the empty places I filled in you.” His lips moved lightly over hers, forming the words as he spoke. “Or all the empty places you filled in me.”
That grudging admission broke the few restraints she had left, her lips parting on an indrawn breath of surprise. His mouth was quick to close over them, revealing the hunger he felt for her.
For too long she had denied her own passions and desires, pretended that she didn’t need the satisfaction that could be found in a lover’s arms. But they were an instinct as basic as life, and too strong to ever be completely repressed.
When he started to break off the kiss, Cat murmured an indistinct protest, her fingers curling into his white shirt. His mouth came back before all contact was broken, this time with a heat that devoured.
It was what she wanted; Cat knew that. She wanted him as desperately as she had that night in Fort Worth. This time he was her husband. The weight of the wedding band on her finger was evidence of that. There was no reason not to know the pleasures to be had in his arms. It was absolutely natural and right.
He lifted his head, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing as rough and ragged as her own. “You want me now. Admit it.”
There was anger in his challenge. Cat reacted to it.
“Yes,” she hissed the answer and saw the quick darkening of triumph in his eyes. “You can make me want you, Logan. But you can’t make me love you.”
?
??No,” he said slowly, his expression hardening. “No, I certainly can’t do that.”
The instant she felt the loosening of his arms, Cat pulled away from him and moved toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll call it a night. One way or another, it’s been a very trying day.” She pulled open the screen door, the screech of its hinge slicing across her raw nerves like chalk across a blackboard. Halfway through the door, she paused and looked back at him with a stiff little toss of her head. “I assume the room at the end of the hall is mine.”
He looked at her for a long, hard second. “No,” he said flatly and started forward. “It isn’t.”
Something in his purposeful stride had Cat stepping quickly into the house. “Then exactly which one is mine?” She continued to retreat from him when he followed her into the living room.
“Truthfully—none of them.”
“Precisely what does that mean?” An ugly suspicion formed. She stopped, her hands coming to a rest on her hips. “When I agreed to this marriage, I told you I would not share your bed,” she informed him, ready to do battle on that point.
“And I told you that was your choice.” He took her by the arms and moved her out of his way, then walked into the hall.
“Wait a minute.” Cat went after him. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“That’s your choice.” He disappeared into the bedroom across the hall from Quint’s.
Cat wasn’t about to follow him there. “In that case, I’ll take the spare room.” Passing his door, she continued down the hall.
“It’s full of boxes,” he said from the bedroom. “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to look for yourself.”
That sounded suspiciously like the truth. Wheeling around, Cat marched back to his bedroom doorway. “Would you kindly tell me where you expect me to sleep?”
He came out carrying a pillow, a blanket, and a bedsheet. “The floor or the sofa, take your pick.” Unceremoniously he dumped them in her arms.
“What?” she said, her mouth agape.
“I recommend the sofa. The floor can be a bit hard.”
She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious,” Logan responded coolly.
Cat sputtered for an indignant moment. “You should be the one sleeping on the sofa, not me.”
“Take another look at the sofa. It’s about six inches too short for me, but it’s about the right size for you.” His mouth quirked in a cold smile. “Consider it an example of equal opportunity in action.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “Don’t forget to lock up before you turn in.”