Naughty, Naughty Prince Charming (Charming 1)

“A little.”

He turned her to face him. “How about we order from that Chinese place we went to with Tyler?”

Her hands settled on his chest. “That sounds good.”

Taking her hand, he led her to the kitchen and motioned to a barstool. While she settled into a seat, he poured her a glass of wine. She accepted it with a murmured thank you and took a sip.

He filled his glass and then reached for the phone. “Do you want the same thing you had at lunch or something different?”

She looked surprised. “You remember what I had at lunch?”

How could she think differently? “I remember everything where you’re concerned.”

A pregnant silence followed. Then, “The same would be great.”

He placed the order, aware of her eyes on him, searching for his motives, he was certain. When he hung up the phone, he walked to her, took her glass from her hand, and set it on the bar. “I want to kiss you, Lucy.”

She laughed. Short. Breathless. Her eyes flashed with emotion. Maybe a hint of panic. “You’ve never announced your desires before acting on them in the past.”

“That’s because this is different,” he said in a low voice. “I want to kiss you. Not some unknown man who is a part of some secret fantasy. Me, Logan Monroe, I want to kiss you.”

One of Logan’s hands slid around the back of Lucy’s neck. His senses were alive with anticipation. His body raw with need. Her lips, sensual and full, trembled. All he wanted to do was taste her. To claim her and make love to her. To kiss her with all the fire he felt inside. But he needed her approval. It was time to see what really existed between them. Their fantasy had been halted the moment Greg had made that comment to Lucy. They both knew they couldn’t hide forever.

Easing closer, he slid Lucy’s knees to the side, resisting the urge to push them apart. Knowing if he did, he might just lose his mind and decide to fuck her and talk later. A primal urge to take her hardened his cock.

“Lucy?” he asked, lowering his mouth to linger just above hers. Their breath mingled, warm and intimate, building the burn.

“Logan—”

“Yes or no?” he pressed, ready to kiss her. Not wanting to wait.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes fluttering.

And that was all Logan needed to act. His lips brushed hers and they both sucked in a breath. The air around them seemed to sizzle. As many times as Logan had made love to her, kissing her could still send flames shooting through his blood. Yet, he fought the force of their attraction. Tonight, he wanted to go slow. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to talk to her.

He wanted to know what they could, really, truly be together. Which was exactly why he had decided to kidnap her for the entire weekend. It was time to step beyond the physical. He was willing to put it all on the line. Then, maybe, just maybe, Lucy would do the same.

Kissing her gently, Logan probed her mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. Savoring the woman and her unique flavor. Her arms slid around his neck, and he felt her shiver. He stepped closer, their bodies melting together as he settled both hands on her waist. And what he felt went way beyond the physical. He knew in that moment he was falling in love. Hell, he’d probably known from the first moment he’d set eyes on her.

Lucy had always been about more than sex.

Chapter Eighteen

Lucy’s head was swimming with the delicious aroma of Logan, so close, so gentle, and so…tender. And she knew she was in trouble. This man made her feel deep inside. If she was honest with herself, from the moment he had looked at her across that bar, she had felt him in her heart. Deep in her soul.

Forcing her mouth from his, she leaned back and stared into his eyes. What she saw there took her breath away. Inwardly, she shook herself. Was that love staring back at her? No. She rejected the thought with a breath. Passion. That’s what she saw. Nothing more. The wrong thing to be risking her entire career and future over. So why couldn’t she make herself look away?

And why did her chest squeeze and her stomach flutter?

Over and over, in her head, she willed herself to get up. To leave. To say goodnight. But she didn’t. Instead, a new voice surfaced… One more forgiving of the moment. One that said tomorrow she would face real life. Tomorrow she would end this.

Logan’s palm settled on her cheek. “What are you thinking?”

She’d come to know that question from him. He asked it often. Always she avoided a direct answer.

Now was no different. “What are you thinking?” she countered.