Nothing was ever as it seemed. Nothing was ever as simple as black and white. People made mistakes.
But at some point you had to forgive. And move on.
All this time she’d been denying herself—and him—something they both wanted. He was hot, buttered sex. So what if she was just another notch on his bedpost? Who gave a monkey’s ass? Because he’d be a notch on hers too.
But deep inside, there was the knowledge that she was ignoring—that for her, this was more than notches and games.
She just plain liked him. And she just plain wanted him.
“I d-d-didn’t m-mean what I said last night,” she said, pressing closer against him, curling her fingers to gently caress his cheek.
He stiffened. “Min?”
“I was jealous,” she said softly, lifting her chin so her face was only inches from his. “B-because I want you for myself.”
“No. You don’t. I just told you what I jerk I am.” He shook his head, his gaze fixed on her mouth, but he’d stiffened against her, like he was about to pull away.
“Was,” she pointed out.
“No.” He moved his head slightly, brushing his roughened jaw against her palm in a gesture as gentle as it was negating. “This isn’t happening. Not because I told you my stupid sob story about Connor and dad. I didn’t tell you all this to—”
“It’s n-not because of that,” she said.
He swallowed. “Then let me be honest.” He shifted, inching closer, sliding one hand to her waist and holding her tightly. “I don’t give a fuck about scoring points anymore. I’ll roll over like a damn dog if that’s what it takes. But I’m not going another day without telling you how much I ache to be with you, inside you. I’m begging Min. I want you and I’m begging. Absolutely begging. Will you be with me?”
Min caressed the rough stubble on his jaw. “N-no.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
#WinBig
She heard his harshly indrawn breath. Felt him freeze.
“Because I’m begging,” she whispered quickly, rising onto tip-toes, spreading her hand to frame his face. “I’m begging.”
He wrapped both arms tightly round her waist, hauling her into a bear hug so she was plastered against his taut, damp body. “No, I already have,” he said. “I did it first. I’m begging. I give in. I want you,” he muttered breathlessly. “Will do anything you want.”
“What if there’s n-no winner?” she asked, holding her breath.
“Both winners?” His eyebrows lifted and amusement kindled in his eyes.
Yes.
She smiled. Laughter and relief flooded her.
He was here. He was okay. He wanted what she wanted. Just for now.
He lifted his hand and brushed back the hair that had loosened from her braid. “Oh Min,” he breathed.
“I’ve been so stupid,” she whispered. “Celibacy?”
“Silly-bacy.”
She chuckled.
He half-laughed too, but his roguish smile soon faded. “I missed you,” he said. “All night. All I could think about was... Regret so much...”
“Forget it.” She just wanted now. Tonight.
“You’re sure?” He twisted her braid around his hand.
Min couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, her breathing came short and fast—her heat thumped faster still.
Once. She could have this once. Everything with him, just the once.
She’d been denying herself the experience of a lifetime—the pleasure of a lifetime—from fear. Well there were worse things to be afraid of.
Missing out altogether, never having the chance again. That was worse.
Being with Logan would be the ultimate sensual adventure and she was a fool for not taking him sooner. But more than the chemistry they shared, she liked him. Which was why it could only be the once. Once while they were away... and then the fiancée farce would end.
And this would be over.
“Yes,” she said. “Kiss me. P-p-properly.”
He tugged on her braid, tilting her face. Her mouth parted, she met his eyes. The pale blue in his was almost burned out, consumed by the passion-swollen pupils.
Pure need rendered her mute.
She heard his groan as he bent his head. But he didn’t kiss her mouth. He pressed the lightest little kiss to her upper cheekbone. Then another slightly lower. Another to her other cheekbone. Another slightly lower.
Over and over he dropped light, teasing kisses everywhere but where she wanted him most. She licked her lips and lifted her chin that little bit higher, trying to tempt him. But still he teased, until those little kisses came closer, closer, closer to her lips. He was all tease.
She held so still, not breathing. So turned on.
But it wasn’t his mouth that finally touched hers, but his tongue. The lightest, quickest trace of her upper lip—dipping in her cupid’s bow. Sensation shivered through her.
Only then did he press his lips to hers.
Finally.
She fell, relaxing against his solid strength, letting him control the angle. He feathered light kisses over her lips again and again and again. Tantalizing. Until she began to stir, until she could no longer hold back the desire to move. To draw closer. To demand.
But he gripped her braid tightly at the nape of her neck, holding her head still. His hand at her back pushed her against his body. He was so hard, yet so controlled.
And she needed more.
She opened, licked him as he touched her, tasting him. Teasing him with a swirl of her tongue every time he brought his lips near.
Until he groaned and sealed his mouth to hers. He caressed, working his mouth in the longest, sweetest kiss. She sucked on his tongue and heard him groan again—felt the yearning in his tension. Yeah, she wanted to take more of him into her mouth. To heat every part of him as he heated her.
Their mouths broke apart for the merest second before joining again. Again, again, again. She couldn’t get enough. Kissing him like crazy. Pressing close. Kissing more.
And nor, it seemed, could he. Like teens first making out, first discovering the joy of touch, of pressing close, of sharing breath, they kissed.
She reveled in the intimacy of looking into his eyes, only a heartbeat, a whisper apart. She needed that final space breached.
Only then, as she scored her tongue along the roof of his mouth, she felt his violent shiver. Her heart seized as she remembered his condition.
Tired, wet, cold.
He was probably borderline hypothermic and here she was just taking all she could from him.
She broke the kiss and leaned back to see more clearly, “You should have a shower.”
He stared at her, the hard sensual look in his eyes eased, ruefulness emerged. “I’m getting you wet and dirty. Sorry.”
“You are,” she teased with a slow circle of her hips. “But I meant you’re c-cold.”
“No. Not cold,” he denied. “Not now.”
Their eyes met, she knew he was remembering her ‘zombie’ jibe. She didn’t want to remember it.
“I don’t want to let you go,” he said, kissing her again.
“I’ll shower with you,” she promised as she broke free of his grip. To prove it, she lifted her tee shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor.
He kept pace right behind her as she went into the bathroom and flicked on the faucet to get the shower running hot.
She turned back to face him. Now she saw the urgency in his eyes. The heated, focused way he gazed at her breasts.
She stepped up to him. Their mouths met, met again as he shrugged out of his jacket. The kisses were too good to stop for long. But he couldn’t manage the buttons of his shirt.
He groaned. “My hands are too cold.”
“I know,” she teased. “You’re not t-t-touching my skin until they’re warmer.” She popped open the buttons of his shirt and tugged it out of his pants. Then she spread it wide and took a moment just to look.
He had the most sensational chest. Broad, muscled, finely sprinkled with hair that arrowed down below his belt.
“Min.”
She lifted her gaze to see the burning ache deepening in his eyes. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, wanting him bared. But then the shirt got stuck.
“Cuff links.” He mumbled. “Sorry.”
She giggled at the sweet awkwardness of trying to strip him. This was no smooth seduction scene with slick, practiced moves. As she tried to free a cufflink, he was trying to remove his pants with his other hand.
“I can’t do this fast enough,” he growled.
“Let me.”
She loved it. Loved his muffled curse as it took too long to get him free of the trousers. He pushed her hands away as she reached for his boxers.
“I need to do that,” he muttered.
He yanked his boxers down and peeled off his socks, bending with a groan. And then he straightened, standing bare before her.
He was perfect. Even when covered in goose bumps, when his hands were in tight fists, when his hair was damp and mussed and a smudge of dirt was streaked across his upper cheekbone, the guy was still pure physical perfection.