Your Captivating Love (The Bennett Family 2)

He shrugs. “He realized what I did and switched our pants. I ended up being the giant idiot with a hole in his pants after all, and I was the captain. Did I mention I had no underwear? So my ass was practically hanging out on the field for all the students and parents to see. Our coach almost had an aneurysm.”

I laugh, holding my belly. “You’re not making this up, are you?”

“Nope. On the bright side, the sight of my ass ensured I had a hoard of female fans dying to go out with me.”

“I’m sure you didn’t lack for female fans before either.” A knot twists in my throat. He can’t be lacking for them now either, can he? He’s sexy, fun, and impossibly rich. Surely, women must line up at his door. I can’t believe I’m jealous already. This is fun. Nothing more. Reminding myself of that fact doesn’t seem to be helping, though.

“True.” A small smile accompanies this one word, and my insides dip again. Amazing how territorial I feel about a man who isn’t even mine.

“You were your sister’s self-proclaimed avenger or what?”

“Avenger, guardian, whatever role I needed to fill, as long as I could wear an imaginary hero cape.” Pulling a serious face, he says, “Pippa always had a knack for attracting the wrong guys, even though she’s lovely.”

“Weren’t your sisters upset that you were being—“

“Overbearing?”

“I would’ve said overprotective, but I like a man who owns up to his flaws.”

“Trust me, with my family, there’s no way not to own up to your flaws. Every time you try to shirk them, eight siblings will happily point them out. Now back to my sister. She didn’t catch on most of the time, and when she did, Sebastian had my back, though he never approved of my meddling.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So, he never meddled?”

“He did it in his own way, which I didn’t always find effective. He likes to talk to people. I’m the do-er.”

“I see. Was Pippa the only sister you were babysitting?”

Logan remains silent for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I guess. Pippa is the mother hen. She likes to take care of everyone else, often at her expense. She’s also very vulnerable. Alice is a lot like you. Resilient, stubborn, and determined. She rarely tolerated my involvement, but both sets of twins were effectively playing bodyguard for her when they could get away with it, and for Summer as well—she’s the eternal romantic.”

“Sounds as though I’m like Summer too.” Although I’ve tried hard to bury that romantic part of me: the one that dreams of a white dress, of walking down the aisle. It’s better not to expect anything. That way, I can’t be disappointed, or hurt.

“Is that so?” Logan’s expression softens. I try to backtrack, because eternal love is the last thing a man wants to hear about on a first date—or ever, really. Before I have a chance to open my mouth, Logan continues, “You believe in true love, Nadine?”

I lick my lips. “Don’t you? Your parents are living proof it exists.”

Logan’s eyes rove over my face, resting on my lips. Involuntarily, I press my thighs together. “I asked first.”

“I used to believe,” I confess, lowering my gaze to the glass in front of me.

“And Thomas crushed that.”

“Yeah.” When I look up from my glass, I find Logan scrutinizing me with an unreadable expression. “Your turn. Do you believe?”

“I’m a man.” He drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can’t own up to believing in true love without my masculinity suffering a downgrade.”

Snorting, I grin. His eyes tell me what his lips don’t: he does believe, and that’s good enough for me.

“What does true love mean to you?” Logan asks. His eyes search mine, pure curiosity filling them. No man has ever asked me this, and until now, I never voiced these thoughts out loud.

With Logan, the words come to me easily. “It means having someone I can share everything with. My dreams, my fears. The good days and the bad ones. It means having someone I want to share my good news with first, who’s there for me when things go south. I’d ask you what your definition is, but you already told me that’d threaten your masculinity.”

By way of answering, Logan threads his fingers with mine on the table. The slight touch electrifies me, an involuntary sigh escaping my lips. Logan’s eyes turn darker still.

The waiter brings our appetizer of salmon salad, and we fall into companionable silence. I finish my cocktail between small bites of salmon, and when I’m done with both, I discover with dismay that I’m tipsy. The unfortunate thing is that once I reach this stage, I want more.

“I’ll order another drink.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “You weren’t kidding. Your tolerance to mixed drinks is abysmal.”