When the waiter arrives, I bat my eyelashes at him while ordering another cocktail.
“I become flirty when I’m tipsy,” I inform Logan.
“With everyone, yeah. I see that.”
“Yep. That’s my secret super-tipsy power. I flirt with everyone. I don’t discriminate,” I affirm with a proud smile.
“Well, that backfired quickly,” he murmurs to himself. As the waiter puts the second cocktail in front of me, Logan says, “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
“Why not?” I challenge, holding my chin high.
“I’m not going to kiss you if you’re not sober.”
My insides melt and my determination to drink the cocktail dwindles quickly. “So, kissing is on the menu?”
“Depends on you.” Logan drums his fingers on the table, and right now, the gesture strikes me as incredibly sexy. A film starts playing in my mind, of Logan drumming his fingers across my skin. What part of me would he touch first? I imagine he’d give plenty of attention to my breasts, caressing them, teasing me. Then
his fingers would find my center, and he’d rock my world. Goosebumps form on my arms as if he were indeed touching me. “I want you to be aware and experiencing every sensation when I kiss you.”
I drink only water through the main course and dessert. The second unfortunate effect of my tipsiness is that my tongue loosens. “Can I ask you something and you promise to answer sincerely?”
“Sure.”
“Do all men expect sex on the first date?”
Logan’s lips part in surprise, but he recovers quickly. “No, mostly jerks and amateurs.” With a hint of mystery, he adds, “They don’t know what I do.”
“What’s that?”
“Anticipation is key. When you long for something, the release is more powerful.”
Heat spears me right through my core. “So, everything before sex is just one long round of foreplay?”
“There is that, and also the fact that intimacy is so much better if you know the person you’re with.” His words feel like a caress. “I won’t lie; I’ve had my fair share of sex after first dates, as well as one-night stands. Haven’t found either fully satisfying.”
“Why aren’t you in a relationship?”
He sets his jaw. “Haven’t found the right person.” He takes my hand, dragging his thumb in circles on my palm. His touch speaks more clearly to me than any words could; it tells me to trust him, that he’d never hurt me. “I think you’re sober now.”
Grinning, I nod.
“Good. I don’t believe in sex on the first date, but I do believe in something else. Dancing on a first date is absolutely necessary.”
Logan hauls me onto the dance floor, which is empty except for one other couple. Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulls me toward him until my breasts squish against his hard chest. Oh, God. Being inches away from him is too much. He takes my right hand in his, and I place my left one at the nape of his neck. This close, the smell of cologne, soap, and pure masculinity—the smell of him— overwhelms me. His scent is more intoxicating than the cocktail I’ve had. I will get drunk on this man.
“I’ve got moves, you know,” he whispers in my ear.
“Who doesn’t for a slow song?” I try to keep my voice even, but my mouth is cotton-dry. Chuckling in my ear, he leads the dance. One step forward, two back; one forward, two back. I’ve never been much of a dancer but, under Logan’s guidance, the movements come naturally; they are fluid, in sync. I involuntarily thread my fingers through the hair on the back of his head, and he leans his forehead on mine. The gesture is so intimate; I don’t know what to make of it.
As if sensing this change, Logan says, “I won’t hurt you, Nadine. I don’t want you to take my word for it; I’ll prove it to you.” His words reach somewhere deep inside me, beneath the confident air of a woman wearing sexy lingerie. He pulls back a notch, cupping the side of my face with his long fingers. The desire to be alone with him hits me fast and unapologetic.
“I need some fresh air.” My eyes dart to the double doors leading to the terrace.
Logan doesn’t argue, instead leading the way. Once outside, I shiver, and Logan makes quick work of shedding his suit jacket, draping it around my shoulders.
“Always a gentleman, aren’t you?”
“I assure you I don’t kiss like a gentleman.”