Logan (Carolina Reapers 4)

“You want me. I’m not blind.” Her lips parted and she bit her lower lip in a way that had me groaning. I raked my hands over my face and shook my head.

“Fuck yes, I want you. Have you seen...you?” Smooth, jackass. “But I know that if I slide inside you right now, you will regret it in the morning, and I can handle a deadly case of blue balls a hell of a lot better than I can stomach your regret when it comes to me.”

Because she didn’t know who I was. That paper in my back pocket made it all too clear.

“Logan!” she called out after me, but I was already in the kitchen, palming my keys.

I sped all the way home only to take the coldest shower known to man. But instead of congratulating myself on what had to be the most epic feat of control in the history of the world, a sense of foreboding came over me as I stood under the icy jets.

Somehow I knew that wouldn’t be the last time.

We’d set something in motion that we might be powerless to stop.

And I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

8

Delaney

“And I slipped on the ice,” Logan said. “But the puck went in. It was the best feeling in the world. I knew right then—” He stopped himself short, shifting in his seat. “That I wanted to be involved with hockey in any way I could.” He cleared his throat, sipping from his coffee.

I grinned, incapable of holding back the smile. “Four,” I clarified. “You were four when you decided you wanted to chase down hockey in any way you could?”

“Mmhmm,” he stared into his mug.

“And now you work for one of the best NHL teams in the league.”

His eyes widened. “How do you know the Reapers are one of the best in the league? You don’t follow sports, social media, or TV.”

I blinked at him from behind my own sip of mocha. “Wow. When you string it all together like that, I sound like a complete loser.”

“You’re not,” he hurried to say. “You know what I meant.”

I flicked the hem of the black beanie he wore. “I know that,” I said, eying him.

He was more nervous today than I’d seen him before.

His tongue on my skin.

In me.

Working me into a blind, wild fury of passion and need.

We hadn’t spoken about the night he hand—mouth—delivered two of the most intense orgasms I’d ever experienced and then abruptly left.

Left because he didn’t want to be a regret for me. He could’ve fucked me senseless too, could’ve done anything he wanted with me in that moment…I’d been that lost for him. And yet, he hadn’t. Not because he didn’t want me, I could easily see that he did. But because he respected me. I’d never felt so treasured in my entire life.

And now?

And now we were drinking coffee, completely ignoring the fiery need between us.

The chill of the air turned our cheeks red, but it wasn’t cold enough to turn on the patio heaters. Early March meant spring would hit any day now and we could say goodbye to the bite in the air.

Couldn’t pass up the view though, not on an afternoon like this. The café overlooked Folly Beach, the white sand blissfully empty of tourists because of the chill-weather giving us an uninterrupted view of the ocean and clear sky beyond.

“I know about the Reapers because of you,” I finally answered his question. Crawling out of my own head for a much-needed breath. “But your reaction to me not following sports or TV makes me wonder if I should pick it up, if only to wipe that horrified expression off your face,” I teased.

He chuckled, the sound strained. “No,” he said. “I love that about you.”

Warm chills tickled my skin beneath my light jacket, and it was my turn to laugh awkwardly. “You’d be the first,” I said. “Most people look at me like I’m an alien when I don’t know the latest Netflix series or what celebrity said to another.” I shrugged. I used to follow tons of things, used to take pleasure in media coverage. That was before I’d felt the sting of the poison it was capable of producing.

“I like it that I’m so many of your firsts.” His teasing tone was back, lightening up the intensity swarming my chest. “Back to before,” he said. “When did you fall in love with books?”

I breathed in a deep, nostalgic breath. “Oh, gosh, I don’t even remember, really.”

He tilted his head. “Come on,” he groaned. “You have to remember the day you decided books were better than everyone else.”

I playfully pinched his arm. “Not better than everyone.” I shrugged, wrapping my hands around my mug to warm them. Logan scooted his chair closer to mine, our thighs brushing. The motion sent hot sparks along the edges of my body, but I wouldn’t shy away from his heat. “Just the majority,” I finally finished.