“This is really nice,” he said.
“It is.” She smiled. “And you’re a great cook. Thanks for this.”
“That’s nothing,” he asserted. “I really can cook, you know. I need to cook for you more often.”
“Then do it. Stay over more often and cook for me.” Her eyes sparkled.
The words were playful, but they set off something inside him.
Being with her felt so natural, so right, because it was. Yesterday, when his world teetered off its axis, he’d gone running to her. She’d been like a beacon in the storm . . . and she’d given him exactly what he needed, and so much more.
Somehow, she’d become the best, brightest part of his life. She understood him, was there for him without hesitation, and appreciated him. She made him laugh. She made him burn with desire. She was a supportive friend, a sensual lover, a smart and insightful woman he had utmost respect for. She brought out the best in him, things in him he’d buried so deep, so long ago, he’d forgotten they existed. He gazed at her now, realizing the quiet but unavoidable truth: He loved her.
How the hell had that happened? It was supposed to be a deal, plain and simple. A carefully planned arrangement. Friends with benefits, not deep true love. He didn’t do relationships, dammit. He kept himself isolated on purpose; he wanted no ties to people . . . so he’d never get hurt again like he had before. This was shattering.
“You just disappeared into your head,” she said gently. “Want to share?”
He cleared his throat, suddenly dry. No, he didn’t want to share. He needed time to wrap his head around this. He needed to stomp it down where it belonged, into the ground. She was counting on him to be only her friend, no strings attached. To get her pregnant, with a baby he’d already signed away his rights to, so she could go back to New York and live her life, with him in the rearview mirror, an appreciated footnote in the long story of her life.
She touched his hand, a feather’s touch, leaning in to peer harder. It made his heart skip a beat. This beautiful woman . . . God, she owned his heart. Holy fuck, his head was spinning.
“Hey. Logan.” She frowned, eyes searching. “You okay?”
He had to say something. To at least tell her she meant the world to him. If he started now, maybe one day she could look back and know how much he’d cared, and he’d have that much. Because loving her, having anything more with her than what they had now, wasn’t an option. “Tess, I—”
There were voices, the jangling of keys, and the front door closed. Both of their heads swiveled toward it in alarm. Tess’s hand tightened on his. “Someone’s here.”
“What the hell—?” Logan began, but his question died in the air.
“Hello?” a familiar male voice called out. “Tess?”
“Oh my God,” she breathed, eyes round with horror. Her eyes flickered over Logan’s shirtless torso, her own robe-clad body. But there was no time. A few seconds later, her three brothers stood in the kitchen doorway. Tall, strong men, frozen in their tracks, three pairs of bright blue eyes wide with shock.
Logan drew a long sigh.
“Thought I smelled something cooking,” Pierce quipped.
Chapter Twenty
“What are you guys doing here?” Tess asked. Her heart pounded in her ribs. This was not how she’d wanted them to find out about her plans. Oh God, this was going to be something.
“We thought we’d surprise you,” Dane said.
“Feels more like an ambush,” she said flatly.
“Not at all!” Dane exclaimed. “But yeah . . . this is awkward. Fuck.”
“Hello, Logan,” Charles said. His voice was calm, but sharp. “So . . . you’ve been keeping Tess company. Interesting.”
Logan nodded to all three of them in greeting, then turned to Tess and murmured, “I’ll stay if you want, but I think you need to talk to them without me here.”
“That’s probably best,” she agreed. “Thanks.”
He rose from his seat. He was a few inches taller than any of her brothers, and twice as built, a solid wall of muscle. Looking especially strong without any shirt on, his jeans slung low on his narrow hips, she marveled at him for the thousandth time.