He shut his doors and, after swiping off his face, crossed the floor to get the kitchen window, too.
Because she stood there in a lustful daze, he prompted her. “What about your windows? They open?”
How had she forgotten that? “Damn it,” she said, and bolted back to her own apartment. She didn’t want Logan to follow her, but she didn’t take the time to tell him not to. The way the rain blew in, everything she owned would be soaked in under a minute.
She got the balcony doors closed while he shut the kitchen window for her. She darted into the bathroom to get that small window, and Logan…went into her bedroom.
No, no, no.
Face soaked, shirt and shoes wet, she waited, but he didn’t come back out. Knowing proximity could get the best of her, she nonetheless stepped into the bedroom behind him. He had his back to her, eyeing her treadmill.
“Logan?”
When he turned, she saw his jeans clinging to his body, his chest hair darker with the rain, his ni**les tight from the chill.
Her mouth went dry.
“Sorry.” He ran a hand over his face and pushed back his hair. “It was coming in pretty good. Your floor’s wet, and so is the bottom of your bed.”
She stayed by the door, her thoughts rioting with explicit images of him naked, the things he’d do, the things she wanted to do to him.
A sudden shift in the air, in his mood, sent a thread of excited alarm up her spine.
He took a step toward her. “What about you, Sue?”
Not knowing what he asked, she shook her head in confusion.
“It’s too damn dark for me to tell,” he whispered, coming closer. In a husky, suggestive tone, he said, “I’m betting you’re wet, too.”
So many ways she wanted to reply—all of them dangerous.
She couldn’t think when she looked at him, so she turned her back and tried to order herself to caution.
“Thank you for the help.” It was an obvious hint for him to go, but at the same time, she had that image of him standing there, at the foot of her unmade bed. Tall, bare-chested, sexy as sin…
His hands settled on her shoulders; his scent settled around her.
And before he said a single word, she knew she was a goner.
* * *
LOGAN IGNORED the not-so-subtle suggestion for him to hit the road, especially since her voice had gone all thin and high. She was nervous, he got that.
Why, he didn’t yet know.
But he had her in a bedroom, in the near-dark, and with every fiber of his being, he was aware of her as a woman.
Not of his plan to get hold of her brother. Not of how she could assist him in his goal to obtain justice.
Just…her.
The way she trembled, the scent of her damp skin, her arousal.
They stood in the shadows while lightning flashed outside and occasional thunder rattled the windows.
Holding her shoulders, he drew her back into his chest and bent to inhale the heady fragrance of her damp skin. “I don’t want to leave you alone in this storm.”
The silence grew taut, and he knew she warred with herself, with what she wanted—and probably her damned brother’s rules.
Finally she whispered, “I’ll be fine.”
“You want me to stay.” And knowing that, he went about convincing her, putting soft love bites on her throat, teasing her ear with his breath and his tongue, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close enough that she felt his erection against her soft ass.
“Logan…”
“Your shirt is wet,” he told her and boldly smoothed a hand up and over her breast. The restrictive bra confounded him. It couldn’t be comfortable.
“Don’t.” She caught his wrist and drew his hand down to her waist, but she didn’t step away from him.
“Okay.” He pressed his hand lower, to her belly, and asked, “Is this better?”
She shocked him by nodding.
Need held him in a powerful grip; he pressed his hand lower, between her thighs, cupping her through the long skirt and insubstantial underwear.
They both breathed harder.
She parted her thighs.
Amazing. So this was okay, but her br**sts were off-limits? Prodded by concern, by the idea that she could be scarred, or worse, he asked, “Why, honey?”
Pressing back against him, she put her hand over his, encouraging him to continue while muttering low, “No questions.”
Not being a fool, Logan agreed. When he got her in bed, he’d get her naked, and then he’d figure it out on his own. He’d reassure her and let her know whatever it was, it didn’t matter, not between them.
She flattened her hands on his thighs, and her nails dug into him. He heard the catch in her breathing, savored the heat of her, how she moved against his exploring fingers.
For the longest time they stood there like that, in the dark with the storm all around them, damp, hot, necking and petting. He grinned against her shoulder. “I haven’t done this since high school.”
It took a little while before she asked, “This?”
“Making out. Fooling around with my clothes on.” He pressed his hard-on against her. “Getting so frustrated, I almost can’t take it.”
She groaned—and started to step away.
Logan turned them both instead and brought her down to the bed. He sprawled out over her, kissing her hard, deep, hoping to obliterate any objections.
She had none.
Of her own accord she parted her legs so that he fit between them. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she held him close while he kissed her.