Knowing it would have to be brief, Pepper cherished the contact. Holding her tight, he closed in around her as he gave in to his release and, finally, went utterly calm and replete over her.
It felt…oddly protective. Entirely too familiar. Way too comfortable.
She could have stayed like that for an hour or a day.
Maybe even a lifetime.
It distressed her that she couldn’t spare even a moment more. She cleared her throat. Twice. And still, when she whispered, “Logan?” she could hear the tears in her voice.
Without a word, he struggled up to his forearms again. He took a moment before gently kissing her cheek, and then he rolled to his back beside her.
It was so incredibly tempting to stay put, to turn and snuggle into him, to kiss him.
And have him kiss her.
To start all over again.
If she stayed even a second more, the tears would get the best of her. So instead she scuttled from the bed, slapped down her skirt, and rushed back to his living room where she collected her purse. Seeing through a blurry haze of regret, she opened and closed his door quietly, grateful that he hadn’t followed, that he hadn’t questioned her, or…even seemed to care all that much.
Choking on her own vulnerability, eyes damp with sadness, she let herself into her darkened apartment.
Now, after Logan, the small, worn-down space felt more lonely than ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER PEPPER LITERALLY FLED his bedroom, Logan continued to lie there, sprawled out, a spent condom still in place.
Fuck.
He fisted his hands, squeezed his eyes shut. At thirty-two, he’d had sex with plenty of partners. Younger women, some more mature. Women looking for a good match and women just out to have a good time at a honky-tonk bar. Wealthy women and women down on their luck. Hell, he was more than experienced.
But sex with Pepper Yates was beyond confounding and more satisfying than anything he’d ever known.
Clothes on—again.
No touching—again.
Mind-blowing release—again.
How did she do it? What was it about her? She’d bent over the foot of the bed, her rump in the air, and he’d been a goner. He couldn’t see her clearly, didn’t dare feel the soft flesh of her thighs or hips for fear she’d bolt. And still he’d been wild for her.
Her scent made him savage with lust. Her voice stroked him as surely as an erotic touch.
What was she hiding, damn it?
Disgust—at himself, at what he did with her, what she had him do—got Logan off the bed. The urge to go to her clamored in his head, matching the rhythm of his still galloping heartbeat. But he resisted and instead went into the bathroom to take a long shower. He hoped it would help to clear his head.
It didn’t.
If anything, the cool water against his still-sensitized body only left him more agitated. Not just because he’d let her use him, and not just because he enjoyed it so much.
Logan had to face the awful truth.
When he was with her, he forgot why he’d started all this in the first place. He forgot she was a link to an unsolved murder. He forgot that her brother could tie up loose ends and give him the means to prosecute the ones responsible for the death of his friend.
Pepper equaled Rowdy, and Rowdy equaled Morton Andrews.
But when he was with her, he thought only about pleasure. His, and hers.
Naked, chased by personal demons, Logan went into his bedroom to get clothes. The second he flipped on the light, he saw her panties on the floor.
Time seemed to stand still. For far too long he stood there staring at them.
Black. Lacy.
A skimpy little bit of nothing with a single tiny pink bow in the front.
Un-fucking-believable.
Like a sleepwalker, he picked them up, rubbing his thumb over the material, thinking of them on her, how she’d look, and what other surprises she kept from him.
From everyone.
To the world, Pepper Yates might be a plain-Jane wallflower bullied by her brother, but deep down—with him—she was as sensual as a woman could be.
Damn it all to hell, he was starting to like her.
Sitting on the side of the mattress, Logan tried to decide how to proceed. He was in too deep to give up the progress he’d made undercover. If he blew it now, he might never get another opportunity. Lieutenant Peterson had given him a grace period to get things done. She had big ambitions for the department, so her patience on resolving this had a very definite time limit. His best bet would be to accelerate things—by utilizing his relationship with Pepper.
He couldn’t be the only one leveled by their sexual chemistry. Pepper felt it, too. His hand crushed her panties as he thought of how she’d tightened around him, the rush of wetness, her broken, unrestrained groans while coming.
Yeah, they were in this together.
He’d play off that, use it against her instead of letting it trip him up. Then, when he finally closed the case, he’d find a way to make it up to her.
Should he go to her tonight?
He heard the rattling of pipes as her shower started.
No. Let her stew a little. Let her think about what they’d shared, because he knew damn good and well he’d be thinking about it.
Tomorrow he’d talk her into another “date.” She’d learn to trust him, and then she’d confide information about Rowdy.
Logan finished dressing, stuffed the panties into his pocket, and headed out for his truck. He needed to burn off some energy. He needed Pepper.
But for tonight, he’d settle for a stiff drink.
* * *