Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed and walking to my car on shaky legs, hyperaware of the way he's watching me from his porch. When I slide behind the wheel, he's already heading to his truck.
"Where are you going?" I call out.
"Following you down. Storm like that, there could be washouts, trees across the road." He gives me a look like I should have known better than to ask. "You don't drive these mountain roads alone after weather like that."
Of course he's going to escort me. Again.
The drive down is careful and cautious, his headlights steady in my rearview mirror. True to his prediction, we have to navigate around two small rockslides and a fallen branch, but his truck easily pushes through what my car couldn't handle.
When we reach the main road, he pulls up beside me and rolls down his window.
"Call me when you get to the office," he says.
"You just watched me drive the dangerous part."
"Call me anyway." He leans out and motions me closer until he can kiss me through our windows, slow and possessive. "And baby girl? I'll pick you up at six. We're going back up tonight."
It's not a question.
I drive to work with his taste still on my lips and the absolute certainty that I'm already in way over my head. But for the first time in years, I can't bring myself to care.
Nine
Emery
"You're glowing."
Logan’s voice cuts through the cloud of lusty distraction that’s been hovering over me since sunrise. I’m knee-deep in the third reorganization of the supply closet, and I still haven’t found inner peace or whatever the hell I’m looking for in these damn bandages. Mostly, I keep seeing Colt’s hands. His dick.
God, his dick was…gah, beautiful. Dangerous. Chef’s kiss.
“I’m not glowing,” I lie, like a liar who is absolutely glowing.
“Honey, you’re practically radioactive. And you’ve been humming that Ed Sheeran song for half an hour.”
Logan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smugness leaking from every pore. “So. That storm. How’d it go?”
My neck starts heating like a stovetop. “It was fine. No problems.”
“Mmmhmm. And where’d you weather said storm?”
“Logan—”
“Because your car? Not in your driveway when I did my definitely-not-creepy morning wellness check.”
“Wait, you drove by my house?”
“Don’t change the subject, Emery Rose.” Full name. Oh, he’s serious now. “Where. Did. You. Sleep?”
He’s relentless, so I give him the partial truth. “Colt’s cabin. Roads were dangerous.”
“And?”
“And what?” My cheeks are basically infernos now.
“And did the grumpy, hotter than Hades’ left nut sheriff finally make his move?”
My silence is apparently a full confession, because Logan lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, if that kid was extremely nosy and emotionally invested in my sex life.
“Oh my God. He did. You slept with him.”
I feel the blush spread over my cheeks before I can turn away to hide it, remembering how good it was to just sleep with a man for the first time in my life. And how Colt wanted just that. It honestly was perfection.
Logan slow claps with a full tooth smile. “Girl, you look like you got thoroughly ransacked and possibly eaten like a midnight snack. In the good way.”
“Logan!”
“What? I'm thrilled. About damn time someone reminded you you’re a woman and not just Legend’s mom.”
Cue stomach punch. Guilt crashes in like a wave.
I’d been so caught up in the Colt vortex of hands, dirty talk, and that scowl that somehow counts as foreplay, I’d let myself pretend the small, wonderful human I’ve been centering my life around is part of a parallel universe somewhere that will not collide with this one at some point.
“He doesn’t want children,” I confess, the thrill of the past couple days suddenly feeling like a drunken Vegas weekend that needs some cold morning after perspective.
Logan’s expression softens. “Did he say that?”
“I asked if he had any. He said, and I quote, ‘Hell no.’ That felt like a statement.”
“Or it’s ‘hell no’ because he hasn’t found the right person to have them with. Until now.”
I want to believe that. I really do. But the fear? It’s like wearing emotional ankle weights.
“I should probably step back,” I say, the idea stomping on my heart like a roach to be crushed. “Before this gets too complicated. It’s just fun, right? He probably won’t even call, or if he does, call for the subtle…thanks for the fun but gotta run talk.”
“Emery Rose Langston.” Logan marches my way, grabbing the stupid gauze I’ve been holding for five minutes out of my hand. He throws it over my head, it bounces off the wall just under the CPR info graphic, then grips my shoulders with a soft shake. “That man looks at you like he wants to put you in one of those baby papoose things and carry you around everywhere. You think you’re complicated? Have you met him?”
The door chimes go off before I can answer and relief slacks my muscles as Logan leaves me in the supply room.