Wild Heat
Page 37
Obviously sensing that she had one foot stuck in quicksand, he brought things back to the situation at hand. “My workshop is through the house and out the back. The faster we get an answer from David about my samples, the better it'll be.”
She got out of the truck, grateful for his understanding, but as she followed Logan up his front steps, every nerve and wire inside her was on edge. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Logan in this beautiful home he'd built. Not when a foolish part of her brain had started spinning elaborate fairy tales as soon as she'd set eyes on the property.
What if she'd met Logan under different circumstances? What if she'd come to his house an excited, blushing date, more than halfway in love with a strong, rugged firefighter? What would have happened then? Would they have gotten into his hot tub together and kissed until they were so crazy for each other they could barely make it upstairs to his bedroom? Would she have fallen asleep in his arms after making love and woken up beside him the next morning?
She tried to tell herself that she was only having these fantasies because she was tired. But as he led the way up a paved path to his front door, not only did her mouth water for the hundredth time at his muscular, tanned arms, his wide shoulders and sexy rear end, but her heart longed for a deeper connection.
For love.
He pushed open the unlocked front door and led her into a light-filled kitchen. She'd never had much of an eye for colors and shapes, but now she knew exactly what she wanted her house to look like one day. Exposed pine beams, huge panes of glass, and counter tiles the mottled color of natural stone.
He opened the fridge and handed her a soda. Suddenly realizing how dry her mouth was, that she hadn't touched anything at the restaurant, she took a long drink from the can. And then she made the mistake of looking back at Logan, and it took superhuman strength to pull her eyes away from his fingers on the pop tab, his lips on the aluminum rim, his Adam's apple moving beneath his tanned, lightly stubbled skin.
She forced her attention back to his very impressive house. “I would have known you built this house the minute I saw your floors.” She pointed to the tight-fitting inlays in the hardwood. “Most contractors won't do this kind of detail work. It isn't worth their time.”
“Is your boyfriend a builder?”
Her eyes flew to his face. “No.” She found herself stumbling over words, found herself wanting him to know. “I don't have a boyfriend.”
Logan's answering smile knocked the wind out of her lungs and she spun away from him. She couldn't stand it when he looked at her like that, like he knew exactly what she wanted, because he wanted the very same thing.
“Good to know,” he finally said. And then, “While we're here, are you sure McCurdy isn't going to insist that you rummage through my file cabinets? My bedside table, maybe?”
Great will was required to stave off the redness in her cheeks. “I've seen condoms before.”
His voice was smooth and sexy as he hit her with “Even the supersized, ribbed-for-her-pleasure kind?”
Damn it. He was good.
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, keeping her reaction to herself. Because even though she knew he was just joking around, her crystal-clear memories of that afternoon six months ago—and how his big erection had pressed hard into her belly—told her he was only half kidding.
The workshop was dark and cool. She pulled out a Ziploc bag and a sterile glass jar.
“I'm surprised that thing hasn't given you a hernia yet.”
She put the heavy messenger's bag down on the cement floor. “I like to be prepared.”
Quickly and efficiently, she began to collect samples, using a baby wipe to clean away any petroleum on her hands before moving to collect a sample of fertilizer. Her face was as serious as it'd been at the hotshot station when she'd suspended him from duty. Just as he had then, he wanted to pull her against him and kiss the solemn expression off her face.
She looked up and caught him staring. “Stop looking at me like that.”
He'd never wanted a woman as badly as this. “I wish I could,” he said, his words more honest than he'd intended.
She lowered her head again to the bag of fertilizer. “I wish I didn't have to do this, Logan. I wish I didn't have to take these to David's lab for analysis.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Maya. We'll figure this out.”
She surprised the hell out of him by spinning around and saying “Could you stop being so f**king calm already?” Little white pellets fell out of her bag and scattered all around their feet. “Just stop being so goddamn self-sacrificing for one second!” She shook the half-full bag of fertilizer in her fury, and more tiny pellets skipped onto the ground.
“If these match the samples from the explosion you could be in serious trouble. You could go to jail for something you didn't do. If Robbie doesn't live, they'll call you a murderer. And my hand will be in it. My saying you didn't do it won't mean a damn if your supplies came from the same stores and the same lots.”
He moved closer, covered her hands with his. “It's not going to come to that. And if it does, we'll find a way to fight it.” He rubbed her palms lightly with his thumbs. “Together.”
She stared at him like he'd lost his mind, her face awash with emotions. Lust was there, of course, it always was between them. But there was also hope. And fear.
“You're either the most optimistic person I've ever met, or the most delusional,” she said, but already he could feel her relaxing moment by moment.
And then, just as he was about to pull her into his arms, she moved out of his grasp, backing into the bags of fertilizer.
“We'd better go.”
God, how he wanted to make her face up to the fact that they belonged together, naked and sweating in his bed. But she wasn't the kind of woman a guy could push around. One wrong move and she'd back so far away he'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of her across a crowded room.
He followed her sweet ass in her tight-fitting borrowed jeans back out to his driveway. When they got in his truck, she scrunched up her nose.
“It still smells like we're riding behind that tour bus.”
He frowned, thinking the same thing. “Might just be all the smoke in the air.”
He started the engine and began to back out, when it suddenly felt like the bottom of his seat was on fire. And then it hit him: What they were smelling had nothing to do with the exhaust from a random tour bus.
She got out of the truck, grateful for his understanding, but as she followed Logan up his front steps, every nerve and wire inside her was on edge. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Logan in this beautiful home he'd built. Not when a foolish part of her brain had started spinning elaborate fairy tales as soon as she'd set eyes on the property.
What if she'd met Logan under different circumstances? What if she'd come to his house an excited, blushing date, more than halfway in love with a strong, rugged firefighter? What would have happened then? Would they have gotten into his hot tub together and kissed until they were so crazy for each other they could barely make it upstairs to his bedroom? Would she have fallen asleep in his arms after making love and woken up beside him the next morning?
She tried to tell herself that she was only having these fantasies because she was tired. But as he led the way up a paved path to his front door, not only did her mouth water for the hundredth time at his muscular, tanned arms, his wide shoulders and sexy rear end, but her heart longed for a deeper connection.
For love.
He pushed open the unlocked front door and led her into a light-filled kitchen. She'd never had much of an eye for colors and shapes, but now she knew exactly what she wanted her house to look like one day. Exposed pine beams, huge panes of glass, and counter tiles the mottled color of natural stone.
He opened the fridge and handed her a soda. Suddenly realizing how dry her mouth was, that she hadn't touched anything at the restaurant, she took a long drink from the can. And then she made the mistake of looking back at Logan, and it took superhuman strength to pull her eyes away from his fingers on the pop tab, his lips on the aluminum rim, his Adam's apple moving beneath his tanned, lightly stubbled skin.
She forced her attention back to his very impressive house. “I would have known you built this house the minute I saw your floors.” She pointed to the tight-fitting inlays in the hardwood. “Most contractors won't do this kind of detail work. It isn't worth their time.”
“Is your boyfriend a builder?”
Her eyes flew to his face. “No.” She found herself stumbling over words, found herself wanting him to know. “I don't have a boyfriend.”
Logan's answering smile knocked the wind out of her lungs and she spun away from him. She couldn't stand it when he looked at her like that, like he knew exactly what she wanted, because he wanted the very same thing.
“Good to know,” he finally said. And then, “While we're here, are you sure McCurdy isn't going to insist that you rummage through my file cabinets? My bedside table, maybe?”
Great will was required to stave off the redness in her cheeks. “I've seen condoms before.”
His voice was smooth and sexy as he hit her with “Even the supersized, ribbed-for-her-pleasure kind?”
Damn it. He was good.
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, keeping her reaction to herself. Because even though she knew he was just joking around, her crystal-clear memories of that afternoon six months ago—and how his big erection had pressed hard into her belly—told her he was only half kidding.
The workshop was dark and cool. She pulled out a Ziploc bag and a sterile glass jar.
“I'm surprised that thing hasn't given you a hernia yet.”
She put the heavy messenger's bag down on the cement floor. “I like to be prepared.”
Quickly and efficiently, she began to collect samples, using a baby wipe to clean away any petroleum on her hands before moving to collect a sample of fertilizer. Her face was as serious as it'd been at the hotshot station when she'd suspended him from duty. Just as he had then, he wanted to pull her against him and kiss the solemn expression off her face.
She looked up and caught him staring. “Stop looking at me like that.”
He'd never wanted a woman as badly as this. “I wish I could,” he said, his words more honest than he'd intended.
She lowered her head again to the bag of fertilizer. “I wish I didn't have to do this, Logan. I wish I didn't have to take these to David's lab for analysis.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Maya. We'll figure this out.”
She surprised the hell out of him by spinning around and saying “Could you stop being so f**king calm already?” Little white pellets fell out of her bag and scattered all around their feet. “Just stop being so goddamn self-sacrificing for one second!” She shook the half-full bag of fertilizer in her fury, and more tiny pellets skipped onto the ground.
“If these match the samples from the explosion you could be in serious trouble. You could go to jail for something you didn't do. If Robbie doesn't live, they'll call you a murderer. And my hand will be in it. My saying you didn't do it won't mean a damn if your supplies came from the same stores and the same lots.”
He moved closer, covered her hands with his. “It's not going to come to that. And if it does, we'll find a way to fight it.” He rubbed her palms lightly with his thumbs. “Together.”
She stared at him like he'd lost his mind, her face awash with emotions. Lust was there, of course, it always was between them. But there was also hope. And fear.
“You're either the most optimistic person I've ever met, or the most delusional,” she said, but already he could feel her relaxing moment by moment.
And then, just as he was about to pull her into his arms, she moved out of his grasp, backing into the bags of fertilizer.
“We'd better go.”
God, how he wanted to make her face up to the fact that they belonged together, naked and sweating in his bed. But she wasn't the kind of woman a guy could push around. One wrong move and she'd back so far away he'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of her across a crowded room.
He followed her sweet ass in her tight-fitting borrowed jeans back out to his driveway. When they got in his truck, she scrunched up her nose.
“It still smells like we're riding behind that tour bus.”
He frowned, thinking the same thing. “Might just be all the smoke in the air.”
He started the engine and began to back out, when it suddenly felt like the bottom of his seat was on fire. And then it hit him: What they were smelling had nothing to do with the exhaust from a random tour bus.
