Run the Risk

by Lori Foster

  It took Pepper a moment to realize he’d slipped a question in there. She swallowed down her bite and nodded. “Yes, but for the same reasons you just gave—” and many more “—I don’t have any pets, either.” Someday, in her fantasy future, she’d love to have pets, lots of them. Kids, too…no, she wouldn’t, couldn’t think that way.

  It’d only depress her.

  “So we have that in common,” Logan said. “My folks have an ancient German shepherd that loves to swim. I think it’s easier for him than running, less stress on his hips.”

  Slipping in her own question, she asked, “Why didn’t you marry?”

  “Haven’t met the right woman, I guess. I want to someday.” He gestured. “You know, home, hearth, holidays with two kids, a cat and a dog. All that.”

  “You were engaged?” she prompted.

  “Yeah, for over a year.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was all good until she decided I had to take a job with her daddy, and her daddy was a grade-A prick, so…” He shrugged. “Couldn’t work it out.”

  That sounded like the absolute truth, but could that really be the whole story? “You don’t sound particularly heartbroken over it.”

  His expression warmed. Belatedly, she decided that prim and proper Sue Meeks should have reacted some to his language. But, oh, well. Too late now.

  “Funny thing, that. I never was.” Done eating, he slouched back in his chair and cradled his beer on his midsection. “I mean, I was pissed. Maybe even a little…” He searched for a word and settled on, “Disappointed. But I guess I never really loved her, not the way you should love someone if you’re going to spend a lifetime together.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Few years.” He gave her a searching look. “What about you? Ever been serious about anyone?”

  “No.”

  Because she’d answered so quickly, he laughed. “Okay.” He nodded at her empty plate. “All done?”

  Thrown by the change in topic, she looked at her plate and was surprised that she’d eaten so much. “Yes, thank you.”

  “So.” He stood and carried the dishes to the sink. “What now?”

  Bemused, she watched as he rinsed each plate, loaded them in the dishwasher and did a general cleaning of their dinner mess.

  By the time he finished, no sign of dinner remained. “You’re a lot tidier than I am.”

  “No offense, but I’m thinking a lot of people are probably tidier than you.”

  “It’s true.” She didn’t really get into the whole domestic routine. She let out a sigh. “My place isn’t really dirty or anything, but it is cluttered.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like to fuss.”

  “Good. Fussy women are annoying.”

  Distant thunder rumbled, and they both looked toward the balcony. The bright evening sunshine had faded beneath thick gray clouds that darkened the sky. A troubled breeze carried in cooler air.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Logan said, “but this is the weirdest date I’ve ever had.”

  That brought her back around to face him. “It wasn’t a date!”

  “Sure it was.” Mood teasing, he came closer. “A little necking, dinner and conversation, getting to know each other.”

  Oh, God. Maybe it was a date.

  “Usually doesn’t happen in that order, and I can’t recall ever talking marriage on a first date.”

  “You brought it up!”

  “To appease your curiosity.” A light patter of rain danced over the patio doors. “But it wasn’t bad for our first. Was it?”

  Not bad at all. In fact, it was the first time in ages that she’d forgotten, for just a little while, how much her life had changed. “No, I suppose it—”

  Bright lightning splintered the sky, chased by a deafening crack of thunder that reverberated in the floor beneath their feet.

  She said, “Wow.” And the electricity died.

  It needed only this.

  The combination of no lights and black sky left the apartment cast in deep mysterious shadows.

  Logan walked to the patio doors just as the storm hit in earnest, pounding the earth with a deluge of rain. It blew in against his bare chest, dampening his skin, his hair and the front of those well-worn jeans.

  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 nipples 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 wris
t 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 breasts 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.

  When he again reached for her breast—dying to see her, to touch her—she stalled. “Wait.”

  Of course he did. Balanced over her, edgy with need, their breaths mingling, he…waited.

  Her body beneath his was an indistinct form, but he felt her urgency, the way she stared at him, and her indecision.

  Her hands kneaded his chest. “If we’re going to do this—”

  “I hope we are.”

  “—then I need the curtains closed.”

  Even though it was black as pitch outside? He looked toward the window. Was she afraid a flash of lightning would show him something? Like what? Thinking to encourage her, he said, “You don’t need to—”

  “And you have to keep your hands to yourself.”

  Thoughts, ugly suspicions, bounded this way and that. He gave her a gentle kiss. “I don’t understand.” Any of it, including the driving need to discover her hang-ups. “I’ve got my hands on you now.” He emphasized that by tucking her hair back, smoothing her cheek with his thumb.

  “I don’t want you…feeling around on me.”

  Moving his body over hers, he growled, “I can feel you. All of you.” He closed his eyes at the giving softness of her curves, the open cradle of her thighs. “You’re soft and hot and—”

  A little panicked—or else very close to the edge of release—she said in a high voice, “Promise me right now, or we’re done.”

  Unease warred with conviction. He couldn’t keep from brushing gentle kisses on the bridge of her nose, her brow, and he wanted to go on kissing her. Everywhere. “Whatever it is, honey, I swear to you, it’s okay.”

  “It’s me.” Stroking her hands around to his back, fraught with uncertainty, she clutched at him. “I need my clothes on. I need the lights out. I need you to keep your hands mostly to yourself.”

  Jesus. “When I mentioned high school, I wasn’t looking for a reenactment.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Fine.” Shaking, she pushed against him while trying to turn away from him. “Then let’s forget about—”

  “No way.” He brought her face back around to his and again kissed her, softer, deeper. “You can trust me, Sue.” Like hell. “I won’t hurt you.” Damn it.

  In the near darkness, they watched each other. Her eyes glimmered, but he couldn’t see her well enough to decipher her thoughts.

  She touched his jaw. “Let me up.”

  Damn, damn, damn. Flopping over to his back with a groan, Logan stared toward the ceiling, hot, frustrated, but mostly troubled. From the knees down, his legs hung over the end of the bed.

  The part the rain had soaked.

  The wind howled eerily, suiting his mood. Thunder crashed, and he felt it in his chest.

  He didn’t want things to end like this.

  He rose up on one arm. “Sue?” It amazed him that he kept the forethought to continue using her alias. There remained just enough light filtering in for him to see her shadowy form as she lifted her skirt.

  Lust tied him in knots. He drew in necessary oxygen. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off my panties.” She dropped them on the floor and crossed to the window to close the heavy curtains. “Only my panties.”

  His heart thundered. “Yeah, all right.” Lust cut into him. When he felt her approach, he dropped back to the bed in an agony of suspense, breath held, erection straining.

  Her hands went to the fastening of his jeans. With a small tug, she opened the snap. “I shouldn’t do this,” she said.

  He heartily disagreed.

  She pushed his jeans down to his knees. “I’ll probably regret it.”

  He wouldn’t let her feel regret. Somehow he’d make it okay—

  Her hand curled around him, and his thoughts shattered on a rough groan.

  Keeping his cock held tight in her small, hot hand, she climbed onto the bed to straddle his hips. She’d lifted her skirt; her panties were indeed gone. “Please don’t ruin this for me, Logan.”

  “No.” Hell, no. “I won’t.”

  Sitting back a little, she stroked him once, then released him. “Can you put on this condom?”

  Where the hell had she gotten it?

  Screw it, he didn’t care. He found her hand in the darkness and took the rubber from her. “Yeah, no problem.” Amazing that he felt so close; it hadn’t been that long for him. He shouldn’t be so wired, so fucking desperate to get inside her.

  She was plain, timid, with a nondescript build and more secrets than he could count.

  She was a pawn in his scheme to corral the murderous Morton Andrews.

  But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LOGAN LOVED SEX, always had, always would. No two ways about that. Somehow, with Pepper Yates and all her coy rules and seductive timidity, it felt different. Scorching. Salacious.

  Like a kinky fantasy come to life.

  Her soft bare thighs opened over his hips. Not touching her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He fisted his hands in the damp sheets of her bed.

  Again she wrapped her small hand around him. “I can feel you pulsing,” she whispered.

  God. “Tell me what you need, honey.”

  “You,” she said. “Inside me.” And with that, she moved over him, positioning him, moving the head of his cock against her hot, slick flesh.

  He couldn’t remember ever being so turned on, so primed. “You’re wet,” he said with savage satisfaction. She gave him so little…but he had this.

  “I know.” She sank down the tiniest bit, caught her breath and hesitated.

  Shaking all over, Logan held himself as still as he could. Jaw tight, he waited. He could barely see her, but her scent was stronger now, her body clamping around him, alternately squeezing him, then softening again with devastating effect.

  It was a snug fit, and with her only working the sensitive head, he thought he’d lose it. Through his teeth, he said, “More, Sue.” He drew a harsh breath. “Now, or it’ll be over before it begins.”

  “I’m sorry.” She braced a hand flat on his chest and presse
d down, rocking a little, working herself down over him. “It’s been a while for me.”

  “You need me to touch you, to help ready you—”

  “No.” Now with both hands on his chest, she gasped, and sank more.

  Heels to the floor, Logan lifted up and pressed himself as deep as he could go until he’d buried himself inside her.

  He heard her vibrating groan and felt the way her inner muscles worked him.

  “Yeah?” Anchoring himself so he wouldn’t forget and reach for her, he waited.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Thank God. He drove up into her again and again. He wanted to hold her hips, he wanted to free her breasts and suck on her nipples.

  But all he had was this, and it was so damned erotic, he had to concentrate hard to keep from coming.

  They found the perfect rhythm together. Her nails curled into his pectoral muscles, then kneaded him in pleasure. He growled, and she purred.

  “Let me kiss you,” he said. He needed at least that. “Give me your mouth.”

  Lowering to her forearms, she bit his bottom lip, kissed him hard, licked her tongue against his. This new position drove him even deeper, brought her clitoris into contact with his shaft with each solid thrust—and he felt the start of her climax.

  Against his mouth she cried out, still kissing him with hunger, grinding herself against him, harder and faster.

  Suddenly she arched back with a harsh moan, riding out her orgasm, and more than anything Logan wished he could see her.

  Letting himself go, he groaned with her, stunned by the power of what she made him feel, by her physical and emotional appeal. The release continued until he was drained, until the aftershocks faded and she sprawled down over him, a limp, sweet weight over his heart.