Sky's the Limit

by Elle Aycart

  The mangled underwear around Sky’s ankle seamlessly glided down to her foot onto the floor. Right. Now. She kicked it aside.

  “Sorry,” Logan said. “Where were we?”

  Please. Like they could pick up where they had left off.

  Logan took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. “She killed the mood, didn’t she?”

  That she had. Totally. “So that was Vivienne.”

  “Yes. That was Vivienne. Let’s get out of here. I’m sure they can make our table ready a little early.”

  Through the window, they saw the lights of a car driving away.

  “I should have noticed her car when we pulled in,” he muttered. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  That might have been partly her fault. “Difficult to notice anything when you’re being jumped,” she said, contrite.

  His expression softened. “I liked being jumped, Butterfly. Come on, let’s go.”

  She faltered. “Oh, um… okay. Give me a second to get Arnie settled.” She poured some water in a bowl, petted Arnie on the head, and came back to Logan. Having a moment to freshen up would have been great, but Logan looked somber and she didn’t want to leave him alone with his thoughts.

  That said, there was something they needed to talk about. “I thought Vivienne was your ex-wife. When you said she left, I assumed you were divorced.”

  “We aren’t, not officially. I’ve sent her the papers, but she hasn’t signed them yet. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I’m totally over her.”

  “Are you sure?” If there was a moment to come clean, it was now.

  He nodded. “Absolutely. There’s nothing between her and me. I’m sorry about her barging in like that. She’s used to making all the decisions, so she’s having trouble adapting to the fact that she can’t manipulate me anymore.”

  “Why hasn’t she signed the divorce papers? Does she have hopes of winning you back?”

  Logan let out a dry laugh as he opened the front door and led her to the truck. “More like she’s hoping we’ll still be married when and if I hit pay dirt, so she can get more in a settlement. The chemical processes I’ve derived from the recycling work have huge potential. Licensing a patent can mean big bucks. The possible applications in agriculture and industry are many. That’s probably why she came today.”

  “What’s the award gala she was talking about?”

  “My initiative has made it to the top three candidates, and it’s in the running for the yearly award to the most innovative environmental project in the field of chemistry.”

  “That’s great, Logan. Congratulations. Why haven’t you confirmed your attendance? You don’t want to go?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not too keen on attending, but yeah, I’ll go. Have to. My project operates on grants and needs exposure. Now let’s forget about this and get some food. It looks like the weather will hold.”

  Why the weather would matter, Sky didn’t know. “Where exactly are we going?” she asked as they drove into town.

  Logan turned onto Main Street and shut off the engine. “The most selective restaurant in NoName.”

  “How selective?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Why? Famous chef?” Somehow, she couldn’t picture a three-star Michelin chef lurking around NoName, Minnesota. Minneapolis? Maybe. Here? Nope.

  He laughed. “No, not particularly. The Watering Hole is very selective because it’s the only restaurant in town. And there are only a handful of tables.”

  The Watering Hole. That explained so much.

  They walked into a small, very unassuming place. Like a tavern, but more homey, with wooden furniture and kitsch drapes that matched even kitschier tablecloths. A man by a counter waved at them and pointed to the only empty table. As they made their way to it, they were greeted by every patron. Well, Logan was greeted. She got questioning stares, mostly. Either they didn’t remember her, or they hadn’t expected to see her again.

  “It’s run by Astrid and her husband,” Logan explained after they sat. “Astrid is Netta’s daughter.”

  Oh boy. “Netta, as in Pam’s friend the extreme couponer, known for Dumpster diving in search of newspapers?”

  Logan handed her the menu. “Uh-huh. Give me your cell.” She did, and he tapped on it and returned it to her. “You’re connected to their Wi-Fi. I asked for the password beforehand. Knew you’d want it.”

  “Thanks.” She always posted where she was and what she was doing, but in this case—and given the decor—she might pass. “So, what’s good here?”

  “Actually, everything.”

  She glanced at the menu. Extreme couponing indeed. No restaurant she knew could stay in business with these low prices. “If it weren’t for the fact that this is the restaurant in town, I’d be offended you brought me to such a cheap place. Are you sure the only thing that Netta Dumpster dives for are newspapers?”

  Logan peered at her dubiously over his menu. “You’re talking about a town where they preserve eggs for seven months. Do you really think there’s any food, edible or otherwise, in our Dumpsters?”

  “Good point.”

  “I’ve seen Netta pay no more than five bucks for two shopping carts full of food. I hear supermarkets all over the county hate and fear her in equal parts. Don’t ask me how she does it, but in her world, two plus two equals forty.”

  No shit.

  “I know you don’t eat carbs in the evening, but the ravioli here is fantastic,” Logan added.

  “Ravioli it is.” Her threshold of what she would or wouldn’t do had changed since arriving in Minnesota. What were a few carbs compared with twenty-year-old cheese, or beer made from old bread?

  Logan ordered, and in no time they had two steaming plates full of delicious-looking ravioli in front of them. And two mugs of smoky beer. So Adam supplied beer to the restaurant too.

  She took a bite of the pasta and almost had a mouth orgasm. “Spectacular.”

  “Told you.”

  Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder, and rain started pouring down.

  “Damn, I was hoping the weather would hold.” Logan grimaced.

  Sky didn’t understand what that had to do with anything—until a drop fell on her face. And another and another. Hell, the ceiling was leaking.

  “Okay, people, you know the drill,” the man behind the counter said, coming out with a bunch of… umbrellas? He handed them to the patrons, who, without blinking, opened them and continued with their evening, talking and eating while holding the umbrellas.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sky said, staring at the open umbrella Logan made ready for her.

  “Nope. The dining room ceiling has more holes than Swiss cheese. That’s why they don’t serve anything that requires a knife, just in case you won’t have the use of both hands when eating.”

  Now she understood the name of the restaurant. She looked around, astounded. “It’s raining inside. They don’t care.”

  “Weather isn’t a critical factor in Minnesota. Snow, even when measured in feet, does not constitute an emergency, let alone rain. If we held out for good weather, we’d never do anything. Besides, it’s just a bunch of roof leaks. No big deal.”

  No big deal? She knew many restaurants in New York that had been shut down for much less than that. Then again, as far as she could tell, half the food here could have been outsourced from Pam. Leaks would be the least of an inspector’s concerns.

  Okay, fuck it. She was taking a picture and posting it. “Smile,” she said, lifting her phone and taking a selfie of them both. “There. Hashtag eating in the rain, hashtag best raviolis ever, hashtag to boldly go where no inspector has gone before.”

  One minute after Sky posted that pic, her sister called. “Where the hell are you, and what are you doing eating pasta at night?” came from the other end of the line.

  “Went back to prepper town for the weekend.”

  Lola’s “are you out of your mind?” was so loud and clear, ev
en Logan heard it, because he laughed.

  Sky winked at him and answered, “There’s combat training and target practice I couldn’t pass up. I have to go now—can’t talk and eat and hold the umbrella all at once.”

  The whole restaurant probably heard Lola yelling, “Who are you and what did you do to my sister?” before Sky had time to end the call.

  “Love freaking her out,” she acknowledged. It was normally the other way around.

  “I can tell, Butterfly. Did you ever explain to her about the evacuation drill, or did she end up thinking she’d dreamed the conversation?”

  “She got everything mixed up. She called next day while I was driving to Paris. She said she had the vague recollection she was supposed to come bail me out for stealing cows.”

  “Your sister drinks too much,” Logan muttered, shaking his head.

  That too.

  “Everything all right?” asked a woman in her thirties, wearing an apron.

  “Astrid, this is Sky,” Logan introduced them. “Sky, Astrid is the chef.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sky said, not sure which hand to offer, seeing as both were busy. She nodded. “Delicious meal.”

  “Thank you, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. You’re Patient Zero. I saw your tutorial. I heard you’d gone to Paris.”

  Sky nodded again. “I came back for a short visit.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Astrid added to Logan, “Don’t forget, bingo night this Sunday.”

  “No worries. I’ll be there,” he said.

  Bingo? Logan enjoyed playing bingo?

  Sky gaped at him as Astrid walked away, and he chuckled. “The booster club is holding a bingo night to raise money to repair the school. I hope you like bingo, Butterfly.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never played,” she confessed. “I figured I’d learn when I retire and move to Florida.”

  “You’re going to learn much sooner than that, believe me. Attendance is all but mandatory. The county doesn’t have the funds. NoName is a small town, few kids. The district is pushing to close our school. So we bingo.”

  Ten-K runs. Mandatory bingo nights. NoName had interesting ways of raising money.

  Although she couldn’t see any district administrator having the balls to come to tell this bunch their school was being closed.

  In spite of the rain, the umbrella, and the mess, Sky had a great time. The food was fabulous and the company was even better. She’d really missed Logan. There was something in that gruff mountain man that called to her. She felt at ease around him. He let her be herself. She could flit around, as he put it, without him getting nervous or feeling threatened.

  “We’ve got to get going. They’re closing soon,” Logan said once they finished dessert.

  “What’s next on the agenda?”

  “I was hoping to continue in a more private setting. I have a nice bottle of wine waiting at home.”

  For the life of her, she couldn’t refrain from pouting. “Do we have to go back home?”

  He looked uncertain. “You don’t want to spend time alone with me?”

  “Of course I want to, but there’s no privacy at your place,” she said, touching his forearm. “We need to be ready for whatever evacuation or pandemic drill or crazy maneuver they have planned. I wish we could escape somewhere.”

  “Maybe we can.”

  “I’m not ending up in a bunker again, Alchemist,” she warned.

  “We might not have to. I have an idea. Let’s go.”

  “This place is beautiful,” Sky said, looking at the cozy two-story wooden cabin. After leaving the restaurant, they’d driven to his house. Asking her to wait in the truck, he’d gone in to fetch the dog and her bag and they’d hit the road again. Now they were somewhere up in the mountains, nothing but forest around.

  “Alec’s,” Logan answered, grabbing her suitcase. “This is one of the rental cabins he manages.”

  Okay, so that was why they’d made a stop at Alec and Megan’s on their way here.

  “I see we’re back to relying on your sister to find a place to get laid.” She sighed, shaking her head. “This is embarrassing.”

  Logan unlocked the front door. “Tell me about it.”

  The cabin was cold, so Logan got the fire started. He brought out a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, and sat on the fur rug.

  She took off her coat, placed it on the rug, and sat on it, all ladylike. At his questioning stare, she shrugged. “No underwear. You ripped it back at your place. I didn’t have time to rummage in my suitcase for more.”

  He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. “Are you telling me you were without underwear the whole time we were at the restaurant?”

  She nodded.

  “Thank fucking God you didn’t tell me. We would have ended up in the back of my truck. Heck, we might not have made it that far. The bathroom would have been it.”

  She smiled at him serenely. “I would have been okay with that.”

  “The roof leaks there too.”

  “Sex in the rain. Frigging hot,” she murmured.

  “What would you have done if I’d suggested a round at the bar on the mechanical bull?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.” Smirking, she lifted her skirt.

  “Bare,” he choked, almost dropping the bottle of wine.

  “Bare. I thought I should blend with my environment.”

  His bark was dry. “Then you should cover it with camo netting.”

  “I mean blend with Americans. Mainstream Americans, obsessed with waxing, not off-the-grid survivalists obsessed with camo shit.”

  Logan pinned her down with his stare, something akin to jealousy brewing there. “I’m not sure how I feel about you waxing your pussy to accommodate mainstream guys’ tastes.”

  “Not other guys, silly,” she said, caressing his chest. “You. To accommodate you.”

  “You were that sure I’d come for you, huh?”

  Clever guy. Throwing her words back at her, after a fashion. “I was hoping,” she said softly. “Shayna dropped hints about how miserable and sulky you’d been. She offered to come pick me up for the makeup course.”

  “You told her no?”

  “Don’t you turn this on me. You… dismissed me.”

  “Sorry. I was trying to make things easier, Butterfly.”

  He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, coaxing her mouth open, and when she did, he kissed her. “How badly do you want the wine?” he whispered.

  “Not as badly as I want you.”

  “Thank fucking God.” He lifted her and headed upstairs.

  “Where are we going? The fireplace is down here. Mega romantic.”

  “The only place in this cabin with a locking door is the bedroom upstairs. Look behind us,” he said, tilting his head toward Arnie, who was following them.

  “You’re friends now. He won’t bite you.”

  “We will never be friends enough for me to fuck you with peeping Tom watching.”

  He had a point. “Put me down.”

  He frowned but obliged her. “Why?”

  Arnie was stuck between the second and third steps. She ran downstairs and—rather precariously, considering she was high on Logan and carbs and Batmans—lifted Arnie in her arms. “We can’t leave him here. He won’t be able to climb by himself and he’ll cry all night. I can’t do that to him.”

  The extra weight made her wobble, so she stopped to regain her balance. She figured she better lose the heels, so she leaned a little, trying to reach one stiletto strap.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” she heard Logan mutter an instant before she was airborne and then in his arms, Arnie still in hers. “You’ll break your neck carrying him around. Now, tell me if there are any stumbling blocks, because I can’t see shit.”

  She felt an overwhelming need to kiss him, but she was afraid if she obstructed the little visibility he had, they would all end up in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. She kissed the crook of his
neck and whispered a thank-you she wasn’t sure he heard.

  Once on the second floor, all three of them safely standing on their own feet and paws, Logan grabbed Sky and closed the door on Arnie. Then he jammed a chair under the doorknob. “If he manages to open this, we’re taking him to the circus,” he said.

  “Deal,” she agreed.

  Instead of jumping her, he took a step backward.

  Standing there with her skirt bunched up and her lover retreating, she felt exposed. “Logan?”

  “Just enjoying the view, Butterfly. Undress for me.”

  “I wasn’t planning on that when I got dressed this morning. After you appeared, I thought I’d have time to primp before dinner.” Nice lingerie, sexy dress—those were in her suitcase. She was wearing rather plain clothes, her hair in a knot.

  He gave her a once-over. “I dig the casual Dior vibe you got going on. Fucking hot.”

  Under his appreciative stare, she unbuttoned her blouse and shimmied out of her skirt, feeling surprisingly self-conscious in her bra and thigh-high stockings.

  Perceptive bastard that he was, he noticed. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “I don’t know. Feeling embarrassed, I guess.” This was not a wham-bam in a bunker, horniness driving them. “Maybe some music would make this striptease less awkward.”

  He came closer. “Look at me. What do you see?”

  The vein at his temple pulsed and his cock pressed against his fly. In spite of his relaxed stance, he was keeping himself on a short leash.

  “You want me,” she said.

  His eyes flashed. “Yes, I do. You don’t need music to hold my attention. You don’t need anything but that cheeky smile of yours.”

  Emboldened, she unclasped her bra and let her hair down. Then she turned around and rolled the stockings slowly over her knees, relishing his growl as she bent.

  Naked, she reached for him, loving that his muscles tensed under her touch. His hands fisted in impatience, and yet he allowed her to take her time undressing him and leading him to the bed.

  Once there, though, he took over. “My turn.” He leaned over her and, holding her legs wide, nuzzled her open pussy, his light touches and hot breath making her jerk. She’d forgotten how sensitive her pussy was after waxing, how being bare heightened the caresses.