by Maisey Yates
Her hands felt numb. She didn’t know why. She opted for the underwear that had a slight bit of scalloped edging on the waistband and legs, and delicate pink roses. Again, from one of those packages. It had probably come with white and gray, something serviceable that tended to be Rose’s go-to. She was grateful now for the hint of floral.
The bra...
Well, she decided to put on a real bra that clasped in the back. She did have two of those. A nude color and a white one. She went with white, just because it matched the panties.
She had never wondered what a man might think of her underwear, or her body. And now she found herself staring in the mirror above her dresser—a dresser that had once belonged to her mother—and giving her body a critical once-over.
She had a decent rack. Kind of narrow hips, and muscular thighs from all the riding that she did. Her arms and midsection were toned. Not bad, all things considered. She’d never been near any kind of waxing. She hoped he didn’t mind that.
The thought made her brain short-circuit, and she knew if she didn’t get dressed and get away from the mirror immediately she was going to talk herself out of this whole thing.
Waxing.
And Logan seeing anywhere that she might need to wax.
Her hands went from numb to sweaty and numb in record time.
Then she slapped her hands down on the top of the dresser and decisively grabbed a pair of jeans and a red sweater. It was her Christmas sweater. One of the nicer things she owned. Not a T-shirt, not plaid, and not a work jacket.
She left her hair down.
Then she turned and started to walk out of her bedroom, down the stairs and into the living room. The dogs were shuffling around down there, making more commotion than she would have liked.
“Settle down,” she hissed.
That was when Sammy came in from the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream in her hand.
“Are you going out?”
“I... Yeah,” Rose said.
Prickles crawled up the back of her neck and she gritted her teeth, hoping the prickles didn’t bloom into a full-blown blush that bled into her face and made it painfully obvious that she was up to something.
“Where?”
She tried to think. It couldn’t be the saloon, because there was every chance that someone from her family would be there.
And if she wasn’t there, then they would wonder where she was.
Maybe this was the real reason she had never had sex before.
Maybe it wasn’t her profound emotional issues.
Maybe it was just the problem of having a large family in a very small town.
There weren’t very many corners for her to hide in. Her family filled up too much of the space.
“Meeting a friend. From high school,” she said.
She had a couple friends in high school on the drill team. And she did often meet up with them for dinner or a drink when they came to town, usually around the holidays, so it was plausible.
Most of them had moved away, of course.
“Oh,” Sammy said. “Fun. Are you having dinner out?”
“Yes,” she said. “Probably Italian. But maybe we’ll be fancy and go to the Gold Valley Inn. I can always go for steak. So.”
As lies went, that was a pretty good one. Because she wasn’t being decisive, and she wouldn’t be likely to run into her family at either venue.
“Well, see you later.”
“Maybe,” Rose said. “I... If I end up having too much to drink I might crash at my friend’s house. You know. Because her parents live in town. So we can walk if we need to.”
“I can come get you,” Sammy said. “I’m constantly designated now.”
“No. It’s okay. I know that you might be tired. It’ll probably be late. And... Anyway. I might be out all night.”
Sammy stared at her. Rose realized that she had probably overextended herself. Just a step too far. But Sammy wasn’t going to call her on it. And after a couple seconds of staring, Rose fully realized that.
Sammy might not believe her, but Sammy was going to allow her to have her secret.
“Okay,” she said.
And now Rose also knew that she had to drive.
But if she drove, then her truck was going to be outside Logan’s.
But if she left her truck, then they would know that she should be here.
She gave Sammy a wave, and then ducked out of the house, making her way to her truck. Ultimately, she decided to park it behind one of the barns, and make her way on foot to Logan’s. Good thing she hadn’t brought wine and cheese, because she would have been laden down. And already, she was panting with exertion by the time she got there. She had very nearly run.
Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. To arrive at her potential lover’s cabin sweaty. Out of breath.
Right now, though, she felt like she was outrunning some of the reality that she had been smacked with upstairs while looking in her mirror.
Like the subject of waxing. And what he would be expecting to find beneath her underwear.
She could see his cabin, the lights on, the porch clean but barren of any kind of decor. The main house at Hope Springs Ranch was completely decked out. Wreaths and lights and Christmas bows. But then, most of that was Sammy’s doing.
Not that they didn’t do Christmas decor at the ranch. They did. And they had, from the very beginning, when their parents had died. Ryder had been determined that things wouldn’t fall apart more than they already had. He’d gotten a Christmas tree that had been too big for the living room. They had to cut the top off, and it had served as a mini tree that had sat on the kitchen table.
It had been ugly, gaudy and shiny as hell during the darkest time of their lives.
They had always made time for Christmas.
Logan never had. He’d always withdrawn during this time of year.
She would focus on his lack of Christmas decoration. Because it was easier than...well, just about anything else.
She swallowed hard and made her way up the steps to the house. Should she knock? She didn’t know.
She was still standing there, debating...well, everything, when the door opened.
Somehow, he was taller and broader than she remembered. Which was ridiculous, because she had just seen him a couple hours ago. Oh, and pretty much every day of her life.
And there was no way he had changed in the time since she’d last seen him. But maybe it was just because she was so aware of the fact that all that strength, all that height and breadth and muscle was going to be...
Touching her.
“Come on in,” he said, his voice gruff.
It was only that gruffness that gave her any indication that he felt something out of the ordinary.
So she came in.
She had been in his cabin any number of times, but right along with him feeling bigger than usual, it felt smaller.
Earlier today when he had initially made this offer, she had felt triumphant. Especially when she had been staring Pansy down, daring her to say something. Daring her to tell Rose that she didn’t know what she was doing.
He had walked her all around the booths like he was proud to be with her. And sure, there wasn’t anything particularly unusual about it given they were together all the time, but it had made her feel special in some way or another.
But wandering around town with spiced nuts and cider and feeling like she had won some kind of game was all fine and good with the barrier of the public and the outdoor air all around them. They were inside now. And they were alone.
She had been alone with Logan countless times. But this felt different. Heavy. Weighted. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. And if anything scared her, really scared her, it was that. That it felt different now, when all they had done was kiss once. That it f
elt different now with just the promise of sex between them.
It made her wonder if it would always be different.
But if so, then there was nothing that could be done. It was already different.
And her heart was pounding so hard she was dizzy with it.
It wasn’t just that he looked larger. Taller. His face looked different. Harder. Like it was carved straight from granite. His mouth was held in a grim line. She was...mesmerized. By the glint in the blue that was so sharp she thought it might cut her. He was... He was a beautiful man. And she didn’t know how she had spent so many years with him and not seen it. Truly seen it.
His face was perfectly sculpted, square jaw, straight nose. Right now, it looked rough with stubble, and she found it fascinating. Compelling. Wondered what it would feel like beneath her fingertips.
She swallowed hard.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. But it didn’t stop her from staring. Instead, she continued her visual tour of Logan. Looking at him like...like a potential lover, and not like an inevitability.
She had told him that she felt like he was safe. And she had. But there had been naivety in that statement.
She hadn’t understood what it would feel like when they were alone. When there was nothing to stop her from reaching out and touching him. Nothing to stop him from touching her.
Like that night in the barn.
But there would be no reason to stop. She wasn’t here for it to stop.
She suddenly wished that there had been spontaneity to this. That maybe the kiss in the kitchen had become more. Instead of all of it becoming this determined decision.
She waited for him to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he took a step toward her, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and brought his mouth down on hers. She shivered, melted beneath his firm lips. It was different than that kiss in the kitchen. It was different than anything.
In part because it wasn’t blunted by the shock of Logan kissing her. He had kissed her once before, she had come here to be kissed. And then some.
There was an edge to this. Danger.
Even though he held his body apart from hers, the only place they made contact her chin and their mouths, there was an intensity that wound its way through her body.
He tilted his head, taking the kiss deeper, sliding his tongue into her mouth, against hers.
The friction shocked her, sent an arrow of pleasure straight to her center. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to go even deeper, which she hadn’t realized was possible.
Then he took her into his arms.
Wrapped her up completely in him. His heat, his strength. She had the barest impression that it would be different to be near all his strength, all his intensity, when it was wrapped around her, but she hadn’t really understood.
Then he groaned, cupping the back of her head, his other arm hard around her waist like a steel band. Her breasts were crushed flat against his chest, and she could feel his hardness pushing against her stomach. Evidence of his desire for her.
But it was more than that. It wasn’t just the physical signs of how much he wanted her that she felt.
She had always felt his emotions. Always.
The bristling of his disapproval, the hot flash of his anger. She had always been so in tune with him. But she had never noticed this before. Wanting her. Maybe it was because she was blind to things like this. He’d said that she was.
Maybe it was because it was only since he’d kissed her that he wanted her. Maybe he could have wanted any woman the same way. He was a man, so she had to concede that that might be true.
Show up. Be you.
He wanted her. He’d said that. So she had to believe that it mattered. Believe that this intense, white-hot, electric need that she could feel coming off him as sure as she could feel heat radiating from the engine of her truck when it stalled out on the road on a summer day, was for her.
That she was special.
That he wanted her. Her. That she wasn’t just a responsibility that had been foisted on him. But an object of desire.
Of choice.
Suddenly, she realized why he had wanted to know for sure that she wasn’t just using him as a stand-in. She wanted to tell him. Wanted to tell him, but that would require separating from his mouth, and she didn’t want to do that, either. No. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to kiss him like this because it was a high. An injection of adrenaline that made it impossible to feel nervous. Impossible to feel uncertain.
That was when she found herself being walked backward, taken down to the couch. And he was over her, strong and solid, consuming her like he was starving.
She couldn’t think anymore.
She had turned into liquid heat. And liquid heat couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but feel.
She found her sweater being stripped up over her head, and she forgot to worry about if her bra was plain, or if he might like the look of it.
Because that was when he finally separated from her, and the look in his eyes was one of pure fire. He growled. Really growled, like a feral animal, moving back down to her and kissing her neck, the scrape of his teeth on her skin sending a flash of desire between her thighs.
Teeth.
Oh.
Well, now she knew. And she wanted more.
It hurt. Both his teeth and the way it made her want. And she didn’t understand how hurt could be good. But it was. Right now, it was.
She had thought that they might talk. But they weren’t talking.
She had thought that he might outline what they would do. But he didn’t.
He just kept on kissing her. Kissing her until her mouth felt swollen, until she thought her heart might gallop out of her chest. Until his magic hands dispensed with her bra and she barely even noticed, let alone remembered to be embarrassed.
He sat up for a moment and he shuddered. His big, muscular body that she knew was hard as granite. She didn’t have to be here making out with him to know that. She had watched him tangle with animals that outweighed him by ten times, and he hadn’t shaken. But he did now. Looking at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice rough, thick, like he was drunk. “Rosie, do you know how pretty you are?”
It was the intensity of those words that shocked her. Almost as much as the content. “I’ve never thought about it,” she said, honest as possible.
“Well, hell,” he said, chuckling. “I think about it all the damn time. How pretty you are. Usually, though, I’m thinking about how pretty you look in your jeans. Can’t wait to see you out of them.”
Her heart was like a whole team of wild horses thundering over her breastbone, so hard she was sure that it would crack. He thought about it all the time? She didn’t even ever think about how pretty she was. And suddenly, she wanted to catch up. Not to her own beauty, but to thinking about his. It seemed more important than her own nudity. Seemed more important than anything else.
She shoved her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, her fingertips making contact with hard, hot skin. She gasped, slid her hand up higher, marveling at the feel of the hair that covered those muscles. Served as a reminder of just how different they were. Masculine to her feminine. And she did not spend a whole lot of time pondering her femininity. But the overwhelming intensity of his masculinity sure did it.
She pushed his shirt then, desperate to get it off. Desperate to see him. And he obliged her. He reached behind his head and tugged at his shirt collar, pulling it up from the back and casting it to the floor. “How do men take their shirts off like that?” she marveled. “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of men take their shirts off.”
“Not this close,” she said.
And
then, they couldn’t talk anymore, because he was kissing her again, her hands pinned between them, flat on his chest, which was as rough and hairy and muscular as his stomach.
Then he was kissing her neck, down to the curve of one of her breasts. He looked up at her, electric blue hitting her like a lightning bolt. And he kept on looking at her as his mouth migrated down to the tip of one of her breasts, as he drew her nipple deep into his mouth. She gasped, arching back, her stomach pitching hard. She had not been prepared for that. For the intense need that would flood her when he did that. Then with his hand, that work-rough, calloused hand, he cupped her other breast, pinching her nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger.
She started to move her hips against him, finding his hard thigh and trying to use it to soothe the ache that was building inside of her.
“So pretty,” he murmured against her skin, raining kisses over her tender body, leaving her feeling electric. As if all the nerves in her had come online when his lips touched her. Parts of her that she hadn’t even been aware of were suddenly taut and aching, begging for his touch.
Already, this was not what she had imagined.
It was so much more complex. She had thought of it as some great mystery of the universe. In answer to a question that she had. But so far, all she had were more questions. About herself. About him. About how he made her feel these things.
And all the while, he kept looking at her. She was so deeply aware that it was Logan touching her like this. Logan holding her in his arms and making her want things she had never even fantasized about before.
In her head it had been a formal lesson. In her head, she had thought she might sit for a while. Maybe chat a little before it all started.
And it was the deep, wrenching difference between that vague imagining she’d allowed herself and what was happening now that kept her from catching her breath.
Or maybe it was him.
Logan. How many times had she made jokes about sex with him in the room? About his sex life even? About him going off and hooking up with a woman. And she had no idea what it meant. Not really. Because she hadn’t imagined him touching some other woman’s breasts. Hadn’t imagined him sucking her nipples into his mouth. Making her weak with wanting and helpless with desire.
