Finally Logan’s deep voice cut the air between them like a knife. “If I thought for a minute you were serious, I’d…” He stopped, his fingers flexing against her. “I think for both our sakes you’d better go home now.” It was clear by his husky timbre he was still deeply aroused.
Go home, just like that? Libby opened her mouth to protest when it dawned on her there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t make her sound desperate. She couldn’t help but wonder how far they would have gone had they not been interrupted. His hands fell away from her.
“If that’s what you want.” She purposely stepped away, trying for nonchalance.
A heavy sigh escaped him. “I want you, Libby, in the most raw and basic way. Here against your car, on the ground, I don’t care where. Just be glad I’m not that much of a bastard.”
Libby wanted to beg him to do all of those things. Before she could comment Logan turned and walked away. Her eyes followed him until he disappeared into the shadows. She took a deep breath, willing her body under control. One thing was certain; it was just a matter of time before they made love, if she had anything to say about it.
Chapter 8
“Oh dear Lord, it’s heading right for us!”
Having just entered the room, Libby’s gaze swung to her grandmother, startled by her sudden outburst. “What is, Gram?”
Her eyes went to the TV, which seemed to hold Margaret’s intense interest. She was watching the national weather channel, which was nothing new. What was it about the weather that held the elderly so enthralled?
“Dexter,” Margaret answered without taking her eyes off the set. “Dexter is coming our way.”
Dexter? The last Libby heard was there was a tropical storm out there but that had been a couple days ago. However, after listening to the weatherman for a few moments she quickly realized it had turned into a category four hurricane. They were already calling for evacuations in some areas. She glanced outside the window, seeing nothing but blue skies and bright sunshine. Nothing to indicate they were in the path of a dangerous storm.
“How long…”
“They say it will come on shore sometime tomorrow morning and be right over us by early evening. We have to start preparing for the worst. We need to stock up on canned goods and plenty of water. And buy some tape for the windows.” She jumped to her feet. “Maybe you should run out and buy a generator.”
“Wait a minute, Gram. There’s no way we’re staying here for a category four hurricane.” Libby didn’t want to hurt her feelings by pointing out the inadequacies of her manufactured home. “It will be safer at—”
“I’m not leaving my home. I’ve lived here ten years and never had to evacuate.”
Libby held onto her temper, which was rising as fast as her frustration. “This is the first time you’ve had a hurricane of this magnitude come directly over your house, too,” she reminded the older woman. “Where are you going?” she questioned, getting to her feet to follow her to the kitchen.
“Out to the shed. I know I have a couple lanterns out there somewhere and a box of candles. Hopefully they haven’t melted.
You might want to busy yourself with bringing in anything around the house that can be considered a flying missile.”
“You’re not being reasonable…” The phone rang and Libby picked it up, watching her grandmother push the screen door open. “Hello?”
“Are you two listening to the weather channel?” Libby rolled her eyes. “Mom, I can’t talk now, I’ll call you back.” She hung up and quickly sprinted after her stubborn grandmother with one thought on her mind—making her understand they couldn’t stay there.
“Gram, wait!” she called, seeing the metal shed door slam behind her widening backside. Libby dashed down the porch steps, before remembering she was in her old lady garb, adjusting her speed appropriately. “Margaret!” she hollered, casting a glance around to see if anyone was about.
Logan’s motorcycle was parked next to Vincent’s vehicle so she knew he was there, yet she hadn’t seen him since the night at the bar. A loud crash from inside the shed prompted her to pick up speed, uncaring at that point who might be watching. She yanked the door open and halted in the threshold.
“Gram,” she began, “What…” Surrounded by various size candles and a now empty tin was a broken mayonnaise jar and hundreds of rusty crooked nails. “What?”
Margaret waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Those belonged to your granddaddy. He kept everything in mayonnaise jars. I knocked it over reaching for the tin. Can you get those lanterns for me?”
Libby glanced in the direction she was pointing, frowning when she saw the two ancient lanterns on the very top shelf. Her eyes scanned the small dingy room for a ladder or stepstool, landing on an old wood chair without a back. She supposed that would have to do. “I don’t know why I’m bothering; we’re not staying here,” she said under her breath, positioning the chair beneath the shelf.
“I’m not leaving,” Margaret said stubbornly, catching her comment. “The last time we had a tropical storm come through they opened the community center for anyone who wanted to stay there until the worst was over. I’m sure they’ll do the same thing this time.”
Libby climbed on top of the wobbly chair. “According to the weather man this isn’t a tropical storm, Gram.” The chair was more than just wobbly, swaying like a rocking chair beneath her. She gasped and grabbed the shelf to steady her, just when the phone her grandfather had installed years before over the washer began to ring.
“Be careful, child!” Margaret cautioned, reaching for it.
Libby stretched until she was able to grasp the lanterns, placing them on the work bench beneath her, hearing enough of Margaret’s responses to realize whoever she was talking to was discussing the hurricane with her. She jumped off the chair as though she was a child of ten.
“You see? That was the safety committee and they’re already making plans to set the center up as a shelter.”
Great! The last thing Libby wanted was to hole up inside a large building with a couple hundred elderly for an indefinite time. She didn’t know if her disguise would hold up beneath the stress of keeping up pretenses, or the heat in the barely air- conditioned structure.
“Gram…”
Margaret shook her head as though to say she didn’t want to hear it, snatched up the lanterns and turned for the door. “Save your breath, dear, and pick up those candles for me. You’re a lot younger than I am,” she chuckled.
Sighing heavily Libby glanced down at the floor, trying to think of a way to make her grandmother listen to reason.
* * * *
“I’m not going to any shelter,” Vincent repeated stubbornly for the third time, crossing his arms and settling himself in his easy chair as though daring someone to try and remove him from it. “If you’re scared then you can go.”
Logan pressed his lips in frustration, determined not to let his grandfather push him into anger. “Now is not the time to be stubborn, Gramps. This is going to be bad. And these homes weren’t designed to withstand seventy-mile-per-hour winds.”
“Bah! By the time Dexter makes landfall he’ll be nothing more than a tropical storm. I’ve survived lots of those in this home. We have canned goods and water to get us through a few days but you might want to run down to the store for some flashlights.”
If he thought three gallons of water and a few paltry canned goods were going to get them through the aftereffects of a hurricane, he was crazy. “You know, if we get a direct hit we could go for days without water and electricity,” Logan warned, hoping to see some sensibility in his grandfather’s eyes.
“Then maybe you’d better stock up on some extra supplies, too.” He flipped off the weather station in favor of the history channel. “Oh and while you’re there, might as well pick up some candles, and not those smelly girlie ones either.”
Logan released a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair. He walked to the front door and
peered outside. He’d never know a storm was heading their way. The sky was bright and sunny and there wasn’t a breeze of any kind. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to the house next door. He watched Reba exit the shed carrying a box, her movements spry for a woman her age. Margaret met her at the front door. He just couldn’t put his finger on it but something about Reba nagged at him whenever he saw her.
He turned back to Vincent. “Gramps…”
“Might as well save your breath, boy.”
Logan opened his mouth but clamped it shut again when the phone began to ring. Shaking his head with disgust he headed out the door, leaving his grandfather to answer it. He’d never met a more stubborn man! The screen door slammed behind him, emphasizing his growing anger.
Noise from next door drew his attention. He saw Reba’s backside as she bent to pick something up. In the next instant she was jumping back with a squeal, following it with a little dance that clearly revealed she was repulsed by something. A smile spread across Logan’s mouth, wondering what had frightened her.
“I hate lizards!” he heard her cry out. When she bent toward the potted plant she’d been about to pick up earlier, his eyes shifted to Libby’s car, wondering where she was. It was parked in the driveway but he hadn’t seen her in days. Not since that night when he’d practically made love to her in the parking lot. He’d returned home aching with wanting her.
Spending most of the night dreaming about her he’d wakened several times with a hard on that demanded attention. Only Logan had ignored it. He wanted Libby, not his hand. It was probably for the best that he hadn’t run into her again. He didn’t trust himself around her. She was too damn cute and that sassy mouth of hers tempted him on every occasion, even when she angered him. Libby was a complication he didn’t need right now.
His number one priority was getting cleared to return to work. After that it meant going anywhere in the world where his team of specialists was needed. The Timber Wolves was an elite crew of forest firefighters, trained to take over when fires grew out of control and threatened lives. He’d been with them for six years and couldn’t fathom doing anything else.
“Well….” All at once the screen door was pushed open and his grandfather stepped out onto the porch. “That was Elmer on the phone; used to be a weatherman up north somewhere. He said we have nothing to worry about.”
Logan just managed to keep from rolling his eyes at the news. “And that makes him an expert on hurricanes?” He watched Reba stumble with a heavy planter.
“No, smarty-pants, he saw on the weather channel that the storm is turning away from us. If we’re lucky we’ll just get a tropical rain.”
Logan grinned at his grandfather’s use of his childhood nickname. He hadn’t called him that in years. “A tropical storm still isn’t something to scoff at.” He opened the outside door. “I’ll run down to the store and pick up a few supplies just in case. When I get back I’ll take a walk around the place to make sure nothing’s left out that can become a flying object.”
“Good idea. I’ll help you when you return.” Logan heard the creaking of the old rocking chair that indicated Vincent had settled down into it. Chances were when he returned home his grandfather would be sound asleep. He headed to his bike, noticing Reba disappearing inside the house.
* * * *
“What’s wrong, dear?”
Libby yanked off her wig and glasses with disgust. “I can’t get anything done in this getup, Gram. It’s too darn hot, even with the wind picking up. My eyes are stinging from the sweat running down into them, and I’m spending more time trying to keep my skirt down around my legs than anything else. I swear I heard a neighbor whistle at me!”
Margaret chuckled. “That was probably that old lecher next door. I know he has the hoots for you.”
“Gram!” Libby scolded, laughing in spite of herself. “I’m going to get out of these things and take a quick dip at the pool to cool off. When I come back I’ll finish bringing things in.”
“You’re going swimming with a hurricane coming our way?” Margaret said in astonishment, following Libby through the house.
“Dexter is hours away, and look outside, it’s bright and sunny out. I won’t be gone long.” She shut her bedroom door and began stripping out of her disguise, thoughts of diving into the pool keeping her from worrying about anything else. She tried not to but failed from thinking about Logan as she slipped into her bikini, recalling the last time she’d been at the pool. The memory of her naked breasts crushed against his hard chest and his fingers teasing her didn’t do anything to cool her down.
Within minutes Libby was opening the gate and slipping off her cover up, diving into the beckoning water without a second thought. It didn’t surprise her to find the place deserted. Everyone was either out shopping for supplies or home making preparations for the storm. She’d seen some neighbors out taping up their windows. Her grandmother had been filling every pot and container she could find with water, when she’d left her. Others were out gathering up anything that could become a flying missile and bringing it inside.
Libby didn’t worry about the aftereffects, knowing her parents would never let her grandmother remain in her home without power or water. However, nothing she said had convinced her grandmother of that. She’d been quick to point out that if she wasn’t leaving before the storm, she certainly wasn’t leaving after. That reminded Libby; she needed to call her parents when she returned.
She swam several laps before making for the steps and climbing out. One more dive and she was going home. She stepped onto the diving board and prepared to lunge, when a distant noise penetrated the quiet surrounding her. She hesitated. At first she thought someone was mowing their lawn, and glanced around with disbelief, until a motorcycle gradually came into view. A big black Harley with a lion-haired Adonis riding it.
She froze like a model posing for a shot, knowing it was Logan behind the dark visor of the helmet. No one else in the park rode a motorcycle. No one else wore a pair of faded jeans and sleeveless tee-shirt like they’d been invented just for him. His biceps were prominent as he controlled his powerful bike, even though he wasn’t going all that fast. Libby wondered if he noticed her, receiving her answer when he slowed and swerved in the direction of the pool.
Her body tingled with instant excitement. She watched him park his bike next to the gate and slowly remove his helmet. His gaze shot to her as he ran his hands through his hair. Then he dismounted and headed her way. Even from her distance Libby could see the way his eyes moved over her, making a lazy sweep from the top of her head, down to her feet, and back again. She felt a shiver go over her that had nothing to do with the breeze touching her wet body.
The urge to dive into the pool like a coward was overwhelming, yet Libby refused to give into it. She liked Logan’s eyes on her, liked how they made her feel. She was quaking inside but stood her ground, letting him look as long as he liked. Reaching up, she swept her long hair back, feeling her nipples peak from the heat of his gaze. She felt a pleasant warmth pool between her thighs, surprised at how fast her body responded to him. She tried to swallow but couldn’t, wondering what his intentions were as he silently made his way to her. She decided to break the silence first. “Hello, Logan.”
“Don’t you know there’s a storm heading this way?” he inquired, not making any effort to disguise the mild reproach in his tone.
Libby could hardly point out it was sunny and clear, as she had with her grandmother, when she was noticing for the first time that the sky had gotten cloudy and the wind had definitely picked up. The sun was all but gone now. She’d been so absorbed in her swim that she hadn’t noticed the subtle changes.
None of that excused his insufficient greeting. “Why, I’m fine, Logan. And how are you?” she said cheerfully. “Don’t you know it’s polite to say hello first before yelling at someone?”
“Libby…” he began in annoyance.
“I was hot,” she
said in her defense, deciding not to let his disapproving mood get to her. She gave him a sweet smile, remembering their last encounter. “Haven’t you ever been hot, Logan?” Libby didn’t know why she was baiting him, maybe because he seemed to take life too serious. Maybe because she was still smarting slightly over his rejection, though done in good taste and uttered with all the right words a week ago. She guessed she should thank him for not being a bastard.
The loaded question hung in the air between them. Logan’s eyes widened a fraction. “Once or twice,” he replied carefully, obviously weighing his words. “I’m a fireman, remember?”
That wasn’t the hot Libby was talking about and what’s more, she sensed he knew exactly what she was referring to. Without warning a gust of wind whipped around them from nowhere and she was caught unaware. As she lost her balance Logan reached up and quickly pulled her off the diving board and into his strong arms. Suddenly Libby found herself plastered against his hard body.
Her musical laughter was carried away on the wind as she splayed her hands over his chest, tilting her head back. With nerve she looked up at Logan and batted her eyelashes at him, like some demure southern bell. After a second he burst out laughing, shaking his head with resignation.
“I shouldn’t have stopped.”
His arms remained around her and Libby was very conscious of her near nakedness. “Why?” She didn’t make any effort to step away.
“Because all I want to do when I’m around you is kiss you,” he replied without hesitation, catching them both by surprise.
“Is that all?” Libby retorted with sass, a little thrill shooting through her from his comment. “Would you like me to put you out of your misery?” she teased in a low and sultry voice. At that moment she wanted a kiss more than anything else in the world.
Logan’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and guessing his thoughts Libby’s tongue came out, wetting her lips, and apparently whetting his appetite too. He groaned low in his throat, his gaze falling to her breasts. She knew the little triangle of cloth concealing them left nothing to the imagination. She felt his hands smooth down the curve of her back, and further, halting where her bikini bottom began. She itched for him to go further, knowing he couldn’t.
Out of Control Page 9
