“I did call you a manwhore, Dino. But I still love you, and I know you have a big generous heart and you’re a great guy.” And you’re hot as hell.
“Thanks Sam. How long do you plan on staying in North Carolina?”
“A week or two.”
“Dino,” a woman whines. “Come back to bed.”
“Okay, I don’t need to hear anymore. Call me when you get settled.”
“I will. Love you, Sam.”
“Love you, old uncle Dino.”
He chuckles, and we disconnect.
Two hours later the doorbell rings. Startled, and not quite sure it did indeed ring, I sit up and wait for it to ring again. It rings two more time. I get up off the sofa (that I wasn’t napping on) and peek out the peephole.
I smile. “Who is it?” I ask through the door.
“Land shark.”
“Oh my. I don’t know any land sharks.”
“Pizza man?”
“Sorry, didn’t order a pizza. I’m allergic to cheese.”
He chuckles. “Plumber?”
“Sorry, don’t need a plumber. My pipes are just fine. No clogged drains here. I’ve got myself a nice pink plunger if I run into any problems.”
“Well, I don’t have a plunger, but I do have a couple of Ding Dongs and a rather nice Twinkie.”
I giggle. “I’m not sure if I’d trust a plumber who doesn’t own a plunger, but I guess your extra tools come in handy.”
“You have no idea.”
“You’re right, I don’t, Mr. Plumber. And again, I’m sorry. I’m just not in need of your services at this time.”
“Hot hockey player with pie?”
I open the door. “Well, gawd dangit! Why didn’t you say so? I love hockey-playing men with pies. I’m all over that.”
He laughs. I step aside and he steps in, holding a pie in one hand, duffle in the other.
I raise a brow. “What’s with the duffle?”
He gives me a cheeky grin. “Yes, the duffle. I was hoping I could stay a few days. The glass box was inspected today; and the buyers want it painted inside and out before we close. Paint fumes and all that.”
I roll my eyes and shut the door. “Yes, paint fumes are the worst.”
He follows me into the kitchen area. “You don’t sound too happy about it. I could get a room.”
“No. I’m sorry. Just surprised, I guess.”
He frowns and puts the pie down on the counter. “You’re mad about Janet?”
“No. We just met, Logan. What you do or who you’re doing is none of my business.”
His frown deepens. “I haven’t done Janet in years.”
“Like I said. Not my business.” I take out two beers from the fridge, open them and hand him one.
He downs half of it. “It might not be, but I’d like to explain.”
I nod in faux indifference. I want to know, even though I have no right to.
He gives me a half smile.
He so knows. If I were a chameleon, I couldn’t even hide. Dang it!
He leans back against the counter. “I met Janet the first year I was in Raleigh. Her dad is part owner of the Hurricanes. We dated on and off for a couple of years. Long story short, she wanted more than I could give her. Things got complicated, her being the daughter of the owner and all.”
“I can imagine. Probably not one of your… brightest moves.”
“No, it wasn’t. Her parents were pressuring her to get married, so she bought herself a ring and told them I asked her to marry me. I found out, of course, and confronted her, and… well, I agreed to let them think we were engaged until things cooled down.”
“But things never cooled down?”
He shakes his head. “No, they didn’t. I got caught with another woman, pictures and all. Her father confronted me and I told him the truth. It nearly got me traded, but we managed to get past it and became good friends.”
“But Janet?”
“It took her awhile, but she got over it. She’s engaged to be married to some doctor next summer.”
I sit down for the rest of the story. “Okay. Then what was last night all about?” I ask, and down half my beer.
He sits across from me, peeling the label off his bottle. “It’s a stupid and long story,” he says, his eyes on his fingers.
“You don’t have to tell me, Logan.”
He looks up. “I want to. I want you to know that I’m not with her or anyone. I like you, Sam. A lot.”
I nod, not knowing what to say.
“Janet’s best friends with my brother Jared’s wife, Sandy. Sandy hates my guts and feels the need to try and fuck up my life whenever she gets a chance.”
“Okay,” I say, having no idea where this is going and not knowing if I want to.
“I spoke with my mom and told her about you coming over for dinner. She told my brother Jared and he told Sandy. Mom had no idea Sandy was still doing what she does best, being a bitch, and interfering with my life. Anyway, Sandy called Janet and begged her to come to the beach and cause problems.”
“I see,” I say, even though I don’t.
“Bottom line, Sam, Janet’s not a part of my life.”
He finishes his beer, gets up, and grabs two more out of the fridge. I down the rest of mine; he takes it and hands me a new one.
I shouldn’t press him, but I can’t help myself. What he told me just doesn’t make sense. “What about your brother? Do you not get along?”
He sits across from me again and begins to peel the new label. Is he nervous? Why?
“I like him just fine, he’s my brother.” He pauses. “However, I filter what I tell him. It’s sad. Sandy’s involvement with my family has made things… harder.”
“Harder?”
He shakes his head and looks up at me. “My…” Heavy sigh. “It’s complicated.”
I smile in an effort to ease his obvious nerves. “I know all about complications,” I say, and roll my eyes.
He smirks. “I thought you might,” he says and looks back at his hands.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he tells me, peeling the damn label.
“Logan, you’re as transparent as I am. Just tell me.”
He looks at me. “I was nervous about coming over here. The way you left last night, I didn’t know what to think.”
I don’t believe that’s what is bothering or upsetting him but I let it go. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to get involved with whatever was going on between you and Janet. I hate confrontations with exes.”
He tilts his head. “Had a lot of them?”
“No, not a lot.”
“Most women would have reacted differently than you did. But then again, angel, you’re not most women.”
I smile at him, not knowing what to say, but liking what he said.
“So, you’re okay with me staying here?”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be here. But… I’m good with it. More than good, actually.”
He stands and reaches for my hand. “Why don’t you show me around?”
I set my beer on the coffee table and take his hand. “Okay.”
I show him around the cottage and when we reach the guest bedroom, I tell him he can unpack his things there. He puts his bag on the bed as he gives me a more than obvious, disappointed half-smile.
Do I want to sleep with him? Hell yes! But is it a good idea? I’m not sure, now I’ve had more time to think on it.
He follows me back out into the great room. “Are you hungry?”
He sits at the bar. “I could eat.”
I pull out fixings for sandwiches and get to work. “It’s a little early for sandwiches but that’s all I have.”
“We have pie.”
I look at the half eaten pie, and smile. “Yes, we do. I was thinking about going into town and stocking up. Would you like to tag along?”
“Sure.”
We go to town, stock up on groceries, liquor, and yes… condoms.
We laugh when we bump into each other in the Personal Care aisle. It was good to know he didn’t have a warehouse-sized package of condoms stuffed in his duffle. It’s not what I expected from a player. Maybe it’s like Jules said, you can’t believe everything you read online. That said; I’m pretty sure Logan Romano is a big-time player. Maybe he’s been taking a hiatus or maybe he’s not telling me the truth about Janet, and he’s nursing a broken heart. Whatever his story is, he’s not the open book he claims to be. He’s holding back, he has secrets. Well, hello Sam. So are you and so do you.
When we get back from the market, he starts up the grill and I make a salad. We work well together; make a good team. It’s odd and unusual for me to feel so… comfortable with someone I just met. I’m drawn to Logan, and more than just sexually. There’s something about him that makes me feel… protected and prized.
He flips the steaks on the grill and I hand him two fingers of Mossrock, the new Grant signature scotch.
He tilts his head, half closing his eyes as he faces the sun. “Didn’t take you for a scotch drinker.”
“I’m half Scot.”
We tap glasses. He takes a sip and smiles. “Wow. That’s good, smooth. I’m pretty sure you didn’t find that at the local liquor store.”
“No. I brought it with me.”
I tap his glass. “To you, Logan Romano. I hope whatever your future entails, that it’s fulfilling and grand.”
He lifts his brow a couple of times. “I can guarantee your near future will be full-feeling.”
I flush.
He smirks. “I made you blush, angel.”
“You sure did. I’m going to make a salad.” A friggin’ salad you’ve already made, Samantha. As I walk back into the house, he laughs.
I shake my head, thinking about the three boxes of condoms we purchased. Will three boxes be enough? Smiling to myself, I finish setting the table. A few minutes later, Logan brings in the steaks; I pour the wine, and we sit across from each other.
We fill our plates and I take a sip of wine.
He stops eating and stares at me.
I swallow. “What?”
“The way you taste your wine. So damn sexy.”
I feel myself blushing, again. What the hell is wrong with me? You know what’s wrong, Ms. Grant. You’ve got feelings for the man. And there was that small incident at the market, the one where you were being hopeful and picked up the large, textured-for-her-pleasure box of condoms. Then he came along, grinned like an idiot, taking it out of your hand and replacing it with a box of extra-extra large, (maximum-man) lubed and bare-feeling for-your-mutual-pleasure condoms. You so hope he’s not being… well, overachieving. And you so pray he fills them… to the max.
“Sam, you’re killing me.”
I swallow my second sip. “Sorry, it’s not intentional.” Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that.
He finishes chewing his bite of steak. “My dick is rock solid right now,” he tells me, matter-of-factly.
I lick my lips and take another sip of wine. And my pussy is weeping.
“Dang, girl. I’m not going to make it through dinner if you keep doing that.”
I grin and take one more sip. As I intentionally hold it against my palate, I look into dark brown eyes. Eyes filled with wonder, lust, and pain, eyes that look older than the man who houses them. He licks his lips, his pupils dilated, turning brown eyes nearly black.
I swallow. You’re in so much trouble, Samantha.
He puts his fork down and stands. “Angel?”
I set my glass down. “Logan.”
Two seconds later, I’m lifted out of my chair and pressed up against the wall. Big, callused stick-holding hands run all over me, without pause, as if they can’t decide where they belong.
“Sam,” he moans.
“Logan,” is all I can say, literally, as he devours my lips. He’s going to eat me up whole and God help me, I so want to be eaten.
He grips my ass, lifting me, pushing me higher up the wall. It seems effortless, as if I were a one hundred pound, petite little thing. It makes this five-nine, long-legged chica feel like she’s finally met her perfect six-two match. Met a man strong enough to take care of all of her. ALL OF HER!
“Damn, angel,” he moans as his warm lips journey down my neck. I try to tilt my head in an effort to give him easier, better access. But he won’t let me move; I’m his captive.
His lips pause on the swell of my right breast. His neck is at such a tight angle, he must release his hold on me if he intends to travel further. He looks up at me and without saying a word, lifts me up and away from the wall. My legs wrap around his waist and he carries me into the master bedroom, laying me on the bed.
Taking a step back, he seems perplexed, as if he doesn’t know what to do with me. It’s empowering, yet unnerving.
When he doesn’t move or say anything for several long beats, I break the silence. “Logan, are you all right? We don’t have to—”
He bends over me, trapping me between his arms, silencing me with his lips. “Angel… I’ve never wanted anyone… anything more. I just needed a minute to mentally pinch myself. From the moment I saw you, sitting on the beach, head back, eyes closed, a smile planted on your lips, I was intrigued. Then the sun tucked behind a cloud, your eyes opened and you looked up at me with eyes unlike anything I’d ever seen, and knew I had to have you. I can’t believe I’m here.”
“Logan, believe,” I whisper against his lips.
Our lips separate and he hovers over me. I watch brown eyes turn black as aching, raw lust consumes them.
“Logan,” I plead.
A sexy half grin is his only answer to my plea. He says nothing as he lifts my short sundress up and over my head, tossing it aside.
Taking me in, he sucks in a breath. “Angel,” he whispers and trails a strong, callused finger between my breasts, down the center of my belly, dipping into my navel before zigzagging its way to my hip.
As he hooks the string of my next-to-nothing panties, tugging them down and off, leaving me completely exposed, the other half of his grin makes an appearance.
He grins as his eyes graze over my bare flesh, consuming me. Their intense scrutiny makes me feel wanton, reckless and… flawed. I’ve never been ashamed of my body, but I can’t help but wonder what he sees, what he thinks. Is he comparing me? Do I stack up? Do I fall short?
He’s a player and I must be one in hundreds. Even though I knew this, I owned it; the thought of him with all those other women makes me…. Stop it, Sam; it doesn’t matter. This is a hook-up, a nothing but the now, the moment. It can never be more. It can never be real.
“Stop it, angel. I know what you’re doing, what you’re thinking; I can see it in your eyes. You are perfection, a vision. I knew you would take my breath away, but I never…”
I feel my flesh heat from his spoken and unspoken praise. But I can’t stop the doubts, the insecurities, and the fear from sprouting like fertilized weeds. What the hell is wrong with me? You know what’s wrong. You want to please this man, make the sadness in his eyes disappear. You feel kindred to him, attached to him in some unknown way. And it scares the shit out of you. But there’s more isn’t there, Sam? It’s Lane. He’s built an invisible fortress around you, not letting anyone touch you, not letting anyone near you. And you hate him for it, don’t you? You hate that he left you, and that he wanted to share you.
“Samantha, look at me.”
I do.
“Stop thinking and just feel.”
Tears threatening, I say, “I’m trying, Logan.”
A strong hand cups my breast. “Close your eyes and just feel, angel. Feel me. Only me.”
I close my eyes, concentrating on the feel of his calloused fingers caressing my breasts. After several long titillating moments, he pinches my nipple and I let it all go. I open my eyes and take in the man before me. He’s here, he’s beautiful, he’s alive, and he wants me. Look at him, Sam. Look at the want and lust in his ey
es. Take what you need, girlfriend, and let the rest go.
He grins. “There you are, angel. I knew you’d come back to me.”
“Strip. Slowly,” I whisper.
His smile kicks into a cocky grin as he slowly pulls his tee off from the back collar. You know what I’m talking about. That sexy way only guys can do. I tried it once; it’s not a girl thing. If you don’t believe me, stand in front of a mirror and go for it.
Tee tossed aside, his big, stick-holding hands tug on the waist of his board shorts and they slowly fall to the floor. I prop up onto my elbows. Well, hello there. Aren’t you a lovely sight? And oh so… bountiful and beautiful, yes, I said beautiful. Never thought a guy’s junk could be so gloriously beautiful. I feel a smile take over the bottom half of my face.
“Well?”
I lick my lips and shrug. “I guess it will do. It will be hard but—”
He’s on me in a nanosecond, leaning over me, holding my hands over my head. “It most definitely will be hard and maybe more than you can handle, angel.”
I giggle like an idiot. “I wasn’t planning on handling it, but…”
He bites my right nipple—hard.
“Ouch!”
Smirking over it, he latches on to it with his perfect full lips, before sucking it into his hot perfect mouth.
“Mm.”
“You like?”
“No. Hate it—utterly and completely,” I tease.
He smiles as he treats my other nipple to a warm tongue bathing.
Soon the bathing turns into a breast-flesh loving frenzy. Never have I begged a man to stop sucking on my nipples, but his talented lips and tongue feel like torture after a few minutes. Never have my ta-tas been so loved, so worshiped, and so stimulated to the point I could come. Logan Romano is a tits man. An honest to God, tits-licking, sucking, playing, tits-master.
“God, Logan, I’ve never….”
“I’m just getting started, angel.”
And oh-my-sweet-boy, he wasn’t kidding. Trailing his perfect lips down my belly, over my narrow landing strip, he touches down right on target. The master paints his next masterpiece with his tongue: lending, layering, feathering, wet-into-wet, over and over, again and again. When I come undone under his masterful lips, he licks and sucks his canvas clean and begins anew.
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 6
