by E. E. Burke
“Watch. Do what I do.” Logan began to bob and clap.
In front of them, another line formed. Surrounded on all sides, she could either go along, or push her way out. Which would be more humiliating?
“I been workin’ so hard. I’m punchin’ my card...” As the words to the song started, around her, everyone, still clapping, began to move. Few were looking her way.
Fake it—until she saw a chance to slip through the crowd and find a restroom where she could hide out. She’d stay holed up long enough for Logan to get tired of being hit on, and then he’d surely take her home.
Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, she clapped along. The only way she’d make it through this would be to focus on something other than her spiraling anxiety.
Watch Logan.
She concentrated on following his steps—sideways, one foot behind the other, then front to back...heel, toe... His movements were sure and fluid, like he’d been born knowing how to dance. He was graceful for such a tall man, and he had the fancy footwork down pat.
She hadn’t danced in years and prayed she wouldn’t fall on her face. Having her attention riveted on Logan, imitating his steps, took her mind off the crowd. As long as people didn’t push or press against her, she’d be okay.
Jen imagined being surrounded by a force field that kept everyone else away. Everyone that is, except Logan. He’d slipped into her inner circle without even trying very hard.
On the way over, she’d revealed things she hadn’t intended to reveal. She couldn’t afford to allow him any closer, even though she couldn’t resist being drawn to him, and in ways she hadn’t been drawn to any other man. It had to be because she’d chosen him to father her baby. Rather, to donate what she needed to have a baby. He’d started in with this father stuff. She refused to buy into it. Couldn’t. Logan Hardt would leave just like every other man had left. The best thing for both of them would be a clean break. No ties. No regrets.
He threw her a grin as he kicked his leg up and hit the side of his heel with his hand. She mimicked the move and returned the infectious smile.
The steps repeated. Once she had the moves down, she relaxed and started to enjoy herself. As a child, she’d loved to dance, although her lessons had been in jazz and ballet, not country dancing. But learning the basic steps wasn’t that different. Her training came back, combined with her natural ability to pick up on complicated patterns. This wasn’t all that complicated. The last song merged into another, “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” This dance was easier than the last. She didn’t miss a beat when the music shifted again and the deejay announced the next song, the“Watermelon Crawl.”
As the swinging rhythm began, Logan launched into a more seductive dance. At one point, he reached out and drew her back a few steps. “Like this,” he said, swiveling his hips. The blatant imitation of the sexual act triggered a burst of shivers.
Men who were good dancers were also good in bed, or so she’d heard.
She hadn’t given him an answer about whether she would, as he put it, make a baby the old-fashioned way. Her plan was to keep things above-board and as impersonal as possible. She couldn’t get much more personal than taking him to bed. Still, just thinking about it sent excitement coursing through her, and it wasn’t the nervous kind. Sexual excitement wasn’t something she experienced very often, which she blamed on her inability to get past the kissing phase without freezing up.
What would it be like to kiss Logan? She studied the shape of his lips. He had a thinner upper lip, slightly fuller lower. When he pressed them against hers, would they feel soft or firm? Did he favor lip-sampling kisses, or swirling tongues?
He moved closer, leaned in, and brushed a quick kiss on her mouth, which was partway open because he’d surprised her. The shock took her breath away. She stumbled, but thankfully caught herself, and flushed with an equal mixture of longing and embarrassment. He should’ve warned her that his lips carried such a high-powered charge.
His eyes never left hers as he performed another suggestive gyration. An ache started low in her groin, throbbing in time to the music. With a knowing smile, he stepped back, clapping, then dropped to his knees and thrust his hips.
Her pulse accelerated and her breasts swelled, the push-up bra felt too tight and it rubbed agonizingly against her stiffened nipples. The devil was seducing her on the dance floor.
He came to his feet with effortless grace.
The man who’d eyed him outside moved behind him, mimicking the erotic motion. Logan didn’t act as if he noticed, but she sure as hell did. Okay, it was just a dance, but still.
Jen executed a half turn and backed up, almost touching Logan’s crotch when she rotated her hips in time with the music. A glance over her shoulder revealed the surprise on his face a split-second before his eyes blazed.
The heat in his gaze fueled the fire racing through her veins.
He wanted her. She wanted him. And for the first time in years—no, for the first time in her life—she wasn’t afraid. At least, not at the moment, she wasn’t. She’d feel differently once they were alone and he started removing her clothes.
His request might not seem like a big deal to him, but she had a problem with intimacy, especially with a man she intended to send away forever.
The fake cowboy behind Logan didn’t get the message, or didn’t care. He moved closer rather than backing off. At the same time, other dancers began to crowd around. No one noticed she happened to be in the way. They pressed against her, hot and sweaty and reeking of beer and cigarettes. The overpowering odors clogged her nostrils, and fear thickened her throat. She was hemmed in on all sides and couldn’t escape.
Her heart lurched into a wild, erratic rhythm, or that’s what it felt like. She’d swear she was having a heart attack. A cry for help lodged in her throat.
Logan grabbed her hand. She clung to him with the desperation of a drowning person grasping a rope. He slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her off the dance floor. “I’ve had enough. Let’s go.”
Thank God.
He pulled her through the crowd and didn’t stop until they’d burst through the door and were in the parking lot. Outside, the air smelled like car exhaust, an improvement, in her opinion. At least she could breathe again.
The aftermath was almost as bad as the panic attack. She trembled uncontrollably and felt nauseous. Her head ached and her face felt like it was on fire. What he must think...
She tried to pull away.
Logan didn’t let go. Gently, he drew her closer. “You all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
Frowning, he searched her face. “You’re still pale. I was worried you might faint.”
He’d noticed? For a time, she had lost sight of him. Or maybe she’d lost sight of everything but her own fear. She should’ve taken him somewhere else, but she was sure that wouldn’t have been any better. She shouldn’t have agreed to go dancing to begin with.
“It was hot in there.”
“Yeah. Hot is one word for it.”
He kept his arm around her waist as he escorted her back to the truck. Jen didn’t have the strength or the desire to push him away. Panic attacks always left her feeling wrung out and exhausted.
“Do you mind taking me home?”
He opened her door, his expression thoughtful. “Does that happen often, or only in crowds?”
Jen tugged her skirt down as she slid onto the seat and grabbed the seat belt. Her anxiety disorder was the last thing she wished to discuss with Logan. He’d already gotten too close. He made her want things she shouldn’t. Confiding in him would only make it worse. “Nothing happened. I just started feeling a little sick with all that smoke.”
Excessive smoke did bother her. Not as much as all the people that went with it, but she hadn’t lied.
She managed to relax a little on the drive home. To her relief, he didn’t question her or try to chat. Maybe he’d decided to drop this absurd effort to
get to know her.
He pulled up into the driveway, put the car in park and turned off the engine.
Jen grabbed the door handle. “Thank you—”
“Just a minute.”
Her tension notched up. He might expect her to invite him inside to finish what they’d started on the dance floor. She wasn’t up to that, not tonight, not even knowing he had the only cure for the insistent ache between her legs.
“Jen, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She gaped at him, incredulous. An apology was the last thing she’d expected, or deserved. “For what? I was the one who directed you to a gay bar.”
Might as well admit it. They both knew the truth.
“Yeah, I know. But I should’ve brought you home.”
She studied his expression for a hint of sarcasm. No, he looked so serious. Her heart constricted. He was serious, seriously apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault. Her nervousness melted under shame’s heat.
“There’s no reason to apologize. That whole scene could’ve been avoided if I’d just told you I didn’t want to go out with you.” The moment the lie left her lips, she longed to call it back.
Logan’s jaw hardened as if he’d clenched his teeth. He could be angry, or in pain, either one would make sense, considering she’d just stabbed him with her words.
Before she could find some excuse for being cruel—and there really wasn’t one—he’d gotten out of the truck and started around to let her out.
She could open her own door. Her conscience chided. For God’s sake, he’s not a chauvinist. He’s being polite. Sit here and let him open the door.
The door creaked open and she slid off the seat. He took her arm as she stepped onto the running board, then the ground. She could try to convince herself that it was nervousness and not desire that made her heart race. Another lie wouldn’t make her hunger for him go away.
Her face remained warm as he escorted her to the door. She dealt in tricks and lies, and he repaid her with courtesy. He had a right to be frustrated, even angry. A little time to get to know her was all he’d asked for, and she couldn’t dredge up the courage to give it to him.
Instead of going for her keys, she turned to face him. “Please don’t pull out.”
His lips twitched with amusement.
The unintended implication struck her. “Oh God. I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
“And you restrained yourself from remarking?”
“My restraint might surprise you.”
“Everything about you surprises me.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know, a redneck cowboy. But a true redneck would never go into a gay bar. Or if he did, he would’ve killed that man for coming onto him. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”
“I noticed. I chose to ignore it.”
Jen shook her head, bemused. Logan didn’t fit into any familiar mold. He was one of a kind. The man was remarkable. Insightful. Thoughtful. Unflappable. He was entirely comfortable in his own skin, which was more than she could say for herself, being a bundle of anxiety, doubt and contradictions.
She wanted to push him away and run. At the same time, she longed to throw her arms around him and never let go. She feared sleeping with him, yet she ached to feel him inside her. She needed for him to leave, and she was ready to beg him to stay. Boy, she was a certified nut case. She sucked at relationships with men, but didn’t get off on women, which left her pretty much alone.
Reaching above her shoulder, he propped his hand against the doorframe, effectively penning her in. She didn’t feel trapped, but sheltered. He lifted his chin and looked over her head. There was nothing to see other than an oak door, so she assumed he was thinking. He was probably considering telling her to take a long dive off a short pier.
“Thank for the evening. I did have fun tonight.” She didn’t want him to think otherwise, or that her discomfort was his fault. “At least, until I got hot and anxious, I had fun.”
Logan met her gaze solemnly, then his expression turned gentle, regretful. “So did I.”
Jen chewed her lip. Perhaps all wasn’t lost, that is, if she could find the courage to meet his second condition. One romp in bed wouldn’t necessarily spell disaster. But what if getting pregnant took longer than she thought? It shouldn’t, if they mated at the right time, when her body was at its ripest. She could work up the nerve to have sex with Logan once, and not become too attached. That’s all he’d suggested, really. He hadn’t asked for more, and she couldn’t be hurt because she didn’t expect more.
Reaching out, she laid her hand on his chest. The answering flare in his eyes told her what she needed to know before she even asked. “Are you still interested in my offer?”
Chapter 6
Holding a wedding in a back yard sounded easy. Logan found out quick enough that wasn’t the case. He helped Troy install an arbor, because Celeste wanted to be married beneath a “leafy bower.” The florist better bring extra vines. They dug a fishpond, because Troy’s fiancée wanted a water feature with live fish. After accompanying his friend to a local nursery to pick up flagstone, they laid a walkway from the back patio to the arbor and fishpond.
Logan actually welcomed the physical labor because it kept his mind off fretting about when Jen would call. When it came to her wedding, would she have so many requests?
She would have more. He was certain.
The woman had drawn up a ten-page contract that essentially said they agreed to procreate and then part ways. He preferred not to get caught up in details. That tendency had gotten him into trouble in the past, so maybe Jen was smart to be specific and make her expectations clear.
Their disastrous date three nights ago had ended with an intriguing question. Was he still interested in her offer? He should’ve said no. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he said yes. Granted, he was hot for her, and there was the windfall he would get afterwards. But there was more to it than that—and the more was what scared him.
If he had half a brain, he’d mute his cell phone.
Logan pulled off his T-shirt. Despite the mild temperatures, he was sweating. He wondered if it was possible to sweat out this obsession he had with a woman he barely knew.
Jen confused the hell out of him. Taking him to that crowded bar when she obviously fought agoraphobia. One of his cousins had the same problem and he recognized the signs. He wouldn’t have taken her inside if she’d just told him about her fear of crowds. Even after she nearly passed out on the dance floor, she wouldn’t admit what caused it. She swung from chilly to warm, from affectionate to distant, and then reeled him in again by agreeing to have sex with him. Those were her words. Have. Sex.
Then she hadn’t invited him inside. Instead, she told him she would call. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her head, and his lips landed on her cheek. A granny kiss, that was all she allowed, even though she committed to sleeping with him at some point. Awkward didn’t begin to describe how he felt when he walked away and left her at the front door.
He’d be flying home bright and early Sunday. Today was Thursday. The wedding would take place Saturday. That didn’t leave much time.
Troy filled in the spaces around the last flagstones with mulch, then straightened and stretched. He tanned rather than burned in the sun, but his shirt was just as wet. “Man, I’m done for the day. Let’s grab a beer and sit down.”
“Sounds good.” Logan trailed after his longtime friend, traipsing over the path they’d just created and up the steps leading to the patio. He reached into a cooler and snagged a cold bottle.
“What’s this?” He examined the unfamiliar label.
“Local microbrew. Celeste loves their amber ale.”
“As long as its beer, I don’t care.”
“Yeah, I’m not picky either. But it is good.” Troy used an opener to pop off the metal top, then did the honors for Logan. “She’s a real connoisseur when it comes to b
eer and wine, and other things I better not talk about.”
Those other things had been good enough to convince Troy to leave Texas and move to Georgia.
Logan chuckled as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “You got it bad, Tex.”
“Look who’s talkin’. That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your phone in the past two hours.”
Logan set the phone on the table next to an Adirondack chair. “Don’t want to sit on it,” he muttered. He wasn’t admitting that he’d been about to check to see if he’d somehow missed Jen’s call. Four times? Really? Something was seriously wrong. He hadn’t been this distracted by a woman since...
Wait, Jen wasn’t like Kelsey, other than wanting something from him, and at least Jen was more honest about her motives. She hadn’t led him to believe what they shared was anything more than a business arrangement. He’d been the one pushing for more.
He vowed to stop pushing. If she wanted to seal their bargain, she’d call. If not, it might turn out to be a blessing. He’d be out the money, but he wouldn’t have to live with wondering about a child he helped make.
Troy flopped into a nearby chair and took a swig. “Um, addictive.”
“That good?” Logan took a drink. The ale did go down smooth. “Tasty, but I wouldn’t call it addictive.”
“Not the beer. Women.”
“Ah...” Logan settled against the seat back. “Yep, you’re a hopeless case.”
His friend nodded like it didn’t bother him to admit his dependency. He seemed proud of it, even. Logan didn’t intend to be so besotted, even with his future wife. Whoever that might be. Look at what happened to his father after his mother died. His dad had turned hard, cold. Bitter. Too much dependence on a woman could ruin a man.
“You need to bring Jen over. We’d like to get to know her better.”
“So would I,” Logan muttered under his breath. He didn’t elaborate when Troy gave him a questioning look. He couldn’t explain why he’d agreed to the arrangement between him and Jen, and he wasn’t comfortable talking about it. On the other hand, if she had a baby and Troy and Celeste knew it was his, they would be willing to feed him information.
