Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2

by Christine Rimmer

  Of course, she’d have to be clear that wanting sex was very different from wanting to change any other portion of their relationship. Logan appreciated logic. By emphasizing the reasons why engaging in a sexual relationship actually increased the health of her pregnancy, she should be able to minimize any concerns that she might be falling for him.

  But how to set the scene for a seduction? Preferably in such a way that he’d say yes? This man, Logan, was her husband, the father of her unborn daughter, and yet...she did not know where to begin.

  Bemused with her predicament, Anna stared out the window. Logan was too intelligent, too pragmatic to fall for parlor tricks or acts of subterfuge. Probably a good thing, as Anna didn’t excel at either. Better all the way around just to tell him what she had in mind. In a blunt, matter-of-fact, way. With, of course, some attention to her appearance.

  And then whatever happened...well, happened.

  * * *

  The confrontation and following conversation with Anna stayed with Logan straight into early afternoon. Gavin’s good-natured prodding while they’d completed some repairs and cleanup around his property hadn’t helped. Nor had Haley’s sweet inquiry over lunch, about possibly throwing a surprise baby shower for Anna once the Christmas holiday was behind them, offered any relief.

  He’d put Gavin off with the general excuse of not enough sleep, and his brother had wisely stopped prodding. And Logan had told Haley that holding a baby shower for Anna was a fine idea, but she should check in with Lola before moving ahead with any official planning.

  Once lunch was finished, he’d got into his car to head for home. He couldn’t let go of the fear that despite Anna’s promise, she would be long gone by now. And really, if so, he could only blame himself.

  Difficult to admit, but her description fit him like a well-worn glove. In an effort to pull back and retain some control over his runaway emotions, he’d become the spitting image of his granddad, and...hell, anyone who knew Zeke would surely call him a cantankerous old man.

  Stopping at a red light, Logan cursed. All he’d managed to do in the past two weeks was cause Anna confusion and pain, which was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. And now, thanks to his stubbornness and less-than-stellar coping skills in this particular area, he was five minutes from walking into what might possibly be an empty house.

  The thought, the image, was crippling in its intensity.

  He did not want to roam inside those walls and feel Anna’s absence. He didn’t want to sit in the living room by himself or pass by her bedroom and see whatever remnants of her belongings she’d left behind. And nope, he most certainly did not want to read the letter she’d—if she had chosen to leave—written for him out of some form of courtesy.

  Instead of manning up with what was beginning to feel inevitable, he supposed he could stop by the grocery store. Or better yet, drop in at Mick’s to grab a beer and play some pool. Except...well, being at the bar would only serve to remind him of the night he’d first laid eyes on Anna.

  She’d caught his interest right off. Hunkered at a corner table all by her lonesome with two drinks in front of her. She hadn’t seemed sad, just...out of place and unsure, maybe a little lonely. And his curiosity about why this gorgeous woman was sitting by herself got the better of him. He’d sauntered over, nodded at the drinks and asked if one was meant for him. Those brown eyes of hers had widened and he thought he’d been a little too cocky, a little too sure of himself, but then she said he was welcome to join her. So he had.

  Before too long, he’d learned that while she’d grown up in Steamboat Springs, she hadn’t lived here for quite a while and this was her first night back in town. They’d chatted about this and that and the other, played several games of pool and had a few more drinks, and somehow, between the flirting and the laughing and the conversation, she had got clean under his skin. When it came time for the bar to close, he wasn’t ready to let her go on her way.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that Anna was not a woman accustomed to one-night stands. And hell, Logan hadn’t made a habit of sleeping with strangers, either. But they’d clicked, and maybe he was a mite lonely, a touch out of place himself, because he’d pulled her to him, like he’d been wanting to for most of the night, and after kissing her soundly, he’d asked her to return to his hotel with him so they wouldn’t have to say goodbye just yet.

  Surprisingly, she’d agreed. And what had followed had lived in Logan’s memory ever since, even before she’d turned up with the news that she was carrying his baby.

  As he drove slowly down his street, his brain spun with questions and considerations. Such as, if Anna had not become pregnant that night, yet they’d continued to see each other, would her smile, her breathing—hell, every last thing about her—have had as equally a strong effect on him? And saying that was the case, how would he have reacted? With the same trepidation and confusion over the strength of his attraction, or with increased interest and curiosity to see if they could go the distance?

  He did not know. But that was the damn crux of his problem—wondering if he’d feel the same toward Anna after their daughter’s birth—wasn’t it?

  Logan swore again, vehemently, and slowed to turn into his driveway when he saw Anna’s car. She hadn’t left... She was still here. Inside, presumably waiting to finish their discussion.

  Parking his car next to Anna’s, Logan waited for the fast, drumlike beat of his heart to return to its normal pace. Before he talked with her, he had to decide on how much to admit to, since the line between meeting her needs and keeping his defenses rock-solid seemed to hold the width of a solitary strand of hair, split in half.

  Well, he’d apologize again. Thank her for not leaving, for keeping her promise. He supposed he could elaborate on the workings of the ranch and his grandfather’s refusal to take better care of himself, and how both were causing a boatload of stress for his entire family. How he felt guilty for not being here on a daily basis to help, but how he hated the thought of leaving Anna alone, as well. He wanted to be here, for her and their daughter.

  And—just as what he’d told her this morning—all of it would be the truth, just not all of the truth. But would it be enough for Anna to feel comfortable?

  Should be, Logan decided, as long as he spoke in a straightforward, honest manner. But he couldn’t backslide into his...ah...cantankerous frame of mind as a defense when she talked or smiled or, hell, kept herself alive by breathing. Saying the right words today might momentarily yank him out of hot water, but they wouldn’t fix the root of his issue.

  Might be smart, given those considerations, to head for Wyoming in the next few days rather than at the end of the week, as originally planned. The distance of miles would further ease the tension between them, and by the time he returned, he should be better prepared.

  Logan exited the car, relieved by his plan, and paused at the front door before pushing it open, readying himself for whatever he might encounter.

  But when he stepped over the threshold and scanned the living room, Anna wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He checked the kitchen next, only to discover another empty room. She could be napping or... Well, hell. Maybe she had left after all. Lola might have driven over here in her SUV and hauled Anna and her belongings to her house.

  Tossing his keys on the counter, Logan strode to Anna’s room. Her door was closed, so he swung it open without bothering to knock. Nope, she wasn’t there. But her clothes, her books, the ridiculously huge stack of pillows on her bed all were.

  The tightness in his chest loosened. By all appearances, she really had stuck by her word.

  So, where the hell was she? Not the bathroom or the living room or the kitchen. Not in the backyard or the garage. That left...only a single place she could be. His bedroom.

  A rush of energy drove him down the hallway, straight to the en
d where his bedroom was located. His door was open, which was just how he’d left it, and the light was still off. Even so, he pushed himself all the way into the room, and...whatever coherent thoughts he still had clanked and banged together, before dissolving into nothingness.

  Anna was stretched out on his bed—his bed!—her warm, golden-hued hair long and loose and framing her face like a...a...damn billowy cloud. A sheer pink garment—a... He didn’t have the beginnings of a clue as to what to call it—draped her body in a sheath of sensual, soft silk that did not leave much to the imagination.

  And this vision of Anna, in that getup, and prone on his bed, stole his breath.

  Because whatever it was she wore—be it a nightgown or a sarong or a sundress of sorts—left her shoulders and arms bare in all their cream-kissed glory, and the skirt of the whatchamacallit was hiked a delicious, seductive two full inches above her knees, displaying long, slender legs and cherry-red-painted toes. It did not matter that the rest of her body was covered, because the gauzy, slippery fabric clung like glue to her curves, dipped suggestively between her breasts and was about as see-through as a pane of glass.

  And Logan was lost in an ocean of primal need, hungry desire and desperate want. He was also, quite seriously and quite completely, flummoxed.

  He attempted the rather simple action of speaking her name—it was just one word, for crying out loud—and found his ability to talk highly compromised. What erupted from his mouth came straight from his gut and sounded closer to a caveman’s growl than an actual two-syllable name. He tried again with similar results. Well, hell.

  “Oh, do you need a drink of water?” Anna asked, her voice sweet as pie. She grabbed the water bottle from his nightstand, which she’d apparently put there as he sure hadn’t, and tossed it his way. “Here. Take a long swallow. Maybe two. Hydrate yourself before we get started.”

  Nodding, he caught the bottle and did as she said, hoping the liquid would unstick his vocal cords. So he could talk. So he could discover what, exactly, she was up to and why she was in his bed instead of insisting on more answers. Or, he supposed, smacking that cast-iron skillet on his head.

  He drank down half of the water before wiping his mouth with one hand and screwing the top on the bottle with the other. Testing his vocal abilities, he said, “Anna,” which, okay, came out as a throaty type of a croak but was a good measure better than his prior attempts.

  “Good!” The goddess in his bed clapped her hands. “We solved that little problem quick enough, didn’t we? Now,” she said, patting the space on the bed next to her, “it’s time to solve another issue that I’m experiencing. If you’re willing, that is.”

  “Willing?” She could not mean, despite all the evidence in front of him, what he thought she meant. “To do what, exactly?” Oh, Lord, he could see her nipples. “Be very clear, before I jump to the wrong conclusion and... Just be clear, Anna.”

  As if he hadn’t already jumped. And landed. And was priming himself to jump again.

  “Oh, I intend on being crystal clear, so no worries there.” Sitting straight, she bent her legs and brought her knees to her chest. The action yanked her dress-sarong-nightgown up a few more inches, so now Logan had a mouthwatering view of her taut, shapely thighs. “In thinking over our conversation this morning, I realized that—before your apology—you made one statement that held some validity, albeit not in the context you presented. And I decided—”

  “Now, wait just a second.” Logan crossed his arms over his chest, which likely looked defensive in nature, but in reality, he was holding himself back from leaping on that bed and kissing her long and hard. “Only one of my statements held any validity? I’m not sure that’s entirely fair, as every word I said about being busy was the absolute truth. No, I did not handle myself well, but I already admitted that and I’ve promised to do better.”

  “Yes, you did, which are hugely positive steps.” She tossed her billowy, cloud-like hair over her shoulder. “And my goal isn’t to rehash an argument that’s already been settled.”

  Did she have any idea of the effect she was having on him? “Then please let me in on what this is about, because right now, I have all sorts of ideas in my head that are likely false.”

  “Well, see, it’s like this.” She blinked, drew in a breath. “You stated that my pregnancy hormones are in overdrive, creating an intense reaction inside my body, and that was why I thought you were behaving like a cantankerous old man.”

  “I recall the conversation just fine,” Logan said.

  “Good. But you know what?” Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and Logan’s groin tightened in reflex. “You were partially right, the bit about my hormones, because I am experiencing an intense reaction. Just not in the way you thought.”

  And like that day she’d shown up on his front porch, he knew precisely what she was about to say. He told himself to turn around and escape while the possibility to do so still existed. Because once she spoke those words...well, he was doomed.

  “I’ve tried to ignore this issue, Logan,” she said in a coquettish manner. “I really, really have. But it’s bigger than me and my willpower, and since you’ve repeatedly mentioned that I should tell you if I need anything—anything at all—I’m asking you for help.”

  Yep. Doomed. “I... Yes, of course. What...um...is it that you need?”

  “Why, sex, of course,” she said bluntly. Evenly. And without a breath of hesitation or embarrassment, all while looking him straight in the eye. “I need sex, Logan. Preferably today—as in right now—if that happens to fit into your schedule?”

  Chapter Seven

  A quiver born of anticipation and desperate, deep longing brought a sheath of goose bumps to Anna’s arms as she watched Logan attempt to process her request. His eyes darkened several shades—in desire, she hoped—and he stood so motionless, she wondered if he was still breathing or if she’d managed to knock the wind clean out of him.

  And naturally, she wondered if he would take her up on her offer or shoo her away, with either words of kindness or another round of frozen indifference. If given the choice, she’d prefer the indifference. Kindness could mask pity, and the very last reaction she wanted from Logan while sprawled on top of his bed was any form of pity.

  He hadn’t yet said so much as a peep, so she pushed forward, saying, “You are my husband, Logan, so where else should I go to have this particular need fulfilled?” Very purposefully, she slid her body down the bed, narrowing the space between them to almost nothing. “I mean, I’ve tried a few solo methods, but with...um...unsatisfactory results.”

  This statement seemed to breach the great divide, as a tremor shuddered his shoulders. “Solo methods, you say? What type of—” His jaw slammed shut and he shook his head. “Never mind. Knowing the specifics will just fill my head with images that do not need to be there.”

  Oh yes, she had definitely made an impact. So, while she had his attention, she said, “But you can understand, can’t you, that I’m in a bind of sorts, right? And why I’m asking you—my husband—for assistance in this matter?”

  “I can comprehend the basics,” he said. “Despite our earlier agreement, you’re now telling me that you want sex on the table.”

  “Well, I hadn’t considered the table,” she said in mock innocence and with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes. “I mean, if you insist and with a couple of pillows, I suppose we can make that happen. To be completely honest, though, I was thinking we’d go the traditional route and stick with the bed. But...hmm, the table? It’s an interesting suggestion, Logan.”

  “Now, you know full well that isn’t what I meant,” Logan said, finally approaching the bed. One long step brought him directly in front of her. “And I have plenty of interesting suggestions, but first, I need to know if you’ve thought this through. And you might want to talk fast, because I’
m hanging on—barely, I might add—to a very thin rope here.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought this through, and yes, I am one hundred percent positive.” Okay. Ninety-nine percent, at least, but she wasn’t about to fret over a measly 1 percent. “And you know, in case you’re concerned, sex during a normal pregnancy is...well, extremely healthy.”

  Logan dropped the water bottle on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, right next to her. So close, she could’ve leaned in and kissed him. “Healthy, huh?” he said. “Is that so?”

  “That’s so,” she murmured.

  “What you’re really saying, then,” he said, stroking his fingers from her ankle to her knee, “is that we should have sex for the good health of the baby?”

  “Um. Not exactly.” His touch, as slight as it was, tingled along her skin, making it almost impossible to concentrate. “In a way, I guess, but it’s more about the...ah...orgasms.” She spoke so fast, her words blurred into one another. Forcing herself to talk at a slower pace, she said, “They—the orgasms, that is—assist in improved sleep, make labor and delivery easier, and can even speed up recovery after the baby is born.”

  “Wow. All that? Remarkable.” In slow, measured movements, he trailed his fingers from her knee to her thigh and back down again. She shivered, in delight and in expectation. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping poorly, sweetheart.”

  Between the low, intoxicating drawl of his voice and the light yet still searing touch of his hand on her skin—not to mention the electricity crackling in the air—the rest of Anna’s carefully prepared speech, including all the nonemotional and practical reasons they should engage in a sexual relationship, fled her brain.

  “I’m not so much having a problem with sleeping now,” she managed to say as Logan expanded his exploration and slipped his fingers under the hem of her sarong. She closed her eyes. Breathed. “I’m thinking more along the lines of being proactive, I guess you’d say, to fend off the possibility of future sleepless nights.”