The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(55)
“Invite me inside,” he said, his voice roughened by desire. He kissed her again, letting his hands glide down to her waist, squeezing it and tugging her closer.
Her breath quickened, and she emitted a slight groan of pleasure.
“I promise I won’t push you anywhere you don’t want to go.”
“That’s the problem. You know I’d probably follow you anywhere, even when I know it’s not in my best interest.”
“I think it is in your best interest. Ditch your preconceived notions and live in the moment. Fling yourself off the proverbial cliff for the thrill of it. You’ll survive it. I promise you’ve survived worse than me.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
“Would you rather I lie and make promises when neither of us knows what the future holds? No one gets guarantees in life, Claire. I only know how I feel right now. Right now, I don’t want this night to end.”
Her eyes glowed like the blue part of a flame as she whispered, “Neither do I.”
He felt his smile spreading as he turned and led her up the porch stairs and waited for her to open the door. He stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and whispered in her ear, “I want you.”
She shook her head in disbelief as she opened the door.
“What?” he asked when they got inside.
“From the very first time I saw you—from a spot behind a tree on the shore near the end of Lilac Lane that first summer we moved to town—I wished to hear those words.”
“I don’t remember meeting you on the beach. I met you at the house, with Peyton.”
“I’d seen you before then on my own, when I was exploring the new neighborhood for the first time. I was south of your property, where you were standing by the water. Shirtless and tan, in gym shorts, and the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. To this day I don’t know what you were thinking about, but you were gazing at the horizon for a while before you picked up some stones and skipped them across the shallow water.”
“Why didn’t you come out from the shadows?”
She set Rosie aside and unbuttoned her coat. “I was shy. It seemed like I’d stumbled onto something private, and I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Well, don’t be shy now.” He helped her out of her jacket, letting it fall to the ground as he pulled her close again, nuzzling her neck and nibbling her ear, eager to hear that purring sound in the back of her throat.
She wound her arms around his neck, raked her fingers through the back of his hair, and kissed him. “This might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, but right now I couldn’t care less.”
“Stop with all the flattery,” he teased, caressing her abdomen and then moving his hand up to her breast. “Now tell me, which way to the bathroom?”
“The bathroom?” Her eyes widened.
“A warm bath will help your hip—warm, steamy air, soft filtered light, and I’m betting you have a nice assortment of bath salts and soaps, too.”
“I’m more of a ‘lights off, under the covers’ kind of girl, Logan.” She looked down, pursing her lips.
He held her close, nudging her chin up. “I promise there isn’t an inch of you I won’t have seen by morning, lights or no lights. Besides, there’s nothing you need to hide from me. I think you’re beautiful, inside and out.”
He saw doubt in her eyes, but he would make sure she believed him soon enough. He led her upstairs, curious to see what else he could convince her of before the night was over.
Chapter Twelve
Claire woke with a start and glanced to her left. If she weren’t naked, and if the empty side of her bed weren’t a tumble of blankets and pillows, she would’ve thought it’d all been a dream.
Logan must’ve left before dawn, which was for the best. Strolling into Arcadia House midmorning would’ve invited questions from Peyton and his parents. Claire couldn’t bear that scrutiny. This way, the reckless thing they’d done would remain their secret.
She’d never had secrets before, but now she’d grown weary of people’s pity. And pity would be what others would feel for her if they found out about her night with Logan. In no universe would anyone believe she could be more than a passing infatuation for him. Even within his own “fluid” world, she’d be a fluke.
Last night he’d almost made her believe otherwise with tender words and touches, and scorching kisses. Now, with no note or other sign of him, she remembered why she’d been hesitant to follow her heart. Still, she couldn’t make herself regret what she’d done. The reality of her long-held fantasy had exceeded her imagination.
A noise from downstairs caused her to bolt upright midyawn. Sliding out of bed to pull on her robe, she then tiptoed across the room.
Did she smell bacon? She cracked open the door. Yes, that was bacon . . . and Logan humming something unfamiliar. She padded down the stairs and wandered to the kitchen, where she found him drinking a cup of coffee in his snug boxer briefs while flipping an omelet.
The sight of his near nakedness—the indents of his six-pack—brought back vivid memories of licking his torso and grabbing hold of his tight behind while he’d—
“Good morning.” He smiled lazily.
She stood, frozen. “What are you doing?”