Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits #5)(47)

“I made a deal with Linus. He’s claiming he saw the shooter and that you never entered the alley. Congrats, you are officially out of danger.”

Abby does the motion like she’s cleaning her hands and then shows me her palms, like we’re done, but I’m not done. “What was your end of the deal?”

“Not your problem.”

“It is my problem.”

Abby gives that dismissive smile—that one that crawls under my skin. The one that suggests she knows it all and the rest of the world understands nothing. “Explain to me how exactly my problems are your problems? We met through a mutual friend. We flirt. We play. Nowhere along the way did my problems become your problems.”

“We kissed,” I say and that man-eating grin only grows.

“You’re right, we kissed, and we both know it didn’t mean a thing. You and I don’t do attachments and what you’re asking for sounds an awful lot like caring.”

Her words leave a mark and it’s not one I’m proud of. She leans up on her elbow and that mask I’ve seen several times on her face, the one she wears when she works, when she’s on the streets is plastered on her face. “Can you do that, Logan? It’s one thing to play with me, but can you care for me?”

“You don’t think I care?” I rise up, looming over her.

“I think you’re mistaking attraction for caring. I think you’re a good guy who wants to save the girl, but I don’t need saving.” Abby slides into my personal space, her fingers walking erotically up my chest. “Can you fall for the drug dealer, the girl who doesn’t mind kissing one guy and then another, the girl who gets in cars with strangers, rides with them, and then leaves them so they can get high? Can you fall for a girl who stuck a knife in a guy? The girl whose father was a dealer, a killer? Whose mother was a junkie and a whore?”

“You’re more than that.”

“I’m not. You were just hoping for more.” Her fingers reach the collar of my shirt and she eases her head close to mine. So close our noses nearly touch, so close that our lips are a breath’s distance apart. So close my fingers twitch with the idea of grabbing onto her thighs and drawing her body on top of me so that her hips are settled directly over mine.

Abby’s eyes bore into me as she whispers, “It’s attraction, Logan. That’s it. We’ve been a slow burn for months so instead of wasting this time talking about things we can’t change, let’s return to what we’re good at—let’s play.”

Her sweet smell envelops me and my body pulsates with the need to taste her, touch her, find that quick rhythm that was promised in that shared kiss.

Abby skims her fingers along my arm and it’s like fire flickering from her nails. “You scared to kiss me, Logan?”

No, not at all. My arm curls around her stomach and as I sit up, I press her into me. She grins, thinking she’s winning this game, but she’s not. I shift, guiding her body down, covering hers with mine, and right as her back is about to brush against the bed, I slow and make sure the contact with the covers is light, gentle.

I’m careful with her injuries, making sure that the bandaged area on her back is the last to touch and I lower my head, kissing the area above her exit wound, and her breathing hitches. I continue a slow trail along her collarbone and up her neck. Each taste of Abby is sweet and warm and makes me crave more.

When her head fully sinks into the pillow, Abby looks up at me in confusion. Her fingers in my hair, her hand cupping the back of my neck, her foot automatically hooked around mine. Our bodies are exactly where she wants them to be, where I want them to be, but the emotions are off—that’s because there are emotions. That’s because I’m no longer playing.

“No, I’m not scared to kiss you.” I nuzzle her jawline as I run my hand along the length of her waist. “I’m not scared to feel something for you, either.”

Abby’s shaking her head, yet her fingers knot in my hair, dig into my back. “You should go.”

“I will,” I say against her mouth. As I breathe out, she breathes in and our mouths meet. It’s soft and innocent in a way that creates a warm haze. The type where there are slight pulls, the type that will make our lower lips swollen, the type where it shows I care.

Abby’s slow to follow along, almost as if she’s learning how to kiss...as if she’s learning how to kiss like this.

Abby

My heart is drumming so loudly Logan has to hear it, has to feel it, but then a part of me is wondering if this is another dream, another moment where my mind has wandered into areas of fantasy...into the places that feel real, but when I wake up realize none of it had existed.

Those moments hurt—the dreams that felt real, to hold in your hands all that you secretly wish for and then open your eyes and experience the devastating loss of knowing that it was never mine.

Logan’s lips are strong, yet soft. Kissing me like I’ve never been kissed. Kissing me like I’m worth kissing. Kissing me in a way that causes my groggy soul to flutter its eyes open from its constant state of sleep, kissing me in a way that causes my body to melt into his, kissing me in a way that makes my blood that’s always cold to feel very, very excitably warm.

He caresses my face and the touch tickles and causes my cheeks to flush. Logan holds his body over mine, just the right mixture of weight and heat, but he’s careful, so careful. As if he’s frightened to break me, as if he’s hesitant to ask for more.