A cocky grin spread across his face. “I don’t know, is it?”
His chest and abs were messing with my logic.
“Think about it,” he continued. “We’re spending time together anyway. You even said that pretending to be my girlfriend meant you couldn’t have sex for a month, so what if you could have lots of sex for the month?”
I laughed out loud. “That’s your pitch? You tell me that it’s not about sex, but then suggest this?” Goosebumps rose on my skin. With my shirt undone and Logan no longer warming me, I was getting chilled.
Logan opened his mouth, then closed it again, the smile falling from his eyes. “It wouldn’t just be about that.”
“Oh, yeah? What would it be about, then?”
Logan searched my face, the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he said, “I need your help with something.”
I gave him a look. “Does the first word start with a ‘B’ and the second a ‘J?’”
He smirked. “No, but that’s not off the table.”
I feigned relief. “Well, thank goodness for that.”
Logan’s throat bobbed. “I was thinking more . . . something for you.”
Tingles shot down my legs. What was happening right now? If someone had burst in and told me Logan was reading from a rom-com script, I would’ve believed them. Two people, trapped in a fake relationship and a castle hotel room . . .
The script practically wrote itself.
“Wait, I’m not following. Pleasuring me is whatyouneed help with?”
He huffed out a breath, eyes darting to me and then away again.Was Logan Kemp nervous?“I’ve never had to work hardfor sex. That’s not bragging, it’s just true. It was always easy to get what I wanted.” He shifted on his feet. “I took advantage of that. Got what I wanted. Didn’t think that much about whether I was actually . . . giving them anything in return.
“After Shar, I started thinking about it differently. About what I did. What I didn’t do. What I never even thought about asking.” He looked up again, and that time, his eyes were liquid. The fire I thought the phone call had extinguished? It was back to a full blaze. Logan twisted the shirt in his hands. “You could teach me.”
The word “teach” should not have done to my nervous system what it did. No thoughts or words would compute.Was he serious?He seemed pretty damn serious. The idea of Logan touching me, experimenting with me, asking me what I wanted . . .
“Look,” he said. “We’re both adults. We both know this is temporary. There’s an endpoint. Gallery opens, our relationship ends, we go back to being friends. It doesn’t have to be more than that.”
There was that tone again. The shutter behind his eyes. Those warning sirens went off like fireworks on Canada Day.
While he was talking about this being purely educational, my subconscious knew that what I’d felt pressed against the wall was more than interesting information. ‘Friends’ was quickly becoming the second-best, and far inferior, option in my version of this scenario.
It didn’t matter that Logan had opened the door wide on his relationship dysfunction. That he just said our relationship had an endpoint, dashing any hopes I’d fostered that he might be questioning this like I was.
Just like I should have walked back to the bathroom after the zipper was undone, I should’ve run for the shower now. This wasnot going to end well. I was already getting attached, I could feel it, and sex? That was not going to make things any simpler.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Just to be clear. You’re suggesting that I . . . be your sex tutor.”
His neck flushed. “If it sounds fun to you. Yeah.”
If it sounded fun? Hell yes, it sounded fun. Carte blanche to do whatever I wanted for the next three weeks? Logan dedicating himself tomypleasure until we broke up? I couldn’t think of anything more fun, which made me desperate for something to ground me.
I couldn’t blame Shar, and I definitely couldn’t play my whole hand and admit I was worried about getting attached. So, I laid down the only other card I had. “I doubt your parents would approve.”
It was supposed to be funny, or at least not offensive, but Logan’s expression darkened. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what they approve of or don’t.”
Well. That was fair. But it didn’t alleviate my stress reaction. “You know every woman’s body is different. What I like might not be?—”
“No, I know.” He rubbed a hand over his neck. “If you don’t want?—”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just—” I exhaled in a rush. “What if I’m not very helpful?” I hoped he’d read between the lines. I’d only ever been with two people, and while it wasn’t terrible, it definitely wasn’t something to write Cosmopolitan about.
