“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
My insides liquified. “That’s . . . a smart thing to say. Women like that.”
Logan’s brow twitched. He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Got it.” He turned and pushed the shower door to the side, flipping on the water to hot, then walked to the other side to turn on the second head.
He spun back and looped his thumbs in his underwear.
“Wait.” My face turned crimson in the mirror. “I—it’s fine, you can—I just thought?—”
“No, you can take them off.” He dropped his arms.
While I couldn’t speak for all women, I had a hard time believing a single one of them wouldn’t find this a huge turn-on. In the two more serious relationships I’d had, I’d never felt like I was going to pass out in their presence.
Was it Logan’s questions? His desire to learn? The fact that we’d talked for weeks or that he’d picked me up when my car stalled? That we’d gotten interrupted during our makeout session, and I didn’t get what I wanted?
Logan wanted to know what I liked, but I was probably the more curious of the two of us. Had I ever asked myself what I liked—what I wanted—and explored the answers?
I closed the gap between us and reached for his boxers, dragging them lower over his hips. It took a second to figure out where they were stuck—Logan laughed at that—but eventually, I succeeded.
When I tried to step back, he caught my waist and returned the favour. I about died of embarrassment as he pulled my underwear over my knees, his face inches from me.
We stood in front of each other, assessing. Curiosity didn’t begin to cover what I felt in that moment. In the past, I’d always been worried about doing the right thing, but Logan had given me permission to wonder. I wanted to touch every part of him. Explore and figure out how everything worked.
“Your body is . . . “ I shook my head. I didn’t have the right word for it. It wasn’t just that I was turned on by him. It was art.
Logan’s eyes flared, and I realized I’d said the words out loud. It was true. I wished I had a sketchbook, something to capture the perfect lines of his torso, the shading under his pecs, the gentle curve of his shoulders juxtaposed with the rough line of his jaw.
His breathing quickened. “Men like that.”
For a moment, I regretted everything. I should’ve said something, been honest with him about how I wasn’t totally sure this was all fake for me anymore. I didn’t want to say that to other men. I wanted to say it to him.
Logan opened the shower door, releasing a cloud of steam that billowed around us. He stepped in first, moving so I could follow.
The heat soaked into my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I pulled the pins from my hair and set them in the soap dish, then tilted my head into the stream. When I wiped the water from my face, I found Logan in front of me, holding the tiny bottle of hotel body wash.
“Turn around?” he murmured.
My heart jolted. What was it about having him behind me that sent my head into a tailspin?
Logan moved in close, building gravity that my body fell toward before I could stop it. The click of the cap. The hiss of the water. It all sounded in slow motion.
He didn’t move for a moment. I couldfeelhis gaze on me, like a fingertip tracing just above the surface, not quite touching. Heat coiled low in my stomach. Then his hand landed on my back, and he smoothed the soap between my shoulder blades.
“How’s this?” he asked quietly.
Good? Perfect? “Nice,” I managed, though it came out half breathless. His hand slid down the curve of my spine, and my eyes fluttered closed.
“Pressure okay?” he asked.
I grinned. “You’re not going to break me.”
His hands glided over my body, smooth and soft. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I didn’t ever want him to stop. This was the most soothing, erotic thing anyone had ever done for me. I struggled to fill my lungs.
When Logan finished, he spun me around to rinse the soap from my back. He blinked, heavy lidded, water from his shower head flicking off his shoulders and landing on my cheeks.
“Can I?” I held my hand out for the bottle, but Logan hesitated. “No? I didn’t?—”
