Last night had been, well, the word incredible came to mind, but it seemed so flat and inadequate. After the kitchen, they had moved to the bedroom and had spent the night making love until being interrupted by Julie around her feeding time. Claire actually felt a blush stealing across her cheeks. God, he made her blush like a teenager. How did he manage to do it? “As I recall, you were a willing participant.”
His grin widened and he leaned down to kiss her again. “Most willing.”
Somehow, her hands found their way into his hair, and when he would have pulled away, she held him to her. Logan’s kisses had become something of an addiction for her, much like the man himself, an addiction she wholeheartedly wanted to indulge.
“Claire,” he murmured against her lips, his voice sounding oddly gruff.
She continued kissing him, her tongue enjoying a leisurely exploration of the seam of his lips. Conversation didn’t hold nearly as much appeal for her as Logan himself did at the moment.
But Logan was persistent. He pulled back, still close enough to be a temptation. “I think we should talk.”
Uh-oh. Those words were invariably followed by something she didn’t want to hear. Claire pulled his head back down to hers for another kiss, deciding that distraction was likely the optimal tactic. “Let’s not and pretend we did.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to distract me?”
She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?” Claire adored his sulky lips, couldn’t get enough of them. It seemed that she had only succeeded in distracting herself.
Logan pressed a kiss to her forehead before straightening. “Get dressed, sweetheart. I have breakfast waiting for you downstairs.”
“You made me breakfast?” Warmth blossomed in her chest and seeped through her.
He nodded, looking suddenly like a little boy who was very proud of himself. “Waffles. I found a waffle maker in one of your cabinets.”
Waffles. Claire felt as if she wanted to cry, and just over something as trifling as waffles. It was like her pregnancy all over again. That Logan had taken the time to make her breakfast at all, let alone waffles from scratch, reinforced his wonderfulness in her mind.
“You made me waffles,” she repeated stupidly.
“You don’t like waffles?” he teased her with a devastating grin.
“Of course I like waffles,” she said, feeling foolish.
“Good.” Julie’s pick-me-up-now cry blared over the baby monitor, causing Claire to instinctively begin rising from the bed.
Logan put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me get her. You get dressed and we’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
When Logan was gone, Claire got dressed in autopilot mode, her thoughts preoccupied by wondering what on earth Logan wanted to talk to her about. Probably something bad, she decided, since he’d made her waffles. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, put on a bit of blush and lip gloss and headed off to the kitchen. Her stomach was a ball of tangled, uneasy nerves.
Logan, on the other hand, looked completely calm and self-assured, not to mention sexy, as he cuddled Julie in one arm and set a carton of orange juice on the table with the other. It was a scene that struck a chord in her. Logan, barefoot in her kitchen, serving a Saturday morning breakfast with Julie in his arms. God, she loved him. She wanted to spend every morning like this, the three of them together. She wanted to be free to love him.
“Mommy’s a bit of a slowpoke, but she’s finally here,” Logan confided to their daughter as Claire entered the kitchen. He looked up, giving her a seductive smile that matched the heat in his eyes.
“You’re going to spoil her,” Claire pointed out softly. Of course, she too carried their daughter around all day long, but she needed something to say. She couldn’t just blurt out the wordsI love you.
Logan raised a brow. “You expect me to believe that you don’t carry her around all day?”
She frowned at him. Okay, so he knew her well. “No comment,” she grumbled, sitting at the table.
He used his free hand to open the aluminum foil covering a heaping plate in the center of the table. Steam and the incredible aroma of fresh waffles rose into the air. Claire skewered one on her fork and dropped it onto her plate, smothering it in dark syrup. Logan sat across from her, Julie still in his arms, watching her with an intensity she found startling.
“I like being with you in the morning,” he murmured. “This feels good. It feels right.”
The bite of waffle en route to Claire’s mouth paused, midair. “What are you saying, Logan?” She knew him well enough to realize that there was something more to his words, a hidden meaning she had to unravel.
“I mean that I love being with the two of you.” He paused, his dark gaze boring into hers. “I want us to be together all the time, as a family.”
“Logan,” she began, about to remind him of all the reasons why he didn’t need to feel obligated to give their daughter married parents.
“I love you.”
