“Hey.” I slipped my hand in his, keeping my voice low. “This is why we’re together, remember?”
“Right,” he said slowly, as if he’d forgotten. Then his mouth cracked into a smile and he lowered his voice to match mine. “You saying you want to put on a show?”
I used my stern librarian voice. “As long as it stays within the rules.”
“Come here,” he growled, and in one fluid movement he’d tugged me flush against him and turned his back on the photographer. My heart beat wildly as he pushed his hands through my hair and leaned in close. When he spoke, his lips brushed my ear. “How’s this?”
From where the photographer was standing, it would look like we were in the middle of a torrid embrace. “Technically,” I whispered, feeling his stubble tickle my cheek, “within bounds.”
His voice was quiet. “I don’t know why any pap is interested in me. Monumental waste of time.”
I breathed in his spicy woodsy-berry scent—a tad stronger tonight, like he’d freshly spritzed. “Maybe it’s because you’re thirty-three and you could be the next governor of Texas. Or that you’re a known firebrand, you’ve dated NBA cheerleaders, and you look the way you do.”
“She googles.” He pulled back an inch. “Are you saying you think I’m attractive?”
I rolled my eyes and stepped even closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and trying to ignore that I could feel my blood pounding through every inch of my body. “Like you haven’t had your appearance dissected a million times. You know what you look like.”
His hands moved slowly out of my hair and trailed down to my shoulders, where they rested for a moment. Then, as if he was hungry for more, they kept sliding down my spine.
“There was also,” I said, lifting to my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “that time I kissed you.”
A breeze passed and I felt him shiver. “I seem to remember you drinking a few whiskeys that night.” His voice was low. “Wasn’t sure if you regretted it.”
I could feel my cheeks heat. Why had I started down this road? “Well, Iamstanding here, pretending to kiss you while a middle-aged man snaps pictures, so I could see how you’d question my judgment.”
He was silent for a beat. When he looked down at me, there was tender amusement in his eyes. He leaned in, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and whispered, “Only one.”
I frowned against his cheek. “What?”
“I’ve only dated one NBA cheerleader.”
I pulled back to find him grinning, and rolled my eyes as discreetly as possible. “Can I ask you a question?”
His reply was automatic. “If I can ask you one.” Ever the negotiator.
“Why did you say those things at the press conference about me being a good person? You barely knew me, and you didn’t have to. I mean, I lied to you the night we met.”
The photographer moved to catch our profiles, camera lights going off rapid-fire.
Logan wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me closer, cupping my face. “I’ve found there can be a lot of truth in fiction.” His voice came out low and gravelly, his mouth so close to mine that if I raised my chin even a millimeter, our lips would brush. Each word shivered through me. “And there are different ways to get to know someone. Sometimes it’s what they tell you, but a lot of times it’s what they don’t. Especially in my line of work. You learn to watch the way people act. When they’re alone for a moment and think no one’s looking, or when they talk to strangers. Even just the way they look at you. People are constantly telling you who they are if you’re willing to step back and listen.”
I thought of Logan at the Fleur de Lis, listening to me go on about my life as Ruby Dangerfield. In the conference room, listening with his arms crossed as his staff discussed what to do about the photo crisis. In the Antique Car Society office, listening to me and Nora debate the education policy.
“I felt good about what I said at the presser,” he said simply. “You might’ve made up the details that first night. But I saw you.”
His words cast a spell and I couldn’t look away. Just the thought of him considering who I was so seriously made my limbs feel warm and heavy. His attention was a spotlight, but one I didn’t mind.
“My turn,” he murmured. “You said you were out to celebrate being done with your ex, and I don’t think that part was a lie. Was it?”
“No,” I whispered. The photographer could’ve evaporated for all I knew. I couldn’t be bothered to check.
“And it was Chris?”
“Yes.”
His gaze moved over my shoulder to focus on something in the distance. “I meant it when I said only a deluded man wouldn’t recognize what he had,” he said softly. “For whatever that’s worth, from the near stranger playing your boyfriend.” His gaze fell back to me, and he gave me a small smile. Almost wistful.
I realized in that moment that Logan didn’t, despite the length of time I’d known him, feel like a stranger. Not in the slightest.
