I sway into his rock-hard body. “No rules?”
“No rules.”
I tilt my head back so I can look into his eyes.
“Let’s get drunker first,” I say. “I need to think less. I can’t do a Vegas exemption when I’m thinking.”
25
“Oh, my head. Why does my head hurt so much?” I open one eye, but all I see is my hair.
My head feels like a brick fell on it. No, more like a thousand bricks fell on it. And my mouth is so dry I don’t know how I just spoke.
I drag my head off the hotel pillow and prop myself up on my left elbow. I use my right hand to clear my vision from my waves of dark, thick hair and look across the king-sized bed.
Logan’s still asleep. His long dark lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks, over the scar where his father’s crucifix necklace hit him when he was sixteen, the last time Mr. Wild ever touched him in anger.
Logan’s breathing is heavy and familiar, and I sigh. Thank God nothing happened between us last night.
I go to slip out of bed and get a glass of water, but when I pull back the covers, I stifle a scream.
I’m naked. Naked.
Holy shoot. What happened last night?
Logan’s eyes are open now. I pull the covers back over my body and stare at him. His lips are swollen and bruised like they were busy all night. I lick my own lips and realize they feel the same way.
“Did we—” I shut my mouth as memories begin to flood my senses.
A Vegas exemption, he’d whispered in the bar hallway.
Then there was more drinking.
And more flirting.
Logan kissed me in the taxicab on our way to the Little White Wedding Chapel for Ginny and Dave’s wedding.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. The next part of the evening is blurry. In fact, I can’t seem to remember Ginny and Dave’s wedding at all.
That’s odd.
“But I remember coming back here,” I say quietly.
Logan’s mouth landed on mine in the hotel room doorway before we even made it inside the room. I peeled off his t-shirt and ran my hands over his solid chest. He unbuttoned my little jean shorts with his strong hands callused from all that ranch work…
“Cutting cattle this spring has made your body even fitter,” I say with an awkward smile.
Logan’s lips curl into a grin but his whiskey eyes are piercing. “So you do remember? Or you don’t?”
“I do,” I say quickly. “I remember. It was just…fuzzy at first.”
He taps the little red notebook propped next to my pillow. “You wrote for quite a while last night.”
I grab my journal, the same worn notebook I’ve had since I was a kid. I usually write in it once a year, sometimes more, and always on Independence Day, which is also my birthday.
I tuck the diary close to me, as far away from Logan as possible. God, I’ll have to read that drunken entry later. But right now?—
“So I pulled out my diary and just wrote?”
