“What about you? I imagine you’ve had at least a boyfriend or two over the years.”
I stiffen. “At least?”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t. You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, and I can feel my hackles lower. “And you’re fun, sexy, adventurous. I’m sure guys fall all over you wherever you go.” His face darkens. “Or try to make you fall.”
“Oh, yeah. Dave.” My laugh feels a little strained to my ears. “Not a boyfriend, just a guy I thought would be a good climbing partner and friend, but I was wrong.” I swallow. “It happens.”
“It happens?” He looks horrified at that. “This has happened a few times?”
“Not in the way it sounds. I told you before, I attract the wrong kind of guys. But, yes, to answer your question, I have had a few boyfriends.”
“What happened?” He lowers his voice. “Bad at sex?”
I huff out a surprised laugh at him, turning my nosiness against me. “Exactly,” I say, and decide to turn it into a joke I know will get a rise out of him. “You would think choking a girl during sex would be intuitive, but you’d be surprised how wrong that can go.”
He covers his face with his hands. “Sierra.Please don’t tell me that.”
The giggles burst out of me. “You should see your face.I’mjoking.”
He touches my wrist. All of my nerves seem to rush to that spot, congregating at one small point of connection. “Come here,” he says, his voice low and a tad gravelly.
“But…” I look around, but it’s all for show. My eyes can’t absorb anything I’m seeing except for him.
“Unless you know any truckers who may recognize us. Come here, baby.”
I should tell him to stop calling me baby. We need to keep the boundaries clear and defined. I’m not his.
“Okay,” I say instead.
He tugs me toward him, and then I’m in his lap. His thighs are hard underneath me, his chest solid against my back. I’m transported back for a second to when we cuddled in the cave. I felt so safe, so cherished, as he held me securely but gently, as if I were something precious. He holds me the same way now, nuzzling against my hair, sighing softly. Then he gives my backside a hearty swat.
I squeak. “Hey!”
I can feel him smiling against my temple. His hand strokes over my butt cheek, relieving the sting. I find myself relaxing against him again.
“You sounded so sad when you said you had had boyfriends,” he says quietly.
I don’t want to get into it. He doesn’t need to know about the men who hurt me over the years, their casual cruelty and emotional abuse. “Men suck,” I say with a sigh.
“We do,” Logan confirms. “We’re the worst. Tell me about them.”
“It seems generous to call them boyfriends now,” I say finally. “One cheated on me.” And stole all my cash whenhe left. “Another was convincedIwas cheating, and he broke into my phone and went through all my stuff.” And stalked my workplace and frequently followed me home. A Toyota Corolla driving behind me still gives me chills. “The third was plain mean.” My memory stutters at that one. It’s hard to remember all the gaslighting that Iknewwas going on there, but the details are hazy now. As he intended.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“Their names are not worth repeating or remembering,” I say. “They’re not here with me now.”
Logan is. And that thought alone makes me so unexpectedly happy and a little delirious, like the aftereffects of taking a shot of whiskey. A warm, burning sensation rushes down to the tips of my fingers and toes, and then I am awash with euphoria.
I take his hand and weave our fingers together. “I wish I could say I’m sorry for our respective failed dating history, but I’m not.”
“Me either.”
We smile at each other for so long that my face starts to hurt. Then my lips are falling toward his. It’s like a pull of gravity, strong, inevitable, impossible to fight. And I don’t want to fight it anymore. We keep it chaste—we don’t need to give the truckers that much of a show—but even still, my breath sounds shallow to my ears when it’s over.
Good god, I’ve got it bad for him.
Eighteen
