“So you are saying you are going to miss me?” he asked, closing the distance between them.
She swallowed, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
He touched her again, and this time his fingers traced her arm through the fabric as if learning the cut of it. He waited to see if she would pull away.She did not.
Instead, the anger loosened its hold and left something raw in its wake.
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, and the steadiness of the gesture undid her more than any sharp word could have. Heat that had nothing to do with the fire moved under her skin.
“Logan,” she said, a warning and an invitation at once.
“Aye,” he murmured.
His hand settled on her waist, his warmth seeping through the gown. The other slid to the small of her back and pulled her tight against him.
Emma stepped into him and felt every hard line of his body. His mouth crashed onto hers, and she opened to him without hesitation.
The kiss turned hungry fast, and soon, the space in her mouth wasn’t big enough for the invasion of his tongue.
He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against hers. Both of them were breathing hard, as if they had run miles. His eyes held nothing but raw desire.
“Logan, this is not part of the—” she tried to say, but couldn’t get the words out.
He kissed down her throat, teeth grazing skin, then moved back to her mouth because he could not seem to stay away.
Her hands roamed over his body in return. His shoulders, then the muscled length of his back. When she dug her nails in, he made a sound low in his throat and pulled her even tighter against him.
Emma threw her head back, feeling every judgment and sense in her head disappear.
Lord help me.
11
Logan walked her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, then he pinned her there with his body, watching her face. She grabbed his shirt, and he pressed closer, the weight of his full frame solid and demanding. His hand moved with purpose and slid down her ribs.
“Ye want this, do ye nae?” he asked in a low whisper.
“Logan—”
He dropped his hands and stared at her.
Emma bit back a groan and grabbed his hands again, settling them on her waist.“Yes.”
He kissed her hard and shoved her dress above her thighs. The cool air from the open window hit her bare skin and was followed by his palm, hot and callused, stroking up the insideof her leg. Her thighs fell open as wide as they could with him pressed against her, and he made a rough sound against her mouth.
“Emma,” he breathed in her ear.
His fingers brushed through the curls between her legs, and she gasped. He did it again, exploring her, and when he found slickness, he went rock hard.
“Christ,” he groaned.
One thick finger circled her entrance, and a jagged breath escaped her lips. She shifted her hips, and he caught both her wrists in his free hand, pinning them above her head against the wall.
The sudden restraint made her breath catch, but he held her there, watching her face as he pushed one finger inside her.
The stretch was foreign and unfamiliar. However, it wasn’t painful. He worked deeper, slow and steady, keeping her wrists pinned while she adjusted to the intrusion. When he was buried to the knuckle, he curled his finger against a soft spot that shot lightning up her spine.
Her back arched off the wall, and a cry escaped her lips. He did it again, stroking that same spot patiently while she struggled against his grip. He did not let go.
