“Oh, you cheat.” Laughing, I pulled back my arm to lob him with a balloon again when he said, “Only for things that don’t matter.”
My heart lurched. My laughter faded. I lowered my head, swiping the wet paint dripping down my bangs and face.
“Don’t hide what you feel from me, Logan,” he said quietly. “Don’t you understand? I want that, I want everything that is you.”
I looked up and, faced with those penetrating green eyes and kissable lips, all I could think about was his mouth on mine.
He removed the balloon from my unresisting fingers and tossed it aside. Lowering to the bale, he pulled me onto his lap. But it had to be said. “You lost.”
“Did I?”
“Well, you still have more balloons.”
“Perhaps, but I won something I never believed possible. I have you, don’t I? So what will my punishment be?”
My heart ricocheting in my ribcage like a trapped butterfly, my words came out in a husky whisper. “Don’t rush me, I’m thinking…”
“While you do that, I want this.” He pulled me around to straddle him, didn’t seem to care that I was messed with paint. Putting his mouth on mine, he then simply obliterated every thought in my head. His lips parted mine, his tongue tracing my mouth. A rush of sensation streamed through me. Blood pounded in my ears. I couldn’t form a coherent thought, only knew I wanted to get closer to him. Wanted his bare skin sliding against mine. But with his jeans and my shorts in the way, it was an impossible feat.
A soft moan escaping, I wound my arms around his neck and pressed against him, rubbing myself on his erection.
“Ah, Christ, Logan, have mercy on me. We’re out in the open. If I take you here, the newspapers will have a field day. Not only will I have my old man on my back, but your father will probably kill me for dragging you into this debacle that’s my life.”
Panting hard, I blinked at him. “Did my dad talk to you?”
“This morning, on our way to the grounds. He said if I hurt you, he’d use me as a dartboard, but with knives.
“I’m sorry.” My desire faded a little. I smoothed his paint-splattered tee with open palms then finally asked, “What happened between you and your father?”
His expression shut down. He stared at the makeshift entrance. A teen ran into our little corner. The boy stopped short when he saw us, then hightailed it out again, yelling, “Sorry, dude!”
Disappointed Max wouldn’t talk to me, I slipped off his lap and straightened my top stuck to my skin. “We should head back.”
But Max didn’t move. Head lowered, he stared at his hands.
“Max?”
“My father can’t stand me because I killed my mother.”
“Max—no!” No matter what Kate had said, to hear Max repeat it, I still refused to believe. But the pain and anguish in his voice had me dropping to my knees.
He wouldn’t look at me. “Now you know.”
Chapter Twelve
Max
I stared at my paint-smeared hands, didn’t look up, couldn’t bear seeing the disgust on her face. If she walked, I had no idea what I’d do. I only knew she made life bearable again.
My gaze fastened on her name stained on my forearm. I’d left that bit of skin blank; wanted an etching of my mother duplicated in ink, but now, Logan had claimed that spot.
She kneeled between my parted thighs, forcing me to look at her. Her face and hair streaked with green and yellow paint had never looked lovelier. “That can’t be true.”
“I was driving, I’m responsible.”
“Tell me what happened.” She laced our paint-smeared fingers. “Because I see the shadows in your eyes and feel your pain, and I know you don’t sleep much.”
I stared at our joined hands. “I don’t remember—none of it, and that kills me. Because I was in the driver’s seat, that’s what they told me when I woke up in the hospital weeks later, with no memory of it. Everything’s one big fucking blank.”
