There wasn’t a damn thing Dr. Sparks could do for her, but Logan nodded as if it was a solid suggestion. He’d avoided the restaurant since Saturday because he suspected he was the last person Lacy wanted to see. As such, he’d holed up here, moving between his apartment upstairs, down to work, and then back again. Unfortunately, he was starting to run low on food. He would have to venture beyond the front door eventually.
Evan’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Guess I better get back out on the road. Call me this weekend if you want to meet up for a couple of beers.”
“Will do.” Logan rose as Evan left, debating what to do now. He hated knowing exactly how much he’d upset Lacy, but he was at a loss over how to help her. The best thing he could do for her was to keep his distance.
His phone beeped and he glanced at the screen to find a text from Lacy.
Coming by in a few. Bringing lunch.
He considered texting back and telling her to stay away. However, as always, his gut overrode his brain when it came to Lacy.
He simply tapped in two letters.
OK
His cock thickened at the thought of her arrival, so he forced himself away from the desk. Time to hit the workshop and start working on a new piece. Hopefully he’d manage to lose himself in the project enough to ward off this fucking erection. His brain needed all the blood it could get if she was coming by to talk.
Work was always a good distraction for him.
Logan closed his eyes and sighed. Work hadn’t distracted him once since Saturday night.
He closed his eyes and recalled his first kiss with Lacy. She’d been eighteen, beautiful, vivacious and just discovering her sexuality. She’d dared him to kiss her and he’d been just weak enough to give in. Somehow, he’d managed to keep the kiss fairly platonic and push her away that night, but it had been a damn close call.
Great. Now, he wasn’t just obsessing over Saturday night, he was recalling things he’d managed—just barely—to forget.
He was fucked.
* * *
Lacy stood outside Grady’s Furniture with her bag of takeout and tried to calm down. She’d spent the entire week in a state of constant horniness.
After Logan kicked her out of his truck, she had spent two days in a fury. He’d pushed every hot button in her body, told her in no uncertain terms all the ways he wanted her—ways she wanted to be taken—and then gone into that frustrating, protecting-you-for-your-own-good mode that drove her insane.
He had pissed her off enough that she’d actually decided she was finished with him. She wasn’t going to keep begging the dumbass to acknowledge that she was fucking perfect for him. If he couldn’t figure it out on his own, then screw him.
The anger waned around Monday afternoon, at which point, her hormones kicked back in. She was lightheaded and dizzy from the never-ending, pussy-pulsing arousal she felt every time she thought about Logan’s assertion that he would claim her.
This morning, she managed to fight her way out of the haze of horniness enough to make a plan. Logan thought she was off-limits, thought his needs were too much for her. So she had to find a way to get him to take that first step toward her without feeling guilty about breaking his vow to Evan or fear that he’d hurt her—physically or emotionally.
That thought produced a mental eye roll.
Yeah. Like he’d hurt me in any way I don’t totally want.
Overcoming his reticence was a tall order to fill, but she was determined to make it happen.
A tiny bell rang as she opened the front door. The showroom was empty. Then she heard the buzz of an electric saw from the workroom. Turning, she flipped the sign that hung on the front door that said “Be back in one hour” and locked the bolt.
She made her way around his handmade furniture, mentally reorganizing the place as she went. It was a good thing Logan made such beautiful pieces they sold themselves because his ability to show them off sucked. It was a damn maze in here. Total chaos.
She paused at the door to the workroom. His back was to her as he guided a piece of wood through the jigsaw. She had never had the opportunity to watch him work. The muscles of his back and arms flexed as he pushed the cedar plank through the blade, moving it in a waving pattern.
Once the cut was complete, he turned the saw off.
“What are you making?”
He turned at the sound of her voice, and then glanced back down at the wood. “A hope chest.”
She lifted the bag she carried. “Lunch. Hope you’re in the mood for barbeque. Haven’t seen you at the restaurant this week, so I figured you were ready for a fix.” Logan usually made it to Sparks Barbeque at least a couple times a week. She’d felt his absence intensely, her gaze traveling to the entrance every single time another patron entered. Searing disappointment followed each arrival when he never bothered to show up.
