“Making yourself at home?” I tease.
“Afraid of something?” he counters, and my smile falls.
He sets his empty bottle on the table and crosses the room to where I’m standing. Everything inside me goes on alert. With a man like Logan, I would have to be dead not to respond. For a long time, I thought I was, but as he grows closer my whole body comes back to life.
“What are you doing?” I ask. The words are barely discernible over the loud rush of my breathing.
I don’t realize I have been moving backward until my back touches the wall. I bring my hands up automatically, and they come in contact with the expanse of his chest. My eyes dart to his face, which is surprisingly close to mine. Then, I stop breathing altogether.
“Don’t be afraid of me.”
Then he draws me close. The move is so smooth, I go with him. His lips are so soft and so unexpected, I sigh into them. He doesn’t move other than to rub his lips against mine, nipping at them with a gentle bite of his teeth. When his tongue presses forward and caresses my own, I snap out of my stupor and pull back.
I press a trembling hand to my lips. “I can’t.” Furious at the tremble in my voice, I slide out between him and the wall, desperate for cool air to clear my thoughts and take away the heat licking at my insides.
He takes a step to the side and blocks my departure. “Seems like you just did.”
Shaking my head, I say, “No, you don’t understand.”
When I try to move around him again, he sidesteps. “I’m a pretty intelligent man, Sienna. Why don’t you try to explain it to me?”
Blindly, I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends and hoping to regain some common sense. I grasp for the first explanation I come across. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” He moves closer, and it’s as if he sucks all the air from the room. “I’ll get to know more.”
“No you don’t.” I gasp for air. “You won’t.”
One hand comes to rest on my hip, searing through the material of my jeans. For one white-hot second, I imagine those hands on my skin without a barrier, and my heart leaps inside my chest. When I refocus on his words, I wish I hadn’t. “I know you’ve got secrets. A past. I know you tremble when I touch you. That you sighed just a little when I kissed you. I know you like to garden, love my family, and, despite your initial skittishness, you’re kind to everyone.”
“We’ve barely met.” Even to my ears, my voice sounds desperate.
“What? Are you fishing for compliments? Do you want me to tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met? That I dream about you and the way you looked at me the first night I saw you? About getting between your thighs and hearing those sighs in my ear as you’re holding on to me? Do you want me to tell you how much I want to know what makes you look so sad sometimes?”
I close my eyes, trying to block out his words. “I don’t want you to say any of those things. I don’t want you to feel any of those things.”
“You can’t control me any more than you can control the world around you—no matter how hard you try.”
“I’m not ready for this. It’s too fast.” I look away from him, but he takes my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger and turns my attention back to him. I want to tell him to stop, but the words won’t come, and he presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“Fair enough, for now. We won’t get into it all until you’re ready.” He moves away, and I resist the temptation to follow after him. The cool air swirling between us clears my mind somewhat. He takes another step toward the door and then grins at me, breaking some of the tension. “We’ll save it for the second date.”
He’s halfway out the door when I realize what he said. “This wasn’t a first date!” I call out after him and he turns back to me, his hand still on the doorknob.
