Monday afternoon, Jodie stood in front of Logan’s apartment. She knew what she was saying Saturday night, when he put her to bed. It might have come out as a drowsy, innocent statement, but it was meant to cement facts in her head. For instance, that Logan was off-limits.

A little decent sleep and doing well on her practical exam earlier had her in her right-mind again. The sun beat down on her back, she was in a good mood, and she couldn’t put off this visit. She rang the bell.

Logan answered a moment later. His shirt was unbuttoned and his jeans hung low on his hips. She was grateful her hands were full, or she would have reached out and trailed a finger along the definition along his torso and down to the V disappearing into his waistband.

“What’s up?” His question snapped her out of her trance.

She shoved the small cardboard box she held into his hands. “Mom sent you this.” It wasn’t unusual. Her mother frequently included cookies for Logan when she sent Jodie a package.

“Nice timing. I’ve been craving.” He took the gift and turned away. “Come on in. What kind are they?”

She closed the door behind her and followed him to the kitchen. “Not a clue. It’s your care package.”

“What kind did you get?” When he turned to face her again, he’d done up a few buttons on his shirt. It didn’t do much to eliminate the temptation. She knew what lay underneath.

She looked at him, puzzled by the question. “I didn’t. She sends me things like new clothes. Today it was a little black dress she swore would look great on me.” Though, it was already tight around the middle, and wouldn’t fit in a couple of weeks. She really needed to figure out soon how to tell people. “She only sends cookies for you.”

“I can’t believe I never knew that. It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is. I know how to make cookies.”

“But this way you wouldn’t have to.” Logan cut the tape off the outer box and pulled out a plastic container filled with lemon bars. He popped the seal on the lid and grabbed a bar. Powdered sugar fluttered to the counter. “I’m not eating these alone.” He grabbed a napkin from the holder on the counter, placed the pastry on it, and handed it to Jodie.

“If you insist.”

“The only downside to these? There’s no way to eat them without making a mess.” He took a bite off one corner. White floated down, dotting his fingers, shirt, and chest.

She could lick some of that away. Instead, she forced a playful laugh and stepped around him. She grabbed utensils from the drawer. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

“You’re going to eat these with a knife and fork?”

“You’re jealous you didn’t think of it first.” She made a production of sectioning off one piece, spearing it, then shaking the loose confectioners’ sugar off before popping it in her mouth.

“Show off.” He pinched a bit of lemon cream onto his finger and smudged it on her cheek.

This time her laugh was genuine. “You’re such an asshole.” She swiped at her face and brought her fingers away sticky. Her breath caught, and her throat went dry, when she looked up and met Logan’s gaze.

His dark eyes seemed to bore into her, making her pulse race.

“What?” She intended the question to be playful, but the waver in the single word betrayed her.

“You missed a spot.” His voice was gruff. He grasped her wrist, and electricity raced through her. “May I?” he asked.

“Yes.” Jodie’s thoughts were so muddled, she didn’t know what she was agreeing to.

He raised one of her fingers to his mouth, sucked in the tip, and traced his tongue along the pad. She whimpered.

“You like that?” he asked.

God yes. The best response Jodie could manage was a nod. In the back of her mind, a familiar voice reminded her this was wrong. She didn’t listen. Didn’t care to.

He licked her middle finger clean next. Each swipe over her skin drilled to her core. He dipped his head toward hers, and the tantalizing scent of soap and spice filled her senses.

Logan flicked his tongue over her cheek, where he’d smudged the lemon bar moments earlier, then kissed a line to her mouth.

She groaned against his lips. Don’t do this. She silenced the mental voice. This tiny taste wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She interlocked her fingers at the back of his neck and pressed her body to his.

His hard form, from his shoulders to his legs, was unyielding. He moved his hands to her hips and nudged her, until her back hit the counter. He lifted her to sit on the Formica and pushed between her legs. His hard length nudged her mound.

Jodie dragged her nails along his shoulders, needing something to grip. His tongue slid into her mouth and danced with hers. They broke apart with a gasp—his or hers, she wasn’t sure.

Logan rested his forehead against hers. “This is a bad idea.” His voice was breathy.

“Supremely.”

“You’re my sister.”

She’d cringed in the past, hearing that, but never like this. “Stepsister. We’re not related by blood.”

His chuckle was strained. “You’re a wicked temptress.”

“Me, Mr. Sin-in-a-Sexy-Wrapper?” She flushed as the words passed her lips. Where did that come from?

“Excuse me? No, wait. Don’t take it back or explain. I like it.”

Jodie did too. So help her, with every tingle and spark spilling through her, this was a hundred times better than her fantasies, and it was only a taste.

Logan nipped her ear, his breath hot on her cheek. “So just this once? Get it out of our system? See what it’s like?”

“God yes.” This time she spoke the words. When he kissed her again, hard and hungrily, any remaining reservations evaporated.

He dropped one hand to her breast. When he dragged his thumb across her nipple, she groaned against his mouth. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and pulled away with a chuckle. “What else”—he kissed her jaw—“can I do”—he traced a path down her neck—“to hear more of those incredible noises?”

“I guess you’ll have to get creative.” She heard herself say the words, almost as if she was watching this from a removed perspective, and in the middle of it at the same time. She was making out with the man she’d tried for years to see as nothing more than her brother, while she was pregnant with someone else’s child.

It was surreal, but at the same time she didn’t want to stop.

It only took a deft flick of his wrist and a twist of his fingers, to undo her jeans. He glided his hands along her bare skin and under her waistband, until he reached her back. “Hmm… Sounds hard.” He wedged his palms under her ass, and pulled her closer. His erection dug into her, insistent, emphasizing his point. He dragged his mouth along her jaw. “See what kind of bad puns you drive me to?”

“They’re fun, but they’re not very creative.” Jodie didn’t know where she wanted attention the most. Her nipples tingled from the brief tease, and focusing on them would draw this moment out, but the throbbing between her legs was more insistent.

“I can fix that.” He shifted his hands lower, and she adjusted her position to let him push her jeans and panties down.

She let out a squeak when her bare ass hit cold Formica.

He didn’t pause, dragging the clothing down her legs, knocking her sandals off, and tossing her pants aside.

He kissed her leg at the knee, she gasped.

“Like that, but more of it.” He licked up the inside of her thigh, a millimeter at a time.

The agonizingly slow journey made her wet with anticipation. By the time he reached her sex, it took the last of her restraint to keep from squirming with need. When he trailed his tongue along her slit, she whimpered. He closed his mouth around her clit, and her hips bucked. His tongue tracing circles around the swollen nub drew a loud cry, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, needing something to cling to.

Her thoughts no longer raced. A teensy bit of her said she should question this or stop it, or at least hesitate a little more. That voice was shoved in a closet by the way Logan licked her toward ecstasy. Her hips bucked with each pass, and climax built inside, stealing her air and making her head swim.

Her every sense flared to life, as pleasure snaked through her. The rough texture of his tongue. His familiar scent mingled with her arousal. The sharp, lingering tang of lemon on her tongue. And the way his groans mingled with her gasps, telling her he enjoyed the giving as much as she was the receiving.

She screamed when her orgasm crashed over her, blurring the lines between sensation until the world glowed behind her eyelids. When his touch became too much, and she jerked away instinctively, he stood and pressed his mouth to hers.

Tasting herself—enjoying the tang of her juices—was a new layer of wrong-but-oh-so-right. This was too amazing to deny herself.