When Logan got back home, he found Sky dressed to kill and sitting on the carpet. Arnie was by her side, along with a huge bag of potato chips. For every one she ate, she gave one to the dog. They were both enthralled, watching on her cell as Cesar Millan trained a puppy obsessed with shoes.

“I’m no expert, but I’d say that defeats the purpose.”

Arnie alerted, throwing a suspicious glare his way.

“What purpose?” Sky asked, looking up. Dressed to kill and made up to perfection. Red, voluptuous lips. Gorgeous eyes. Intricate hairdo. The whole shebang.

“Showing the beast self-improvement shows while feeding him chips,” he answered, trying to break the spell. Her scent reached him. Damn, she smelled so good. And double damn, he’d forgotten his cream to block it. He couldn’t afford a hard-on now, much less if the beast decided to sniff him.

“He loves these shows. And the chips.”

By the looks of the dog, Arnie loved anything that kept him close to his owner. Much to Logan’s dismay, he could totally see the appeal. His semipermanent erection attested to that.

“And don’t call him ‘the beast’ either,” she added. “He’s very sensitive and will take offense.”

Sure, because Cerberus seemed like such a touchy-feely fella.

“I thought you didn’t eat carbs in the evening.”

She waved him off. “Chips aren’t carbs. They’re not even food. They’re… chips.”

Of course. “What are you guys doing on the floor?”

“Watching some videos I downloaded when I was at Shayna’s. I wasn’t sure if Arnie was allowed on the sofa, and we sit together. Animals are messy. I understand if—”

“Get your ass off the floor, Butterfly. I work around soiled diapers all day long; I think I can stand dog paws on my couch,” he said, approaching them.

He must have moved too fast or too close, because Arnie growled. She shushed him as if he weren’t a fucking dangerous animal. “No growling at the nice man,” she cooed. To Logan, she added, “He’s territorial, but he’s a sweetie and doesn’t bite.”

Logan wouldn’t bet on that.

Once Sky sat on the sofa, Arnie followed suit, putting his front paws on her thighs. His head too. She was wearing a sexy dark-blue dress that accentuated her hourglass figure. The plunging neckline showed off her boobs, and her high heels made her legs a mile long.

“You look nice,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

“Any occasion is a good occasion. Besides, I cooked and Arnie is here. We’re celebrating.”

“You wearing your Brazilian ass?”

She burst into laughter. “You bet I am. This dress doesn’t look the same without it. Besides, the floor was hard.”

“This might be outrageously bad manners, but you already told me about your Brazilian ass, so I’m just going to say it. Your boobs have gotten bigger.”

“They seem bigger,” she corrected. “It’s called boob contour. You play with light and shadow to create depth, and voilá, an average B becomes a nice C.”

There was nothing average about her, but Logan kept that to himself. “So you used boob makeup on your neckline?”

“I’m afraid I did. A woman never reveals her secrets, but as you say—after telling you about the Brazilian ass, it’s no use playing coy. I used boob contour for the pasta party too, but you didn’t seem to notice then so I didn’t mention it.”

He’d noticed. Boy, had he noticed. “Why go to all the trouble? It’s just you and me. No party to go to.”

“It’s for me. One must look one’s best. It’s an obligation.”

That obligation had him and his junk sweating bullets.

“Something smells good in here,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen, trying to distract himself from the enticing views and the way his pants were strangling his erection. “What’s for dinner?”

“Burritos. That’s the only Mexican food I know how to make. Next time I’ll do phô for Danh, gong bao chicken for Huan, and then ceviche for Esteban. I checked Peruvian cuisine, and cuy is popular, which is roasted guinea pig. Sorry, but no way. I haven’t been able to find a typical Turkmen dish, but I will.”

“What’s wrong with American corn bread, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes? Or junk food? That’s very American too.”

“We’ve been talking about their favorite dishes. Food makes people feel at home. I’m not a great cook, but half the job is trying. I already fed your crew.”

“They ate here?” That was something they hadn’t done before now.

She nodded. “They started to, but Arnie made them change their minds. They decided to take the rest of the food to go. They wanted to turn in early for tomorrow’s trip.”

The guys were going to Minneapolis to do a bit of sight-seeing for the weekend. Logan hadn’t been able to get them to talk to him or to each other. Sky not only managed that in a couple of days, she got them to bond enough to go on a trip together. Of course she’d convince them to have dinner at the house too.

“I guess I should freshen up,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’m afraid my tuxedo is at the cleaners, though. Don’t expect miracles.”

Logan took a fast shower. He pondered for a second whether to pull out his suit, but discarded the notion and went for jeans and another T-shirt. He’d had enough dressing up for a lifetime, thank you very much. And he’d been honor bound to please his wife. With Sky, he didn’t have any obligations.

When he made it downstairs, Sky was getting the table ready, setting out glassware. Arnie was trailing her.

“Your dog has attachment issues. He shadows you everywhere.”

“He does.” Sky petted the beast. “He likes being with me. He’s such a sweetie.”

“What were you referring to earlier when you said Arnie doesn’t fit anywhere?”

“Arnie is perceived as a dangerous dog, and yet he doesn’t fit with dangerous animals. He’s too gentle a soul. But because of his appearance, people give him a wide berth, and he’s always kept apart from the smaller dogs. That’s hard. I know a thing or two about not fitting anywhere.”

“Meaning?”

“To Latinos, I’m a whitey because I don’t speak Spanish and don’t know much of the culture. I’ve lost my roots; therefore, I’m no longer part of their community. Among whites, whether I speak Spanish or not is irrelevant—I’m a Latino woman.”

“A rather crude generalization, don’t you think?”

She lifted a brow belligerently. “You going to tell me how it feels to be part of a minority?”

No, but he too knew a thing or two about belonging. “I’m one of the few non-preppers in this town. An outsider and a West Coast transplant, on top of everything else. I know how it feels to be part of a minority, although not a racial one.”

“I might be generalizing a tiny bit,” she conceded. “There are exceptions, of course. Not everyone has such prejudices, but open-minded people are few and far between. And you don’t have to reject the outsider for the outsider to feel that he doesn’t fit, that he is different. It’s a feeling.”

Logan shrugged. “Can’t argue with feelings, but it’s my experience that you don’t fit until one day you do.”

“Hasn’t happened to me yet. I lived with my mother and father in New Jersey. I was ten when my mom got sick and my dad split. We had to move to the Spanish Harlem, to live with my grandmother and my older sister. I had little contact with the Latino community before that.”

He followed her to the kitchen and helped her carry the food to the table. “It takes tenacity to grew up in Spanish Harlem and not learn Spanish.” Not to mention it was a hell of a statement.

“Tell me about it. Although my mother wasn’t born in the US, she was very much into assimilation and made a point of always speaking English. All my grandmother’s support system, on the other hand, were Spanish speakers. They called me La Gringa,” she said, a somehow bitter smile marring her face. “Truth be told, I didn’t want to belong with them, so the more they bitched about me not speaking Spanish, the more I blocked learning it. They kept going on about my heritage and the need to preserve it. I didn’t want to hear a word about it. I hopped on the train and spent as much time as possible in Jersey. My heritage made me different. I didn’t like being different. I wanted to be like the rest of my friends. My white friends. But I wasn’t, was I? Fashion is a great equalizer in that way. What’s in is in, regardless of where you come from.”

“Does it bother you? Not fitting anywhere?”

“No, because I fit with Arnie.” She sat down. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Yet she’d been totally ready to dump Arnie for a job in France.

“What?” she asked. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“What would have happened to him if you’d gotten the job at Galeries Lafayette?”

She stared at him defiantly. “I would have flown him to Europe, of course. The dog hotel was temporary. An American citizen can’t bring a dog like Arnie into France. Breed prejudice. So I needed a little time to scout things out, but I would have found a way around those regulations. I told you, a person doesn’t abandon the ones she loves.” If the determination in her eyes was anything to go by, Logan had no doubts Arnie would have been smuggled into France in no time.

“What about your sister? Do you fit with her?”

Her fierce expression softened at the mention of her sister. “I love Lola, but she’s an absolute mess. Her problem isn’t that she fits nowhere. It’s the other way around. She’s forty going on fourteen.”

“Forty?” He studied her for a long second. “How old are you?”

“Haven’t you ever heard about the perils of asking a woman her age? I’m twenty-seven. Why?”

“Quite an age gap.”

Sky nodded. “Lola is my stepsister. My mother had her when she was young. My grandma raised Lola. And now that we’re on the subject, how old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Figures,” she commiserated.

“What?”

“This weather is murder on the skin. I would have pegged you for thirty-nine, minimum. Stock up on moisturizer, Alchemist. You don’t want to end up looking like Tutankhamun.”

Smartass.

The beep of his cell interrupted them. Logan reached for the device. It showed a picture of Shayna. Her bright red lips had small white polka dots on them, and she was blowing a kiss. The message read, “Your makeup is a success.”

“This is for you,” Logan said, handing it to Sky. “What did you do to her?” Shayna had always been pretty, but she looked amazing now.

“We got a bit creative.”

“White polka dots?” He’d seen Shayna favoring polka dots on her shoes or on dresses, but on her lips? That was a new one.

“Leftover white liquid eyeliner and a bobby pin. You dip the tip and do the dots. It really makes the lips pop.”

No shit. They looked 3D. “Her eyes seem huge too.” They were not only glittery, but they had some fancy colors on the upper eyelid.

“We dipped color pencils in a glass of warm water. They make fantastic eyeliners. Not to be used every day, mind you, but perfect for emergencies. And glitter stays put anywhere if you use lip gloss underneath it. Glittery eye shadow is in fashion. The catwalks are full of it.”

“Spectacular result.”

“Bob didn’t think so. He went ballistic. Started yelling, ‘Infected, infected. Get the tranquilizer.’ Nuts.”

He’d told Shayna that having Carol raven-sit was going to backfire.

Logan studied Sky again. “You’re wearing Dior.”

“I am,” she conceded.

“How come a woman dressed in frigging expensive clothes knows all these cheap-ass tricks?”

She sighed. “The clothes are castoffs. My boss—ex-boss—gets invited to all the big fashion shows. She seldom wears the same outfit twice, and I was her go-to girl when it came time to get rid of the old shit. She tossed, I caught and repurposed.”

So that was why she wore outfits worth thousands of dollars even though she was strapped for cash—she dressed above her paycheck. All she had to do was sell half her wardrobe on eBay and she’d be set for a long while.

“I must say you wear her old shit very well.” More than that. She looked gorgeous. Elegantly put together. Expensive. High maintenance. Everything he hated and had left behind with Vivienne. Though Vivienne would never have let a dog put his paws on her outfit. No way, no how. Much less such a dog.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “How does a guy who makes a living collecting dirty diapers know this outfit is a Dior?”

“Vivienne, my ex-wife, was into fashion. And into buying anything with a lot of zeros on the price tag. She gave up on me when I couldn’t afford all the zeros on the price tags.” Although in Vivienne’s eyes, his sin had been much worse: he’d chosen to give up the salary that subsidized all those zeros.

“She wasn’t too big on recycling diapers?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Vivienne had freaked out, but he’d lived his life according to her wishes for many years. It was her turn to compromise. Not. “Shall we eat?”

Sky didn’t pursue it; she just smiled and nodded. Good, because last thing he wanted was to reminisce about his ex and how his marriage had gone down the drain.

He took a bite and almost choked on it. His nose opened and his eyes watered.

“You okay?”

He fought to speak through the wave of fire. “It’s a bit spicy.”

She put a spoonful into her mouth, not even blinking. “Mexican food is spicy.”

No shit. He looked at the pitcher of water on the table. He was going to need more than that to make it through this supper.

* * *

Sky dragged her ass downstairs in the wee hours, dying for a glass of ice water. She’d overdone it with the pepper. Cooking wasn’t her forte, although Logan hadn’t commented. Much. Aside from telling her he was on kitchen duty and she was on the dishwashing crew from now on. Arrogant bastard. Let him figure out how to prepare phò.

“Stay,” she ordered Arnie in a whisper, but it was useless. He followed her. Great, she’d have to carry him back up to the second floor. Again. On the plus side, this time around she wouldn’t have Logan smirking at the sight, offering to help with “the emotional support animal.”

She was at the sink when she heard rustling and strange sounds coming from outside. Arnie stood near her, ears up.

She peeked through the window and almost had a heart attack. There were people dressed in weird overalls, moving around. One was on the porch. Another was right by the window. More were on the lawn. They were whispering and carrying plastic and wood planks and hammers. Shit. Intruders, trying to break in.

Unlike hunting lodges she’d seen on TV, Logan didn’t have any rifles in sight, so she grabbed a snow shovel and ran up the stairs toward his room.

In the corridor, she crashed face-first into a naked chest. “Logan. Thank God,” she whispered. “It’s a home invasion.”

“What?” He was wearing only boxers that rode low on his hips. He ran his hands through his hair, his bare chest going even broader. Man, look at the abs. And the pecs. The whole guy, really. That she was salivating over him while on the verge of being attacked by intruders was a statement in itself. Who would have guessed frying diapers and bagging mushrooms could build such a body?

She shook her head, trying to clear it. “There are people outside. I think they’re planning to break a window.”

“You’re hallucinating,” he said, his voice soft from sleep. “It’s the spices. You’re dehydrated. I’m going for some water myself.”

“Forget the water, dammit,” she hissed, pulling at him. “They have utensils. Hammers.”

“You do know Minnesota is an open-carry state with more guns than cars, right? Thugs do not break in with hammers around here.”

She dragged him to the window of the living room and peeked out the side of the curtain. “Check for yourself.”

“What the hell?” Logan whispered, grabbing the snow shovel from her hands.

The intruders seemed to have veils or something on their hats, because she couldn’t see their faces. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t make out their body shapes too well either. They were carrying flashlights, pointing up and down without much logic.

Logan turned on the outside lights.

There were some ouches and curses as five people in hazmat suits covered their eyes, momentarily blinded.

“Carol?” Logan yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”

One of the wackos lifted her head and waved. Yep. Carol.

“Oh, hi, Logan. Did we wake you up? So sorry. We’re running a drill. Isolating your house.”

Sky blinked several times, then turned to Logan. He didn’t seem too surprised.

He unlocked the door, but he couldn’t open it. “Why the fuck can’t I open the door?”

“Sorry about that, hon,” Carol said. “We already took care of the entrances. We’re sealing off the windows next.”

Thank God Sky wasn’t claustrophobic.

“Why my house? Isolate yours.”

“You have only one hazmat suit and two people. It stands to reason that in case of emergency, your house would have to be isolated. And we need to practice. Just go back to sleep. This will only take a minute. And turn those lights off. We’re training for a blackout.”

Logan threw his hands in the air and obliged her. “Go for it, Carol.”

Sky followed him to the kitchen as the pandemic ladies resumed doing whatever the hell they were doing. “Are they serious?”

“Like a fucking heart attack.”

“You going to let them tape your house?”

“The alternative is getting us—all three, beast included—in hazmat suits and taking part in their drill. No, thank you. Let them tape the whole damn house if they want to. Yo, Carol!” he yelled, leaning toward the dark shape just beyond the kitchen window. “Does your crew need something hot to drink? I could turn the coffeepot on.”

“No, thanks, hon. We’re under strict no-drink, no-eat orders. Can’t risk getting contaminated.”

“Of course.” He poured a glass of water and offered it to Sky.

She shook her head, stuck on the word “contaminated.” Somehow, she wasn’t thirsty anymore. “They do know this is a drill, right?” she whispered.

Logan shrugged. “Hopefully.”

He drank the whole glass, poured himself more, and went to sit on the sofa.

She sat by his side. “What if they decide containment isn’t possible and they have to resort to a more drastic approach?”

“That’s why I’m staying here and not going back to sleep until they are done and gone.”

Good thinking.

“Why do you put up with them? With all of this?” Logan seemed like a great guy, but Sky had no doubt he could scare the women away with a single shout.

Logan took a long second to answer. “Megan, my sister. She was very sick and not telling me shit when she moved here. Carol contacted me. I owe her more than I can ever repay. If these drills make her happy, it’s the least I can do.”

Very Zen of him. Sky wasn’t sure she could take Carol’s shenanigans on a regular basis. “Why wasn’t your sister telling you shit?”

“I might have been a dick for a while.”

“Might have?”

“All right. I was definitely a dick. In a previous life, though. I’m a pussycat now.”

She laughed. A pussycat, he definitely was not. Even soft and rumpled from sleep. A panther, maybe. Staying still, looking relaxed yet alert. So much raw power. Her gaze drifted down to his boxers. Wow, this guy was nicely endowed.

She looked up. Grasped for a change of subject. “What do we do now?”

“We wait,” he said, exhaling loudly and resting his arms on the back of the couch.

“I downloaded more TV shows when I was at Shayna’s. Wanna watch with me?”

“No. Thank you.”

Okay. Next. “I’ve got proper scissors upstairs. I could trim your beard while we wait.” The pandemic squad would hardly mind if they turned a light on.

It was dark, but his grimace came through loud and clear. “I’ve changed my mind. Turn on one of your TV shows.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No way. You are not touching my beard.”

“What about the hair?” she said, reaching for it. “You’ve got split ends. I’ve never seen a mop more in need of moisturizing. I get it that putting gooey stuff on your hair is not going to fly, but I could give you a nice haircut. Shave the sides. How would you like the roguish-Viking look?”

“I’d rather stick with what I’ve got, thanks.”

She pressed on. “I’ve never done a mohawk, but I’m pretty sure I can shave your sides without nicking your ears. Let me check a YouTube tutorial and we’ll be good to go.”

He chuckled. “You do know you’re not helping your case, right?”

She was going to argue, but a loud thump from outside caught her attention. “What…”

Logan turned toward the windows. “Carol? Is your crew okay?”

“Yes,” came from the outside. “Minor glitch.”

“Minor glitch?” Sky whispered.

“Better not to ask. Believe me.”

She stared at him, then back at the window. “Shouldn’t we warn your interns?”

“No need. I started having my students sign a disclosure form right after my first batch thought they were being kidnapped by the government.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “They were from Norway. Apparently, conspiracy theory wackos are an international phenomenon. One of them, Soren, saw a pandemic squad drill after watching one too many episodes of The X Files, and jumped to conclusions.”

Oh crap. “What did he do?”

“I’m just going to say thank God I don’t keep guns in the house. Other interns have been less hands-on and more amused. They took pictures.”

“At least if the diaper business goes belly up, you can always advertise this place as an amusement park. Zombie survival safari.”

“Don’t tell anyone or they’ll have a summer camp along those lines running in no time. Preppers are nothing if not entrepreneurs. Participants would have to sign a ton of waivers though.”

She dissolved into laughter. When she got that under control, she found Logan staring at her.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. Tucked it behind her ear. “You’re fucking beautiful. You know that, right?”

She was wearing a T-shirt, boy shorts, and thick wool socks. Her face was scrubbed clean, and her hair was probably a bedhead snarl. “You feeling dizzy? We might be running low on oxygen.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “It has nothing to do with oxygen. Dressed in Dior and a Brazilian ass, you were gorgeous. Now, without all that shit, you’re better. Fucking breathtaking. You don’t need all that bling. I thought you should know, in case you didn’t.”

“Are you coming on to me?” she asked. “I’m not the most adept at reading signals, much less in the wee hours and while under siege, but it does feel like you’re flirting with me.”

“Just calling it as I see it. You don’t need designer clothes or an ass pillow to make an impression.”

“Very noble of you, but you can’t seriously pretend this”—she pointed at her T-shirt—“has a stronger effect than a kickass dress.”

“Judge for yourself,” he said, motioning to his lap. His tented lap. The same tent she’d been trying to avoid ogling.

O-kay. That answered her question. He was coming on to her, yet he wasn’t making any moves. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t moving at all.

“You sure this isn’t some sort of wacky reaction to the pandemic drill?”

“Been in plenty of drills, Butterfly. They never shot straight to my cock.”

The air between them crackled with barely contained energy, making her feel very much aware of how close they were sitting, how few clothes they had on, and how damn sexy the guy looked and smelled. The hard-on straining against the boxers, visibly twitching, didn’t help. She gulped. “I see.”

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable. You should go back to sleep. Chalk this up to bad judgment brought on by an extremely spicy dinner. If you had plans to go to Minneapolis with the guys tomorrow, you better jump out a window now, before those get shut down too.”

So the ball was in her court. She held his gaze. “Thanks for the way out, but I’d rather stay here. Who says you’re making me feel uncomfortable? If I were to, let’s say, straddle you, what would you do?”

“Come in my pants?” he blatantly admitted.

“We’re surrounded by crazy ladies in space suits.”

“It wouldn’t matter to me.”

“Let’s try that theory, shall we?” she said, slowly rising to her knees and straddling him.

He tensed, his muscles bulging. When she sat on him, he gritted his teeth, his hands fisting in the sofa cushions.

Sky faltered. Had she misunderstood the situation? Because his hard-on was throbbing between her legs, but he didn’t reach for her. If anything, he looked in pain.

Feeling awkward, she moved to unstraddle him, but he stopped her, grabbing her hips. “Don’t.”

“I thought I was reading you wrong,” she whispered.

He cupped her neck and brought her closer to him, taking her mouth in a deep, commanding kiss that left her light-headed and short of breath. “You were reading me perfectly, Butterfly. But I don’t want you feeling obliged.”

“Obliged to do what? Sexually service you?” She laughed softly. “What makes you think I don’t expect you to service me?”

He brushed his thumb over her mouth. Her lips, still tingling from his toe-curling kiss, must have been connected to her stomach, because it convulsed. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Or how his big erection throbbed against her pussy. “You sure you aren’t delirious again?”

“I don’t think so. Hot, I am; I’ll give you that.” She was never that bold, but she’d jumped the guy. She might as well go for broke.

“You gonna forget this conversation too?” he asked with a grin.

“I hope not. Although it probably depends on how well you perform. I’d rather block trauma, if it’s all the same to you.”

He leaned his forehead on hers, his shoulders shaking. “Fuck, you crack me up.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Very good. I have no issues with servicing you. No issues at all,” he said, that husky voice wreaking havoc on her system, abrading her skin. “And you can bet your sweet, mischievous ass that I will perform to your utter satisfaction. The problem is, no condoms.”

There it was, the bucket of icy water cooling her down. “What do you mean, no condoms? They’re legal in this state, aren’t they?” Barnie’s only carried what preppers considered priorities—maybe condoms didn’t make the cut?

He rolled his eyes. “What century do you think we live in around here?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I remind you we’re in a house currently being sealed off with plastic and tape.”

“True. I meant I don’t have any condoms here. What?” he asked as she smirked.

“Don’t you find it a bit ironic that you have a hazmat suit, but you don’t have a measly condom?”

“Women who favor hazmat suits are the main reason I haven’t felt the need for condoms.” He nuzzled her throat, placing soft kisses along it. “You’re the one with the DIY hacks. Any for our current situation?”

She could think of only one that would work. “Do you have a goat’s intestine at hand?”

He stopped. Looked up. “Goat’s intestine?”

“It was good enough for Cleopatra. It should be good enough for us.”

“No, I don’t believe I do,” he said, amused. “I’m sure some of the preppers in town do, though.”

She was sure too. “A town full of preppers, and I have to end up with the one who doesn’t stash supplies.”

“I do. I stash diapers.”

She chuckled. “Yes, you do.” She caressed his chest, feeling his muscles flex under his warm skin. “How does a chemist get this cut?” She hadn’t seen a gym in the house.

“Chopping up wood. Shoveling snow from my driveway. I’ve been meaning to buy a chain saw and a snow blower but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Don’t,” she said softly. He wouldn’t be doing any favors to womankind. Which reminded her. “Why don’t you keep condoms around?”

“I told you. I haven’t needed them. I’ve been off the market since I came to live here.”

“That’s a long time to go without sex.”

“Who says I haven’t had sex?”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “If I find a fake vagina somewhere around, I’m going to freak out worse than when I thought you were a drug dealer.”

“No fake vagina,” he said, laughing. “I don’t need it. I have a great imagination and a capable hand. I can take care of myself.”

“Most men wouldn’t admit to that.” They would boast about their conquests instead. Fake conquests if need be.

“Most men are full of shit.” He stared at her, his gorgeous eyes scrutinizing. His expression was serious now. “What do you want, exactly?”

She faltered. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s my experience that women always attach conditions to sex. Some conditions are more difficult to discern.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement, she didn’t even know where to start. “That right there might be the reason why you haven’t had any lately. Women don’t take kindly to being insulted.” She tried to unstraddle him again, but he held her tighter.

Arnie went from lying on the floor to sitting at full attention, probably sensing the sudden tension in the air.

“It wasn’t my intention to insult you,” Logan said. “It’s just an honest observation based on experience.”

“What experience?”

“That sex is never just sex. Women expect something in return.”

“Hell, yeah, we expect orgasms. Plural form, mind you.”

“That’s not what I meant, Butterfly. I have no issues with that. I can make you come so many times, you’ll beg me to stop.”

She laughed. “You are sure of yourself, aren’t you? I know what you’re implying. I don’t have any ulterior motives. I’m just passing through. You tickled my fancy. Nice body. Working hard-on by the looks of it. Can your male ego take that? Because I can easily go without. You aren’t the only one with a capable hand, after all.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He caressed her face and whispered, “You smell like coconut.”

“I put coconut oil on my lips every night before bed.”

“So that’s the secret to this extra soft, luscious mouth?” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You smell different in the daytime. Strawberry and vanilla.”

Her lip balm. The big brands were going for the Lolita vibe right now, very girly scents. “Great olfactory skills for a guy who works with poo every day.” He smelled fantastic too. Like earth and man and soap.

Kissing her, he reached for her breasts.

“You might be disappointed,” she warned, fighting to sound flippant while her body was melting at his touch. “A boob contour only gives the visual, not the real thing.”

“I doubt I’ll be disappointed.” He pulled her T-shirt over her shoulders. Just his eyes on her made her squirm. When he leaned in and took one nipple in his mouth, she jumped, her belly contracting at the sudden pleasure, moisture rushing down to her pussy. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Soft and perfect and fucking responsive. Told you. Not disappointed at all.”

Unable to stay still, she rocked against his cock, which felt even bigger, if that were possible, and let out a moan. His mouth on her boobs and his hard-on between her legs were working for her.

Without stopping his ministrations, he delved lower with one hand. She stilled. “We’re going to have to draw the line soon, Mr. Lumberjack.” Before they got too carried away and the need to come overrode common sense.

“I’ll toe the line, don’t worry. You don’t have to.”

“But—”

“I can’t have you. I know. There’s no reason why I can’t get you off. I’d love to feel you coming around my cock, but my tongue and my fingers will have to do.”

Man, the words alone had given her a mini orgasm. “And you?” she managed to say.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, nipping at her lips.

“Let’s jump from the second floor and get some condoms.”

“You hear that? They’re getting up on ladders. The second floor’s about to be sealed off. There’s no escape.”

“We’ll have to make the most of it, then,” she whispered, grinding against his hard-on. People were snooping around the house, but the sofa was out of the line of sight, and the lights were off. It was private enough.

“We will.” Effortlessly, he flipped her over. In the blink of an eye, she was flat on her back, Logan on top of her.

“Hey!”

“I might be a bit slow on the uptake, but I’m in charge.”

Arnie jumped on the sofa and growled, a mere inch from him, showing large teeth.

“Really?” Logan asked, looking straight into Arnie’s eye. “We’re surrounded by intruders dressed like fucking astronauts and you don’t make a sound, but I put a finger on Sky and you growl?”

“He’s protecting me. Arnie, down,” she ordered, pushing the dog off the couch.

He chuffed and stayed close, watching Logan like a hawk.

“Forget him. Concentrate on me.”

“I don’t like not being able to see you,” Logan said against her skin, trailing kisses down her stomach.

“Can’t get it on without visual stimuli?”

He pressed his groin against her, hard, his erection nesting between her folds, her clit madly pulsing at the deep contact. “Does this feel like I can’t get it on? I want to see what gets you going.”

“That’s easy, Alchemist,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “If I’m moaning and wet, it’s working for me. If I’m yanking your hair and yelling, it ain’t. On the other hand… well, just play it by ear.”

His soft chuckle reverberated through her body. “Okay. Just keep in mind I’m under a lot of pressure, with your hellhound looking like he’s going to attack at any moment.”

“If I yell, he definitely will.”

“Great. No pressure.” He traveled south, coaxing her legs open. He nuzzled her pussy over the panties, making her jerk as he opened his mouth and played with her through the cloth. “Fuck. I want you so badly.”

At that moment there was a rather loud thump and a sudden beam of light.

“Logan?” came a voice from the outside, along with a couple raps on the window glass. “Are you awake? Major glitch here.”

Logan leaned his face on her stomach and shook his head. “This isn’t happening.”

“If we keep quiet, they might ignore us,” Sky suggested.

“They won’t,” he said, and raised his voice. “Yo, Carol, what’s going on?”

“Hold on, Macy,” Carol called out. “You’ve been upside down for barely ten seconds. Logan? How good is your roof?”

“Coming,” Logan yelled, then looked at Sky, his expression pained. “I’m fucking sorry, Butterfly. I need to feel you coming on my tongue more than I need my next breath, but I have to go rescue a lady from my roof. I’d love to tell you that I’ll be back in a second, but I’m not sure. Last drill, we had to call the fire department.”

“I should get dressed, then,” she said while he peeled himself away from her and got up. “Logan? You need to do something with that, before you give them a coronary.”

He looked at the erection tenting his pants and cursed. Reaching into the end-table drawer, he pulled out what looked like a yellow plastic bag. “This should do it.” He unfolded the hazmat suit and put it on.

As he walked toward the stairs, she noticed the letters stenciled on his back: If you see me running, try to keep up.

“Did the pandemic squad put that advice on your suit?”

“No. I did. Who says they’re the only ones entitled to aggravate their neighbors?”

In spite of all her pent-up sexual frustration, Sky burst into laughter. These people were nuts.