Chapter Twenty

It felt good, damn good, driving away from Snake Gully with her suitcases, her painting supplies, and the groceries in the backseat. A sense of elation and excitement and freedom washed over her.

She couldn’t have imagined feeling like this a month ago, a week ago, and it was exhilarating. That she was heading for Dallas, and Logan, didn’t hurt.

She’d hated saying good-bye to her parents, though Mom hugged her and said, “See you soon,” as though she really didn’t understand. It had been hardest leaving her father, all alone as he was. He’d made arrangements with Flo Johnson to come in a couple days a week and give him a break and, of course, he mentioned, he had chili recipes to work on.

The miles flew by. The first time she’d made the drive into Dallas it had seemed to take forever. Not so this time. Before she knew it, she pulled up next to the little bungalow that would be her home. She sat back and drew in a deep breath, glorying in the elation skimming through her veins.

Because Logan was there, waiting for her.

He must have heard her drive up, or perhaps he’d been waiting, as wired with anticipation as she. Hard to say. But the grin on his face was unmistakable.

It was late afternoon. Too late to begin work. She would have the rest of the day to settle in. Spend the evening with him.

Why that made her suddenly shy, she didn’t know. They’d shared every intimacy a man and a woman could share—or nearly so. She had no call to be bashful.

He met her at the door and, as she slipped from the truck he pulled her into his arms for a hug. “You’re here.” His voice was low and melodious.

She nibbled her lip. “You knew I was coming.”

He flushed. “I, yeah, I wasn’t sure you’d come. You could have changed your mind.”

She set her palm on his chest. His heart thrummed beneath it. Change her mind? Not a chance.

His eyes skated over her face, as though he couldn’t get enough of her, and then they settled on her lips. She knew—knew—he was thinking about kissing her. Involuntarily, she nudged closer. His nostrils tightened, as though drawing in her scent, and he lowered his head, but he didn’t kiss her, not the way she wanted him to. He pressed a chaste buss on her forehead.

Unable to stop herself, she sent him a pout and he chuckled and kissed her again. Again, on the forehead.

“Logan?” The question was clear in her tone.

“We’re taking this slow.” He tucked a curl behind her ear, stroked her cheek.

“We are?”

He nodded and pulled away, opening up the back door. “This is about you,” he said. She didn’t really understand what he meant, and was about to ask him, when he laughed. “Good lord, woman. How much stuff did you bring?”

She peeped over his shoulder. “Just two suitcases.” She hadn’t needed much. She always painted in the same grungy outfit.

“I mean the food.” He gaped at her. “We said we’d stock the larder.”

Hanna blushed. “I know. But I wanted to bring my own food. Then Daddy had to send some chili, and made sure I got some of the jam we put up last spring and . . .”

“A side of beef or two?”

She grinned. “It’s not that bad.” She pushed past him and hefted a box.

“Let me get that,” he insisted. He groaned as he lifted it and shot her a playful glower.

She let him carry in the food, but insisted on bringing in her suitcases, which she stashed in one of the bedrooms as he finished carrying in everything else. Then together, they put all the food away. It was fun and very domestic and positively not seductive at all.

Why she’d thought he’d leap on her the moment she arrived, she didn’t know. But she had. And, truth be told, she was a little disappointed at his restraint.

This is about you, he’d said. I want you to be free, he’d said. And then it all became clear.

He sincerely wanted to give them a chance to get to know each other better before they tumbled into bed.

Why that sent a swirl of annoyance and impatience through her, she didn’t know.

All right. Maybe she did.

Those two nights with Logan had been wonderful. Transformative. The memory of his dark growls as he claimed her, the feel of his body pressing into hers, still haunted her thoughts, night and day.

She wanted him.

She wanted him very much.

And while she thought it was a good idea to get to know each other better before leaping into bed, she didn’t see why they couldn’t do both at the same time.

But he seemed fairly adamant and she had the sense he was the kind of man who thought long and hard before making up his mind, but when he finally did, he would be difficult to sway.

It only made sense, then, to tempt him. Tempt him into flinging this inconvenient vow of celibacy into the wind. She started subtly, brushing against him as they put the food away. Grazing her breast against his arm or bending over so her butt nudged his crotch.

His reactions proved he was not immune to her charms. Each time his breath would catch and his features would tighten. Occasionally a little muscle in his cheek bunched. His fingers clenched. Stuff like that.

But he didn’t break. He didn’t wrench her into his arms and kiss her madly as she wanted him to.

Perhaps subtlety was overrated.

“It’s a little warm in here,” she said as they put the last of the food away.

“There’s air conditioning,” he said helpfully, but then his jaw went slack and his eyes widened.

Good.

He’d finally noticed her fingers toying with the buttons of her blouse. One. Two. Three. She traced the crevice she’d revealed. He swallowed.

“Hanna . . .” A ravaged moan.

“Logan.”

“What are you doing, baby?”

She tipped her head to the side. Loosed another button. “What are you doing?”

“P-pardon?” His gaze flickered confusedly to her face and then back to her cleavage.

“What are you doing, Logan? Resisting me like this? Don’t you know what that does to my self-esteem? It being so fragile and all?”

“Have you been seducing me?” he squeaked. He raked a hand through his hair. “Shit. I thought it was me. I thought I was so damn crazed for you I was imagining it all.”

She laughed. A trill. “You’re crazed for me?”

“God yes.” He stared at her. His Adam’s apple worked. “But we can’t.”

“We . . . can’t?” That was bad news.

“Shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” She sashayed closer. He tracked every move like a hunted man. Which he was. “Why shouldn’t we explore . . . everything?”

He backed away. “This is not about sex, Hanna. Remember?”

“That’s not what you said.”

His lashes flickered. “What?”

“It’s not just about sex.” She smiled, a Cheshire-cat grin. She’d backed him into a corner. Sidling up to him, against him, close enough to feel the size and shape of his erection, she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down.

Their mouths came together in a heated rush. She could tell he was holding back, tell he was trying to maintain his distance. She slid her tongue between his lips and he made a sound, something between a groan and a whimper.

And then he broke.

He flipped her around, slamming her against the wall. He pressed into her, forcing her legs apart, wedging himself between them, and he rubbed. Rubbed her sensitive crease with something long and hard and insistent. Heat rose and trickled through her in a wild wave. Like a tsunami, lust took her.

“God, Hanna,” he growled into her mouth, eating her, tasting her, commanding her.

She wrapped a leg around his hip and rubbed against him as well. His moan filtered through his nose as he delved deeper into the kiss. He cupped her breast, frantically fumbling for that cleavage she’d exposed, cupping her and thumbing her nipple then circling it with a nail.

“Yes, Logan. Oh. Yes.”

“Too long,” he muttered, as though to himself. “Too long.” He made his way along her cheek and nested in her neck, toying with the sensitive skin there in a way that made her shudder. She could feel her body ready for him; arousal dampened her thighs.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I need you. Now.”

“Not here,” he clipped. “Not against the wall. I want you in a bed.”

She put out a lip, clutched him closer. “Why not here?” The fever in her flared at his expression. His hand scudded down, found that spot at the crux of her thighs and he massaged her through the thick denim. Sensation scored her. The hard ridge of the seam scraped against her and made her knees turn to Jell-O. He fumbled with the snap at her waist, but then he froze.

“Shit.” He yanked away, dropping her leg as though it burned him.

Hanna stilled as disappointment and heartbreak replaced rampant lust. Had he not—

And then she heard it.

The slam of a car door.

A low male laugh. Chattered conversation.

Footsteps approaching.

Logan shot her a chagrined glance. “I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“It’s my brothers,” he growled. “They’ve come to welcome you.”

***

“Knock knock,” Rafe called, pushing the door open without—Logan noticed— knocking at all.

“We brought dinner!” Ben sang, holding up Wild West Tex Mex takeout containers. Brandon crowded in behind him with a couple six-packs of beer and behind him, his mother and Sam. Good lord. All of them?

Yep. All of them. Louisa, his eight-year-old sister, danced in as well, pitching herself into his arms. “Logan!” she squealed. He bent to hug her, very cognizant that his passion was . . . riding high.

Thank God he’d heard the approaching truck. Thank God they’d arrived when they did. A few more minutes and his baby sister would have been in for quite an education.

He shot his brothers a glare but they laughed it off.

In one moment the mood in the small bungalow had gone from steamy seduction to something resembling a circus. Indeed, on the heels of the entire family, Hailey and Roscoe bounded into the bungalow, knocking into legs and furniture, tongues lolling.

“The dogs too?” He asked to no one in particular.

“Darling!” His mother pulled him in for a hug. She kissed his cheek before turning to Hanna. “Hello, dear,” she said, reaching out a hand. “I’m Diane. We’ve come to welcome you. I love your paintings, by the way.”

“She really loves the purple one,” Brandon added, opening the fridge and shoving the beer inside.

“Oh, yes. I did love that one.” His mother hooked arms with Hanna who seemed a little poleaxed. Though she had, he noticed, with something akin to relief, had the presence of mind to have quickly done up her buttons. “Come and meet everyone. This is my husband, Sam, our daughter, Louisa, and I take it you’ve met the boys.”

Hanna glanced at Logan, her mouth agape. He shrugged. “This is my family.” He tried for an unapologetic tone. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

His mother took charge—she usually did—arranging everyone around the table and sending the twins next door for more chairs and extra plates. Then, like a queen, she commanded them to serve up dinner. As the men filled plates with tri tip, beans, garlic bread, and coleslaw, she engaged Hanna in a conversation about art and color schemes and gardening, although Hanna did little of the talking.

Indeed, she seemed a little overwhelmed. But then, his family did that to people sometimes.

Or perhaps she was still stewing, as he was, in a cauldron of bubbling lust.

She seemed to have calmed a little by the time dinner was ready. The beer Ben shoved in her hand might have helped. For his part, Sam watched the interactions with calm eyes. Logan’s stepfather was a quiet man, but still waters ran deep. Logan knew he was taking in every nuance, every word said—every word not said.

Though he hadn’t talked to him, or anyone, about his feelings for Hanna, he suspected his family had figured it out. He suspected they had come tonight to check her out.

He didn’t like the feeling, but he couldn’t blame them for wanting to protect him. He would do the same if one of his brothers suddenly started panting after a woman.

Though this was hardly sudden . . . but none of them knew that.

Or did they?

“So,” his mother said casually as everyone settled down with their plates. “Ben tells me you’re from Snake Gully.”

Logan’s heart froze. Right there in his chest.

Hanna’s gaze flicked to his. “Yes, ma’am. Born and raised. Though I grew up outside of town.”

“Your last name is . . . Stevens?”

Damn. He hated this. It was starting to feel like an inquisition.

“Yes, ma’am. My father is Henry Stevens.”

His mother’s features tightened. She flicked a look at Logan and then at Sam, who covered her hand with his.

“I used to live in Snake Gully,” Mom said. Nearly spat the words. Snake Gully had not been kind to his mother. To either of them. To this day, Logan had no idea what had really happened to her in her altercation with the sheriff and Guy Pucey the night he’d been hurt. No idea what had driven her to flee . . . but he had his suspicions.

Hanna nodded. Her throat worked. “Yes, ma’am. I know.”

“I knew your father.”

Silence clung to the room. Everyone present, perhaps even Hanna, knew this was a seminal moment in their relationship.

“He was a good man.”

Hanna nodded. Her muscles relaxed. “Thank you.”

“How is your mother? I always liked her too.”

“She’s . . . well.” The hesitation in Hanna’s tone had everyone studying her. “She doesn’t remember much anymore.”

“Ah.” That was all Mom said. Ah. But it spoke worlds. She reached out and patted Hanna’s hand. And somehow, with that unspoken acceptance, the tense mood broke.

“What do you say we dig in?” Sam said, his voice low and gruff. But a wicked look glimmered in his eye. “And someone get this young lady some of our new chili.”

Ben and Brandon exchanged mischievous grins. “Oh yeah.” They both hopped up and rushed to scoop out a serving of Hank’s Eye-Poppin’ Chili.

Logan knew what they were up to. It was like a rite of passage in their family, torturing newcomers with the steamiest chili they could find. When he’d tasted Henry Stevens’ chili, he’d just known it was perfect for their restaurants, which held chili-eating contests on a regular basis. Half the fun was watching the smoke come out of the greenhorns’ ears.

His brothers were bound for disappointment.

As Hanna took a big bite of the chili, they all peered at her with smug smirks on their faces—all of them. Ben, Brandon, and Sam. Rafe, for some reason, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest and just grinned.

“Mmm,” Hanna said. “This is delicious.” She took another bite, one with a clearly visible chili pepper.

They all leaned closer, with bated breath, waiting for her eyes to bug out, her jaw to drop, for tears to stream.

But tears didn’t come. No hooting and hollering and desperate pleas for water. She finished her bowl of chili—the chili she’d been raised on, in fact—and shot a sweet smile around the table. “Please sir,” she said to Ben in a cocky cockney accent. “May I have some more?”

“More?” Ben sputtered.

“More?” Brandon burbled.

Sam threw back his head and laughed. He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Oh, she’ll do,” he said in an undertone no one else could hear. “She’ll do just fine.”