Chapter Twenty-two

Hanna hummed as she sketched out her design on the bare, whitewashed walls of Logan’s restaurant. She was determined to make this her masterpiece. Determined to prove to him, and his family, they’d made the right choice in hiring her.

And of course, her creation was inspired. Not just by the painting that had initiated this whole process, but by the man it was for. The man who had made love to her so magnificently last night. And again this morning . . . twice, before she’d headed across the road to work.

Her body still pinged with pleasure.

She stood back and looked at what she’d sketched, with one eye closed. Yes. It was perfect. Fluid and wispy, the gentle touch of dawn. There would be lots of purple in it—because Diane loved purple—but there would be reds and golds as well. A desert sunrise, fading from dawn to night along the long stretch of the restaurant wall. She’d decided she’d do morning next to the wall leading to the garden and on the other side of the curve, in the bar, it would be night with glimmering gold stars flecking the ceiling sky.

They’d already discussed where the painting would hang, there by the entrance. The first thing customers would see. That wall would be jet black, a frame of sorts.

Excitement bubbled within her. She couldn’t wait to finish—to see the final product. But at the same time, she didn’t want to finish. Because finishing meant leaving. Going home to Snake Gully.

She missed her parents—though she’d only been gone a day. But she didn’t miss Snake Gully. And she didn’t miss Zack.

That last altercation with him still haunted her.

She had to remind herself she was gloriously free of his influence and, thanks to Logan, always would be.

When she looked back, everything seemed so clear. How Zack had played her, controlled her, without her even realizing it. It annoyed her that she hadn’t had a clue.

No doubt, that had been Zack’s intention, to keep his true nature from her.

Ironically, she’d always thought herself savvy. Apparently she wasn’t. She’d allowed him to delude her.

Well, never again. Never again would she be controlled like that.

A warmth suffused her as she thought of Logan, so gloriously dominant in the bedroom, but elsewhere he was nothing but gentle and respectful and—yes, it had to be said—loving.

Zack possessed none of those qualities and he never had. His idea of dominance was domination. Manipulative, cruel, self-serving.

How horrifying that, if Sidney hadn’t forced her to attend Cody’s party, she might well have married him.

And regretted it for all her days.

She shuddered at the thought. And not just the thought of marrying Zack. She shuddered at the thought of not meeting Logan.

He was her prince. Her hero.

And God help her, she loved him. Loved him with all her heart. Just the thought of him made her go all weepy inside and—

Damn. She snorted a laugh. She really needed to pay attention to what she was doing. She used her sleeve to wipe away an error and started that section again.

The door swung open and heavy boots sounded in the entry way. The workmen were here, mostly preparing the exterior for the trademark Wild West Tex Mex stucco, but Hanna knew, without looking, it wasn’t one of the workmen. She peered around the corner and her heart lifted. A smile tugged at her lips.

Logan.

He was gorgeous. He always was, but somehow he seemed even more delicious this morning. Probably because she’d tasted him earlier. Held him in her fist and worked him as he sighed and moaned and writhed beneath her.

He wore a checkered shirt tucked into tight jeans, which were, in turn, tucked into a pair of worn cowboy boots. His hair flopped over his brow and he had a smile on his face . . . and a white cardboard cup in each hand. There was a paper bag tucked under his arm.

His brow wrinkled when he didn’t see her. “Hanna?”

“Here,” she called. Standing and wiping the charcoal from her fingers. She came around the corner. “What’cha got?”

He grinned. “Breakfast. Coffee and croissants.” He stopped. Stared at her. “You do like croissants, don’t you?” They’d spent the better part of the night, when they weren’t exploring each other’s bodies, talking about likes and dislikes. For example, they both loved hot chili and the occasional beer. But he hated olives, which was fine with her, because she loved them. On the other hand, he was an avid Cowboys fan while she liked cowboys.

“Everybody likes croissants,” she assured him, taking the coffee he offered.

“Café Mocha. Two percent. No whip,” he recited.

She grinned. “You remembered.”

He set his coffee on the worktable and kissed her. “Of course I remembered. I’m not a fool.”

She chuckled and opened the bag, handing him one of the flaky pastries. She bit into hers, nibbling off the tip—in her estimation, the best part. It disintegrated in her mouth. “Mmm,” she moaned. “Perfect.”

“I thought you’d like them. There’s a great pastry shop a couple miles down the road.” He patted his belly. “Makin’ me fat.”

“Right.” She’d tested that belly last night. Not an ounce of fat to be found. She sipped her coffee. It was perfect too. Everything was perfect.

“Why are you smiling like that?” He pulled her close again and held her. Just held her.

“No reason.” She tipped her head. Challenged him to call her on the lie. He didn’t. “Do you want to see what I’ve done?”

“Of course.”

But neither of them moved.

Their gazes tangled. She could have stared into those blue eyes forever.

But he had other ideas.

He took her coffee and croissant and set them on the table and tugged her back around the corner where she’d been working, backed her up against the wall and sealed her mouth with his. There was surprising urgency in his kiss, considering the fact that they’d both been sated—several times—this morning. But Hanna couldn’t resist his insistence. She welcomed it. Hungered for it.

Croissants and coffee were wonderful and all, but this? This was ambrosia.

As their passion rose she raked her fingers through his hair, reveling in the silken mass. She tugged him closer, though there was no such thing. They were as close as they could get, melded together against the genesis of her mural. Her ode to him—

Her heart froze.

“Logan, back up!”

He ignored her so she pushed at his chest. He grumbled a protest.

“Logan! We’re smearing it.”

He glanced over her shoulder at her painstaking work, and then back at her lips, as though torn. The consternation in his expression made her laugh, which made him kiss her again, and this time, she didn’t stop him. It was only a morning’s work. It could be redone. Or not.

His hand, large and warm, caressed her breast. Warmth rained through her. Her pulse ratcheted up as he scored a nipple.

“Here?” Her voice broke on the word.

His eyes glimmered. “I have to admit, the thought of christening the place has occurred to me.”

Horror, and an impish arousal, danced through her. “Logan. There are people everywhere.”

“They’re working on the façade. Outside.”

“They could come in.” Manically she glanced around. “To use the restroom . . .”

He cupped her thigh and lifted her leg. “We have porta potties.”

“But—”

He silenced her with a kiss. A scorching, raging, ravenous joining.

Hanna couldn’t help it. She melted into him. He was gorgeous. Delicious. Irresistible. And though she’d had him already today—twice—she wanted him again.

He chuckled as he tasted her surrender. “Oh, baby. Do you know what I want to do to you? Right here? Right now?”

“Tell me,” she panted, rapt with anticipation.

“I’ll show you—”

“Yoo hoo!”

They both froze as an annoyingly familiar voice echoed through the empty structure.

“Shit,” Logan spat, angling a glance around the corner.

“Which one is it?” Hanna whispered.

His face puckered up. “All of them.” With a sigh, he lowered her leg and straightened her shirt, then saw to adjusting his own . . . discomfort.

“Are you here?”

“Are they in here?”

“The foreman said they were in here.”

“Well, where are they? Say, I like what she’s done here . . .”

“Very, I dunno, fluidy?”

“Is that a word?”

“It is now.”

Hanna stepped out into the main room to see Ben—or Brandon—waggling his hand in a rolling motion as the brothers studied the rough sketch she’d done on the back wall. “I was going for a river of purple,” she reminded them.

They all whipped around.

“Oh, there you are!” Rafe crowed, as though he’d discovered something.

“Here we are.” Logan’s low voice rolled around her, tinged as it was with a hint of cynicism.

The brothers, unrepentant and utterly remorseless, grinned. “We thought we’d stop by to see . . . how things are going.”

“Things are going fine.”

Rafe was immune to Logan’s growl. “We brought breakfast.”

Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “We have breakfast.”

Hanna glanced from one to the other. They were brothers. This . . . bristling was probably normal. Probably.

“Well, we brought more,” Rafe said. With a wicked grin he dragged a couple spindly chairs around the worktable and tossed a big bag down. It landed with a thud.

“You brought rocks?” Hanna asked.

One of the twins frowned at her, but there was no heat in it. “Bagels,” he corrected.

“From Triny’s,” the other twin added.

Logan grunted. “Triny’s bagels are inedible.”

Rafe shrugged. “It was on the way.”

“Awesome. You eat those bagels. Hanna and I have croissants.”

The twin’s eyes lit up, but Logan growled. “They’re ours,” he snapped. “Go into town and get your own. In fact, just go into town.”

Rafe batted his lashes. “We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?”

“Of course not—”

“Because you seem pretty grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy.”

“He seems pretty grumpy.”

“Damn near took my head off.”

“And here we went and brought him breakfast and all.”

“Bagels, even!”

“All polite-like and everything.”

“What would your mother say?”

“Shame, shame, shame.”

Hanna couldn’t help it. Amusement rose within her and erupted in a bubble of laughter. It was ludicrous. It was adorable. It was frustrating as hell. She could feel Logan’s irritation coming off him in waves. But they were his brothers. They’d probably be around a lot. They’d just better get used to it.

She shook her head and patted Logan on the shoulder. “You all have a nice chat,” she said. “I’m going to fix, um, I am going back to work. I have a mural to finish.” And even though a chorus of dissent swelled behind her, she went back to her corner and surveyed the smudged mess she and Logan had made of her sketch.

It should have annoyed her. It had taken an hour to do. But as she studied it, she saw in it something primal and profound, this swirl of chalk and smudges. An eddy, a whorl of passion there against the wall.

And she decided to keep it.