Chapter 4

It’d be easy for Logan to blame not being able to sleep on the eighty-five-mile-an-hour wind howling outside his balcony doors. Rain hammered against the glass like nails. Every so often what must be tree branches cracked against the railing. Up here at the top of the mountain they were above most of the tree line, which the hotel owner assured them cut down on both damage and danger.

Worry about the hurricane wasn’t making him toss and turn, though. Neither was the fact that he’d hit the sack—for lack of anything else to do—once the power conked out at nine. Jet lag should’ve had him out like a light.

It was the worry about Brooke that kept him awake. Awake and guilty. He’d had the dinner she ran out on sent to her room. Along with tea and another cocktail, just to cover all bases. That ought to be enough. It was enough. Technically.

Then why’d he feel so damn lousy? Logan didn’t do crying women. Didn’t know what caused it most of the time. He definitely didn’t know how to stop it. And would bet good money that anything he said or did only made things worse, which is why he hadn’t even knocked on her door. Keeping his distance—he’d learned that was the smartest course of action. First sight of a tear and Logan made tracks. Brooke was better off without him butting in and putting his foot in it. Whatever it was.

Except…they’d had a really great day. It’d reminded him how much he’d always liked Brooke. Fact of the matter was, he liked her even more now that she was all grown up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened up to someone like that. Something about the way she listened made him want to spill all his secrets to her. Made him want to say anything that curved her mouth into that knockout smile. The look of pride she’d aimed his way—one he didn’t deserve—had knocked his feet out from under him. Brooke was special. If things were different, well…

They weren’t.

Yet tonight was different. Tonight they were stranded together. She didn’t have any way to reach out to friends or family to fix whatever shook her world. Couldn’t watch TV or read to distract herself, either. All Brooke could do was wallow in misery. And that was unacceptable.

Logan didn’t spend a lot of time looking backward. Or forward, for that matter. He was a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. Only way to be, in his line of work. Focus on what was right in front of you. Focus on what you could fix and ignore the rest.

Right now? He was the only person on-site who could even try to fix her. Which settled it. Because Logan never gave up. And he never walked away when even one person could make a difference.

So that was his mission. No matter how hard. Or sucky.

Decision made, he pulled on shorts. Loaded up his pockets with his passport and the phone he’d gotten at the airport in Rome—just in case the airline texted him—and walked to the door. Stood with his hand on the doorknob, realizing he didn’t want to wake up the whole hallway by banging over the noise of the storm. Logan retraced his steps and went out the balcony door instead.

Instantly, the wet wind slapped at him. Spun him around to thunk him right back on the doorframe. Okay. Dumb mistake. Bracing himself, pitching all his weight forward and bending almost in half against it, Logan tried again.

This time he got the door shut behind him. He also got the wrought-iron chair slammed into his shin. But Logan had learned time and time again that easy rarely got the job done. No point bitching or stopping halfway. So he threw himself belly first onto the low railing separating his balcony from Brooke’s.

Good thing it was too dark for anyone to see. Rolling over it went faster than planned, thanks to the wind gusting. Logan landed on what felt like every damn joint he had—knees, ankles, elbows, shoulders all connected with something hard. Looked like her furniture had blown into one spot. Lucky he hadn’t cracked his head on any of it. That water pouring on him sideways should wash off the blood. More or less. He let the howling wind swallow a string of curses.

He wrestled with her door. Wondered way too late if she had locked it against the storm. Luckily, the handle turned and he got inside without any more injuries. Logan said her name as he entered, slamming the door behind him, so she wouldn’t panic about the crazy guy breaking into her room in total darkness.

“Brooke? It’s me. Logan,” he added as an afterthought.

Her shaky voice rushed at him from across the room. “What are you doing in here?”

“Checking on you.”

“By giving me a heart attack?”

Maybe this hadn’t been his best plan ever. Not really thought through all the way. But Logan hadn’t slept in, like, the last sixteen countries and time zones. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake anyone else up.”

“I doubt anyone is sleeping through this.”

Her tone was frostier than rock-hard ice cream at the back of the freezer. “Look, I’m sorry I scared you. Any chance you can wait to get to that and give me a towel? Your deck furniture attacked me. I’m wet and probably bleeding.”

“Which means that karma rewarded you for scaring me into my first white hair.” But a towel pressed against his bare chest. Brooke used a smaller one to vigorously rub at his hair while he wiped off, blotting the places that made him hiss in pain.

On the plus side, Brooke wasn’t crying anymore. Too bad Logan couldn’t tell if that meant she’d cried it all out, or was just taking a break between rounds. Cautiously, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Not at all. I was counting on not getting my first white hair until at least thirty. It’s going to cost me a fortune to find someone who can match this shade of red in a salon.”

“Very funny.” Logan dropped both towels in a heap by the balcony doors, hoping they’d sop up the worst of the rain he’d let in.

“Not to me it isn’t.”

Yeah, she wasn’t thawing one bit. Didn’t mean Logan would give up. And not just because he wasn’t ready to make the return trip to his room through the hurricane. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Oh, sure. Tell me, how’s the weather out there?”

“What was your major in college—sarcasm?”

“I only minored in it. Some specialties don’t require lots of book learning. They come naturally.”

Now he couldn’t tell if she was genuinely back to normal and sassy, or just angry and snarky. Damn it. The room was pitch black. The hurricane clouds obscured any sliver of moonlight that might be out there. Logan had no visuals to clue him in to her status. “Did you eat?”

“No. But thank you for having it sent up.”

He scrubbed a hand through his wet hair. “Brooke. You need to eat.”

“Logan. I’m not a victim you’re rescuing from being buried under a house for a week. I’m a well-fed, overprivileged American. I can skip a meal now and then when I don’t feel hungry.”

He’d apologized twice for scaring her. This ongoing attitude couldn’t be because of that. So whatever set her off at dinner must still be rubbing her wrong. “Fine. Skip dinner. Skip breakfast, too, for all I care. Just tell me what I can do.”

“Nothing.”

“It’s obvious that you’re upset.”

“Gee, maybe you should switch careers. Become a psychiatrist. Or one of those detectives who solves a case just by reading body language.”

Ah. Now he got it. Brooke was trying to push him away. Which might work on someone less stubborn. But he saw through her forced anger. “Knock it off. You left dinner a complete mess. Something’s wrong. Very wrong. You need a friend. I can’t promise I’ll say the right thing—or even something halfway smart—to fix it. But I’ll listen. I’ll hold your hand while you let it all out. You’re bound to feel better afterward.”

“No, thanks. Talking won’t help.”

Logan had to respect her mule-headedness. Seeing as how he was built exactly the same way. But it still wouldn’t make him give up on her. “You want to pound on me instead? Go ahead.” He grabbed for her arm. Got her wrist and planted her hand on his sternum. “Wale away on me. A couple more bruises won’t make any difference. The exertion will let out your stress.” Whenever he and the guys were pissed, they headed to the gym, the soccer field, even just to Constitution Avenue for a long run. A lot of pounding and sweat always cleared their heads.

“You know what? I am upset. I came down here to get out of my head. To stop thinking about my problem. So talking about it will only make me feel worse. But if you truly want to help…” Her voice trailed off.

Finally. Now they were getting somewhere. “I do. Name it. Anything that doesn’t require electricity, anyway.”

“Distract me.”

“Huh?”

“I told you, I don’t want to think anymore. Meeting up with you in the airport helped with that. A lot. Until I got reminded at dinner…It doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re a good distraction. If you want to make me feel better, then distract me.”

“How?”

The most purely feminine laugh he’d ever heard filled the room. It was as seductive as perfume. As targeted as a flirtatious hair toss. And as unmistakable as the intent of a push-up bra on the third date. “Oh, Logan. You’re a smart man. How about you turn off your brain, too? Let some other body part take the lead. You’ll figure it out.”

Holy shit.

She meant sex.

Sure, after that epic kiss at the waterfall, he’d hoped they might end up in her room. Just not after she fell to pieces. He and his friends had a code. A very basic one, since almost nothing stood in the way of sex, but it did exist.

Logan touched his forehead to hers. The advantage to that position was that it kept him from accidentally kissing her lips. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Brooke.”

“Oh, quit being so damn noble.”

“Trust me, I’m not noble.” A noble guy wouldn’t be sporting a hard-on that could jack up an SUV. “If I get out of this room without being a total douche bag, that’ll be a win.”

Brooke’s fingers danced up his chest. “I want to have sex with you.”

This was torture. How was he stuck trying to talk the hot woman out of having sex with him? “I think you wanted to, when dinner started. But then something bad happened. Now you want to forget whatever it was. Sex is just a convenient way to make that happen. The last thing I want to do is end up making you feel worse.”

This time it was a bitter laugh that came from her lips. “I hit rock bottom on that three months ago. I guarantee that nothing can make me feel worse. Being with you, tonight, will only make me feel better. If you do it right, anyway.”

There was her familiar sass. “Are you seriously trying to taunt me into sex?”

“If it works. If it doesn’t, I’ll try begging. Bribery. For goodness’ sake, Logan, quit trying to do the right thing and just do me.”

A man could hold out for only so long. Brooke sounded damned sure of what she wanted. Clearly they needed to put a hurricane exemption into the code. Something else to add to his to-do list for his short trip home.

“Brooke?”

“Yes?”

“There’s nothing I want more than to put the smile back on your face.” Logan captured her hand. Flipped it over. Pressed a kiss into the center of her palm, then licked a spiral out from it.

Her breath hitched in, held for a couple of seconds. “You don’t have to do the whole seduction dance. I’m yours for the taking.”

“You picked the when and the why. I get to pick the how.”

Logan assumed her room was the mirror image of his own. Hands on her shoulders, he walked Brooke back a couple of steps to the bed in the utter darkness. Reminded himself to take his time. That it didn’t matter he hadn’t had sex in more than three months. The important thing was that he’d never had sex with Brooke before. Oh, he’d thought about it. Thought about her while using his hand on himself at age sixteen more times than he could count. Regardless, this couldn’t be rushed.

So he used his thumbs to brush her hair back from her face. Brushed his lips across hers. Back and forth. Slowly. Teasingly. Barely touching, but touching enough to have her sway into him. He deepened the pressure. Brooke’s hands latched into his hair. She sort of shimmied against him. Against all of him—including the hard-as-a-rock spot below his waist. That move almost destroyed his intent to not rush. Made him revise the plan to at least take longer than two minutes.

He ran the backs of his knuckles along the undersides of her upraised arms and down to her ribs. Planted his hands there. Well, planted his palms there while he swept his thumbs along the generous curves of her breasts. It took only a couple of sweeps along that heavy softness before she moaned and opened to him. Logan took advantage of it to move his tongue inside the sweetness of her mouth. Warm and wet and wild. He figured he was already inside the eye of the hurricane.

Yeah. Kissing Brooke was great. So great he just kept at it for a few minutes. No moves. No upping the ante. Just long, hot, deep kisses. Not because he’d always wanted to do that back in high school. But because it was so damned terrific with her right now.

The driving wind and rain acted like white noise, insulating them to only the sounds of sucking and licking and pleasuring. She made the sweetest damned mewls of pleasure. They whispered into Logan’s ears and straight down to his dick, each one making it pulse with need. Crazy, desperate need, considering they’d just gotten started. But, God, he wanted her. Right then and there, he decided once wouldn’t be enough with Brooke. No, he’d need to have her—and keep having her—all night long.

Running his hands down her back, Logan discovered she was in a T-shirt. Just a T-shirt. One that barely hit the top of her silky thighs. Yeah, taking it slow was officially off the table.

Making sure to ease the neckline away from her face, Logan whisked off the shirt. Started to shuck his shorts, but then remembered to grab for his wallet and its single emergency condom. Felt his way over to the nightstand by running his hand along the edge of the bed. He put the condom on it, along with his phone, and dropped his shorts.

A creak of the bed told him that Brooke had jumped ahead on the agenda. No complaints. Logan’s inner sixteen-year-old wanted to take a running leap. But he knew better. Carefully he slid into bed until he was propped on an elbow along her side.

The dark was torture. Of course he remembered what she looked like from their time at the Emerald Pool. The image of her in that red bikini was pretty well seared into his memory banks. He wanted to see everything, though. Wanted to see the color of her nipples. Wanted to watch them harden to tight peaks as he touched her.

Logan skimmed his hand from her shoulder straight down her body. Her skin was so soft it was almost like stroking water. Back up, this time along the inside of her thigh to circle around her belly button, which made her squirm and giggle. “Ticklish?”

“You don’t remember?”

Oh, he did. High school was full of tickle fights with the cheerleaders, back-rub chains, any lame excuse to touch and grab. He remembered one Friday night in particular. She’d just come off the top of a pyramid of other cheerleaders. They’d screwed up. The guy who was supposed to catch her got pushed out of bounds by a linebacker from the other team. From the sidelines, Logan had watched Brooke fly high in the air, do the splits, and start to plummet to the turf.

He had barreled off the bench to catch her. Barely made it. He hit the field, cushioning her in his arms, so grateful he’d made it in time. But showing that relief would’ve gotten him hell from the team. Would’ve gotten him yelled at by his girlfriend. And probably would’ve gotten an uppercut to his jaw from her boyfriend.

So he’d settled for rolling her beneath him and tickling her mercilessly. “My job’s to catch the ball, not you, Escarlata,” he’d teased. She’d flushed pink, and then her cheeks darkened even more as she squirmed and squealed beneath him.

Yeah. He remembered, all right.

So Logan changed course. Turned his hand so that his fingers grazed through the fine hair between her legs to the velvety wetness beneath. That cut off the giggles. Turned them into a gasp. And then another. “More,” she demanded.

Oh, he’d give her more. Because he needed Brooke to be just as urgent, just as ready to explode as he was. Logan shifted down the bed. Slid one finger inside her even as he licked a line straight down her center. Her hips snapped up to meet him. A long moan split the humid silence. Logan pumped his finger in and out. It gave him the chance to inhale her arousal. Spicy. Strong. So damned enticing that the scent alone made him even harder.

He lapped at her, circling his tongue around the nub that made her quiver every time he touched it. Brooke’s fingers laced through his hair. Pressed his face against her harder. Logan added a second finger. Crooked it just a little. Too soon for him to have picked up all her tells. To know exactly what sent her over the edge. Although he would by the end of the night. But for now, adding the internal pressure along the side sure did the trick. Brooke bucked against him.

No point in waiting any longer. They both needed to get the first orgasm out of the way. Get the burning desire under control so that he could take his time to learn and linger on the next round. Logan surged up to grab the condom. Ripped it open with his teeth. Brooke took the package from him.

“I have to feel you.” She scooted up. Slowly rolled the rubber down his length, petting and stroking and circling so it felt like it took a hundred years. Logan recited the entire Manchester United roster twice in his head to keep from shooting his wad as those clever fingers squeezed his balls.

If he couldn’t see her, couldn’t watch those sea-glass eyes roll back in her head, then he’d damned well get to keep touching as much of her as possible. Logan laid back down on his side. Pulled her down until they were spooning.

Brooke huffed. “Hey. I thought we were having sex? You haven’t earned a cuddle yet.”

“Have a little faith.” Her hips moved restlessly, but Logan had a plan. He lifted her top leg over his. Pinned her other ankle with his bottom leg. Opened her up wide with his fingers. And then slid inside in one slow stroke.

Brooke was his wet dream come true. Except reality was so much fucking better than the fantasy. He nudged the heavy fall of hair with his face. Too much to deal with, so he just grabbed it all with his hand and used it to tip her head back. It gave him all the access he wanted to her neck. All the access to clamp his lips over her pulse to feel it skitter and race beneath his tongue.

Logan encircled her with his right arm. Filled his palm with her breast. Loved how there was so much of it that it spilled out of his grip. It was enough to hold what he could and tweak her nipple between his fingers.

Her hands scrabbled back around at his ass, urging him closer. He pinched her nipple every time he fucked her with an in-stroke. Logan kept the same rhythm with his hands and his hips. Couldn’t manage to get his guttural rasps for breath in that rhythm, though.

“Logan, you’re amazing,” she panted. “You’re filling me up so much, so well. So full. So perfect. But I want even more.”

“So talkative all of a sudden.”

Brooke undulated against him like a breaking wave. “I just…I just feel so good. So different than I have…I can’t hold it inside, pent up.”

“Don’t hold anything in. Don’t hold back at all,” he commanded. Then he nipped at her earlobe, to press his point home.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” she laughed. “Make me feel even more.”

Logan loved how she kept asking for more. Because he sure as hell wanted to give her everything he had. He picked up the pace. Pistoned against her with all the determination and desire in his bloodstream set free. The sound of their skin slapping together almost drowned out the storm.

He was right at the edge. Logan let go of her breast to put his hand at the juncture of her thighs. As soon as his thumb grazed her clit, Brooke came apart. She screamed. She writhed and squeezed him inside and out, sending him straight into an explosion that milked him longer and harder than ever before.

Holy shit.

That was one for the record books. Her pulse throbbed beneath his lips. Logan brought his arm back around to someplace that already felt like home, with her breast nestled in his palm. That haven lasted only a moment.

Brooke pushed backward until he was flat on his back. She straddled him, the tips of her hair tickling his chest. “Distract me some more,” she demanded.