Most of her life she’d gone out of her way to do the right thing. One little slip. Okay, maybe Logan wasn’t so little—she pushed her ass back against his now truly impressive erection. And he wasn’t really a slip. Whatever his appearance, or his past, Logan McCabe was a good man.
The reason she was running away was not because he was bad, but because she liked him too much. She winced as she remembered telling him last night that he was perfect. Well, perfect except for his total inability or wish to commit. And now, with what she knew of his background, she could understand that. But if he were a different sort of man, she’d be trying to make it work between them, trying to give Jenny a proper family.
Or if it were just her, she’d risk it, take him for however long she could have him, because she had an inkling that what they had was special, and she’d never find it with another man. But she couldn’t risk Jenny being hurt when her heart broke. How had she even let her heart get involved with his?
She sighed, and the hand around her waist tightened. Logan was awake.
“I can almost hear you thinking,” he murmured against her ear.
She wriggled and managed to roll over so she was facing him. He was so beautiful her heart ached. His hair was loose around his shoulders, and this close she could make out the black line around the silver of his eyes. His cheeks were shadowed; he’d be scratchy when he kissed her. If he kissed her. The thought that he might never kiss her again, never touch her, was like a pain lodged deep inside her. But right now they were in bed together, and he was naked. Surely she deserved one last time. Then she would go back to being good.
She had to make it happen. Apart from the arm around her, he wasn’t touching her now, and she needed him to touch her. Just once more and afterward, she’d find the strength to walk away.
He was returning her assessment. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Any aftereffects?”
She presumed he meant a hangover, and she gave a little shake of her head. “Fine. No aftereffects at all.”
“Good. Come here”
The arm around her waist tightened and drew her closer, and at last his lips were on hers—soft at first, questioning. She pressed against him, opening her mouth, sliding her tongue along his lower lip, nipping him with her teeth, pushing inside. The glide of his tongue against hers turned her body hot and heavy, heat pooling in her belly, need pulsing between her thighs. Her clothes chaffed against her sensitive skin. She craved the feel of him naked against her, and she shifted restlessly.
He moved her so she was beneath him, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her again, harder this time, taking control. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” He lifted his head to stare down into her face. His eyes held a question and a need that she guessed equaled her own. One she wouldn’t deny.
“I know. Do you want to do something about that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He rested on one elbow, shoving the covers off them with his other hand, then studied her for a second, heat flaring in his eyes. He flicked open the buttons on her shirt, spreading the sides to reveal the white lace of her bra. As he stroked his knuckles over her nipples, spikes of pleasure raced along her nerves. He pushed the shirt from her shoulders, and she wriggled out of it, twisting to unfasten her bra.
“Christ, that is so pretty,” he said, lowering his head to take one swollen nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue, sucking gently.
His lovemaking was unlike anything that had come before. Or maybe that was it—always before they’d had sex, fantastic mind-blowing sex, but this was so slow and gentle and intense. He moved to the other breast, kissing the tip, stroking his fingers over her until she was squirming beneath him, craving more.
His hand moved lower, opened the button at her waist, lowered the zipper on her pants, and she shoved them down, taking her panties with them and leaving her naked. “Much better.” He cupped a hand between her thighs, and a groan escaped her.
“Is this another fantasy?” she asked.
His gaze lifted to her face. His expression was serious, his usual amusement absent. “No. This is real. This is you and me. Just once, and afterwards I’ll leave you alone. I promise I won’t hold you back. Now, I’m going to make love to you, slowly and completely, and you’ll never forget the feel of me inside you.”
She melted at his words, at the knowledge that he felt the difference, also. Maybe it was because they both recognized that this was the last time, and that they couldn’t continue. The knowledge freed them to be themselves.