He’d made Tori cry.
That realization tore his chest open more efficiently than any military-grade weaponry ever could. His steps faltered further, and he stopped twenty feet short of the villa.
But he had the key.
So when she sagged against the door to their private, shared vacation space, he had to go to her, even though he was a total shit.
“Me coming was a mistake,” he said roughly as he stopped again behind her.
She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. She didn’t look back over her shoulder. “Just let me in.”
He reached past her, unable to stop himself from breathing in the sweet scent of her skin as he used his keycard to open the door. “I’ll go find another room for myself.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You have another room in here.”
“But—”
“I may not want to talk to you right now, but you’re still my Logan and I’m going to want to have breakfast with you in the morning. So shut up with that bullshit.”
He shut up.
She headed straight to her room and closed the door. He went to the fridge and found a six-pack of premium beer.
Those would get him buzzed as good as anything else.
He grabbed them, and what remained of the fruit tray, and threw himself onto the sofa. So much for fine. So much for keeping shit to himself.
So much for being her best friend.
All night, Tori dreamed of Logan’s arms. For most of her life, he’d been hugging her, and she’d taken it for granted—how easy it was, how comforting and warm. Safe.
As dawn broke, pink-gray light slowly filling her room, she lay in bed wishing that morning would hit the pause button—just until she figured out how she felt about everything, because now the thought of his arms wrapped around her filled her with panic. She was hyper-aware of being a sexual object to him…and while she’d given lip service to the idea of a meaningless fling, that just wasn’t how she was built. Sex had to mean something, be an expression of the feelings in a relationship.
She couldn’t sleep with someone because she had a moment of weakness. And it distressed her that Logan could so easily see her as someone like that. A temporary, disposable fuck buddy.
She wasn’t so much of a prude that she’d put that same standard on kissing.
But what they’d done beneath the waterfall…it hadn’t felt like a kiss to test the waters.
She jerked upright and shoved her blankets off her legs. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” She tripped over her feet as she tried to jump out of bed, suddenly quite certain their conversation the previous night had gone in the wrong direction. She stopped in the bathroom to take her pill and brush her teeth, then was out her bedroom door before she realized that she was just wearing a thin tank top and a pair of tiny sleep shorts.
Well, did it really matter? He’d seen her in less.
Hell, he’d kissed her in less.
But now that she was standing in front of his bedroom door, her momentary bravado was sliding fast and furiously away.
Maybe she needed coffee.
Yes.
Coffee.
She ran to the living room and opened the door to the villa. Sure enough, the magical creatures that delivered their breakfast had already been there, and she brought in the rolling cart with the covered trays and the precious carafe of strong, black goodness.
She poured herself a cup and took a long, fortifying sip. Then another and another, until the mug was empty.
“Is that breakfast?” Logan rumbled from the hallway.
She spun around. He was wearing…not much. Her heart skipped a beat as he stretched his arms wide, then scrubbed his fingers through his hair. His abs and chest and shoulders all rippled as he went through the waking-up process right in front of her, and the cargo shorts he’d pulled on—but not fully buttoned up—rode low enough on his hips that she could see the indentation of the muscles there.
“Yep. Coffee?”
He nodded, but didn’t move any closer.
She poured him a mug and added his preferred half-a-spoon of sugar and tiny splash of cream. Her heart pounding, she took it over to him. “Here. And…good morning.”
He looked at the mug in her extended hand, then back up to her face. Up close, she could see he hadn’t slept well, either, and his face was tight and serious. “Morning.”
He didn’t take the coffee.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like shit.” He grimaced. “About last night—”
“I’ll just put this down for you.” She set the mug down on the nearest counter, then turned back to him—and found him very, very close.
Not touching. But close and warm and big, and—
Stop thinking about his body, she told herself. You never thought about it before yesterday. Go back to that. You’re an expert in not noticing how sexy he is.