How far can one favor go…
Logan McCade arrives at his best friend’s wedding overworked and in desperate need of a vacation,
only to discover his best man duties have been…expanded. He must coax Colton’s sister out of her
shell, or risk her hiding in her room all week. Logan figures he can handle one introverted
bridesmaid, but he’s not expecting how much he enjoys “handling” Sophie…or how much she enjoys
being handled.
Socializing has never been web designer Sophie Brooks’s strong suit, but she’s determined to shed
her wallflower image and embrace the “New Sophie”—a feat made easier with the supremely sexy
Logan McCade tempting her to explore all her forbidden fantasies. If she’s not careful, she just might
fall for the best man.
Sophie’s sweet, sexy, and delectably awkward demeanor brings much-needed calm to Logan’s
hectic life. With the nuptials only days away, Logan is forced to face the possibility that his favor to a
friend might have become something else entirely…and that he’s not willing to let Sophie go. Ever.
WITH
B
ENEFITS
A
W
EDDING
D
ARE
NOVEL
S
AMANTHE
B
ECK
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Samanthe Beck. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute,
or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact
the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit
.
Edited by Heather Howland and Ellie Brennan
Cover design by Heather Howland
ISBN 978-1-62266-729-1
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition June 2014
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Grab the rest of the Wedding Dare series!
Dare to Resist
Falling for the Groomsman
Baiting the Maid of Honor
Seducing the Bridesmaid
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover Samanthe Beck’s USA TODAY bestselling McCade Brother
series…
If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases…
In Bed with Mr. Wrong
Dirty Trick
Marine for Hire
Drive Me Crazy
Temporarily Yours
Game for Marriage
To all of us who’ve ever felt like ugly ducklings.
Look a little closer.
Chapter One
Logan McCade never considered himself an ass man, but the heart-shaped one packed into snug black
jeans practically begged to be kissed, licked, bitten, and quite possibly spanked. The distraction in
question snagged his attention as he approached the Beaver Creek Resort concierge desk, which made
all of the above highly unfeasible.
Still, the soaring ceilings, dark wood beams, and huge river-rock fireplace of the resort’s lobby
couldn’t compete with the tight, round handful traveling in close company with toned legs that gave
the impression of going on forever. A nice illusion, considering the woman leaning against the
marble-topped counter looked about five foot nothing in her flat black sandals—even when she rose
onto her tiptoes to speak to the resort manager.
He couldn’t catch the full conversation, just her quiet, halting voice saying, “I-I think I’m going to
hyperventilate.”
As she finished speaking, she rocked down on her heels and took a half step back from the desk.
Now that she wasn’t leaning on the counter, the hem of her oversize white shirt settled below her
hips, curtaining the world’s most bitable backside.
Keep walking, he told himself, because thanks to a call from his CFO about some issues they’d hit
with a potential acquisition, he was already late to the official kickoff dinner for Colton and Kady’s
epic week of wedding fun. As best man, he ought to be on time for shit like that, but something about
the damsel in distress talking to the concierge—and, okay, maybe it was her sweet little ass in those
jeans—had him detouring to the desk.
A shower of light from the chandelier splashed auburn streaks through chin-length dark hair that had
been ambushed by restless hands a few too many times. Something about the texture and color set a
flare of familiarity firing in his brain. He couldn’t see her face from this angle, but he heard the resort
manager reply, “…our sincere apologies, Miss Brooks. Please don’t hyperventilate. Rest assured,
we’ll locate your dresses and have them sent to your room as soon as possible.”
Miss Brooks? As in…
“Sophie?”
She whirled to face him, and he fell into a pair of big brown eyes he remembered belonging in the
slightly rounded face of a girl…teenager…whatever. Not a full-grown woman with high cheekbones
and an actual jawline—both of which a man could spend days sculpting with his fingertips, or his
tongue. The only plump thing about her face was her full, unpainted lips, currently parted in what he
figured to be surprise at his interruption, but his imagination whispered, This is what she looks like
when she comes…cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dazed, and those soft pink lips parted.
The flush darkened from pink to flaming red, and a voice just a note deeper, and a hint huskier than
the one from his memories, said, “Logan?”
“Hi, Sophie. What’s up?” Holy shit, besides your dick. You’ve been fantasizing about giving your
best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister an ass hickey . Of course, the last time
he’d seen her, “little” had been the operative word. She’d been what…eighteen? Nineteen? Definitely
still a teen. Now she was all woman.
Colt’s request from earlier in the day replayed in his mind. You know what a hermit Sophie can be.
Last night at the bachelorette party, she bailed as soon as she could sneak away. Do me a solid
and look after her this week. Make sure she doesn’t bunker in her room and miss all the fun.
“Logan,” she repeated and backed up, sounding distinctly uncomfortable and looking like she’d
dearly love to bolt to her room right that moment. She had the bolting thing down cold, because he
couldn’t remember seeing her at all last night when Colt and the rest of the groomsmen had invaded
Kady’s bachelorette party. And based on the way his body reacted to grown-up Sophie, he would
have remembered. Then again, thanks to work he’d been functioning on a handful of hours of sleep all
week. He’d spent most of last night on autopilot.
“Hey,” he smiled and leaned against the counter, aiming to throw as much relaxed and casual at her
as he could muster to counteract all her skittishness. “Are you on your way to the dinner at Spago?”
Her outfit suggested she was not, and he was suddenly bound and determined not to let her slide under
everyone’s radar and skip it. Because you promised Colt. “Walk over with me.”
She shook her head and lifted a hand toward the hotel manager, enlisting his support. “I can’t go. I
have nothing to wear. I sent my dresses…oh, goodness, including my bridesmaid dress”—she added
as if that particular realization had just hit her—“to get the wrinkles steamed out, and they’ve
disappeared.”
“Temporarily misplaced,” the manager interjected, aiming an apologetic look at them both. “We’re
very sorry. This has never happened before.”
Sophie stretched her pretty lips into a pained smile. “Things like this happen to me all the time. I’m
cursed with bad luck. But this is particularly awful because I can’t be a bridesmaid without the
bridesmaid dress.” She paused as the ramifications of her words sank in, and then her tense
expression cleared into a look of pure relief. “Darn it, I won’t be able to stand in front of a packed
chapel while my brother and Kady exchange vows.”
Colt sure knew his sister. Not only was she trying to use the laundry glitch as an excuse to back out
of tonight’s dinner, she was aiming to back out of being a bridesmaid.
“Let’s not reserve you a pew in the back of the chapel just yet. They’ve got five days to find your
dresses.”
“We’ll find them, sir—”
“I have every confidence,” Logan told the manager. “In the meantime…” He caught Sophie’s hands
between his and gave her a gentle tug. “Come with me to dinner. You look great just as you are.” She
did. Total opposite from the high-powered, high-maintenance, airbrushed-to-perfection corporate
types surrounding him most days, and he found her lack of artifice refreshing as hell.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” She freed her hands and tucked them behind her back, which made her look
like a little girl with something to hide until he noticed how the front of her button-down shirt
stretched across her chest, revealing generous, incredibly distracting curves beneath the thin white
cotton. Jesus, when had Colt’s little sister turned into a centerfold? He found the transformation of the
cute, quiet Sophie of his memory to the Sophie in front of him so unsettling it took him a moment to get
his head back on what she was saying.
“…the invitation said cocktail attire. I’ll be the only one dressed like a salesgirl from the Gap.”
She actually took another step away and he had a sneaking suspicion if he blinked, he’d open his eyes
to find a vortex of empty air where she now stood…maybe one sandal halfway across the lobby.
Thing was, he hadn’t earned an economics degree and an MBA, and founded his own outdoor
adventure gear company without picking up a few problem-solving skills along the way. “Let me see
if I understand your concern. You don’t want to be the only person there tonight who doesn’t look like
they got lost on the way to the red carpet?”
He found the unwilling grin flirting across her lips ridiculously gratifying, and her reply more
revealing than she probably intended. “I’d feel too self-conscious…like everyone was staring at me
thinking, ‘Didn’t she get the memo?’”
“Okay, I can solve this problem.” He hit her with his patented this-will-work stare, the one he’d
perfected five years ago to convince angel investors to put millions into Defy Gravity, a fledgling
company best known, until that point, for manufacturing rock-climbing gear. “Don’t move. I’ll be back
in five minutes.”
…
Sophie watched Logan stride away. Watched every female in the vicinity discreetly or not-so-
discreetly check him out as he passed, and tried not to squirm when those same sharp gazes cut to her
and she inevitably became the object of baffled, disbelieving, or outright rude looks. All of them
conveyed the same underlying question. Namely, “What the hell is that monument of male perfection
doing with her?”
Even as a crazy part of her wished he could really be hers, she imagined shouting, “Calm down.
You have not fallen into some parallel alternate universe where the impossible becomes reality. He’s
not with me.” But of course, she’d never actually do it. The girl who’d passed out attempting to
deliver her single line in her kindergarten class play didn’t have the nerve to engage in a public
outburst at a posh hotel.
Anxious to escape what felt like a glaringly bright spotlight, she made her way to an empty chair in
a quiet corner, sat, and tucked her card key into the back pocket of her new skinny jeans. Jeans she’d
bought on a whim, and packed on an even bigger whim, and was pretty sure now she should have
waited to wear in public until she’d lost another five pounds. She stared down at her plain, unpainted
toenails. He’d asked her to wait, so she’d wait, even if she would have preferred to disappear. Have
a hole in the time-space continuum open beside her and suck her right in.
Poof! She could land back in her hotel room, or, as long as she was dreaming, back in her little
walk-up apartment in West Hollywood, sitting on the postage stamp of a balcony she shared with her
incredibly hot neighbor, Mark. He was an unrepentant flirt, but she could handle flirting with him and
all his equally hot, equally gay friends. Hanging out with them was the very definition of looking for
love in all the wrong places, but it was completely safe.
Logan? Not so safe. Not for someone woefully inept at the boy-girl banter. But that hadn’t stopped
her from developing an immediate and lasting crush on him the day she and her mom had dropped
Colt off at college and met his freshman year roommate. Even now, fourteen years later, she still
reverted to the tongue-tied preteen she’d been whenever she found herself in Logan’s presence.
She needed to remember the fascination only ran one way. He hadn’t even noticed her last night
when Colt and his groomsmen had crashed the bachelorette party. Admittedly, she hadn’t stuck around
long after the guys had arrived—long enough to witness two of the bridesmaids enter into a pact to
bed the groomsmen of their choice, and of course, Logan had topped their lists. Seeing one of the girls
swipe his room key had been her cue to leave, and slipping out unnoticed hadn’t been difficult. A
short, frumpy chick didn’t attract much attention.
Logan, conversely, commanded attention. She couldn’t put it down to height. At six-one, he was
tall, but not necessarily the tallest guy in the room. His rock-climber’s physique boasted a truly mind-
boggling collection of hard-etched muscles. Not that she’d been lucky enough to make a personal
inspection, but she’d spent hours studying a memorable Climber’s World article featuring Logan
hanging from Half Dome, wearing nothing but electric-blue Defy Gravity flex shorts. Impressive as
his body was, most of those lean, limber muscles stayed hidden under his clothes. His appeal sprang
from something deeper than thick black hair and mood-ring hazel eyes staring out from the kind of
bone structure a male model would kill for. He radiated…something. Some magical blend of energy,
charm, and confidence.
Confidence. Something she lacked. Not that she never accepted a challenge or took a dare. She had
an adventurous side—one she’d recently set a specific goal to nurture—and it had itched to speak up
last night, deal her into the bridesmaid pact, and stake a claim to Logan. Instead, she’d opted out
under the guise of avoiding putting her brother in the awkward position of having his little sister hook
up with his best man during the wedding week festivities. But that wasn’t the real reason she’d held
her tongue. In reality, well…she’d set fitness goals, too, and stuck to them, but logging her three miles
every morning was never going to turn her into an elite marathoner. Going head-to-head against those
other girls for Logan’s attention constituted the sexual equivalent of Olympic-level competition. In the
end she’d get laughed off the course, and hurt.
A hand landed on her shoulder at the same time a low, thrillingly masculine voice, asked, “Ready?”
She looked up to find Logan standing over her, smiling like a co-conspirator, and momentarily lost
her powers of speech. Gone were his crisp white dress shirt, silk tie, and light-gray trousers. Instead
he wore an olive-green T-shirt that molded to the hard planes of his chest and turned his hazel eyes to
jade, paired with wash-worn khaki cargo shorts that left his tanned calves bare. God, even his feet
are gorgeous, she thought as she inspected his brown leather Tevas.
“Ready, Soph?” He gave her shoulder a playful—perhaps prompting—squeeze, and she had a
shockingly vivid fantasy of surging to her feet, tearing his shirt off and running her hands all over his
warm, naked skin. Well aware her face was on fire, she forced her eyes back to his, and swallowed
to ease the dryness in her throat.
“Ready for what?”
Chapter Two
“Oh my God, we couldn’t be more out of place if we’d worn our pajamas.”
Logan simply tugged his reluctant companion through the door and into the sleek, elegant restaurant.
“I doubt that, seeing as how I don’t wear pajamas.”
A strangled sound served as Sophie’s reply. Curiosity had him craning his neck around to see if
he’d made her blush—and why the idea of bringing heat to her cheeks gave him such a charge, he
couldn’t say—but a familiar figure standing by the bar talking to a group of guests caught his attention
before he could satisfy his curiosity. Colt.
Whoa there, Romeo, get yourself in check. You just flirted with your best friend’s shy, adorable,
strictly off-limits little sister.
“Hey, there’s your brother. Want to go over and say hello?”
Sophie stared at the bar for a moment, clearly debating, and then shook her head. “No. He’s talking
to people I don’t know, and I’m not dressed for introductions. I don’t want to embarrass him. You go
ahead, though. He wouldn’t feel the need to make excuses for you. I’ll just hang out here.”
Yeah, right. She’d leave the second he turned his back. He’d gotten her to the party, but getting her
to relax and have a good time was going to take more effort. A drink seemed like a good place to
start, but he didn’t want to force her to accompany him to the bar and into an interaction that would
make her more self-conscious. “How about we find a place to sit? Then I’ll go over and get us some
drinks, and let Colt know we’re here.”
Her eyes darted left, and then right at his suggestion, like someone seeking an escape route, but she
simply nodded and beelined to a booth for two in a dim, comparatively quiet corner of the restaurant.
Out of the way, he noted, just like the seat she’d chosen when she’d waited for him in the hotel lobby.
She had a knack for blending into the background. Something to keep in mind for the rest of the week.
Once she’d settled herself into the most recessed corner of the booth, he handed her the card key to
his suite. “Would you hold on to this for me while I get our drinks? I lost mine last night and had to
get a replacement from the reception desk. I’m hoping to do better with this one.”
He expected reluctance, since agreeing to be his key-master meant relinquishing any escape plans
she’d hatched, but the odd look she gave him made him wonder if she knew something about what had
happened to his key last night. All she said, however, was “Sure,” as she took the small plastic card.
“Thanks. What can I get you to drink?”
“Maybe some water.”
Maybe not. He doubted the power of H
2
O to chill her out her and get her into the party spirit. “How
about some champagne? It’s a celebration, after all.”
“Um.” She glanced around again, as if to confirm others were drinking. “Okay. I guess. If that’s
what you’re having.”
After the day of business calls he’d endured, he’d planned on something with more kick, but he
suspected three fingers of Johnnie Walker Black, no water, no ice, would put Sophie under the table.
“Two champagnes, coming up. Guard that.” He pointed to his card key. She’d picked it up and was
absently sliding the pad of her index finger back and forth over one rounded corner. A disconcerting
image hijacked his brain…of her, running that same soft fingertip along the center of his chest, over
his abdomen and down his— “I’ll be right back.” Self-preservation sent him striding to the bar before
his imagination embarrassed him.
He’d been working too hard these last few weeks, and ignoring certain basic human instincts. That
had to be the reason he suddenly couldn’t get his head out of his pants. “Jesus, I need a drink,” he
muttered under his breath.
“Did I hear something about a drink?” a familiar voice asked from close behind him. “Because I
definitely need one of those.”
A quick look over his shoulder confirmed the voice belonged to Brock McNeill. He’d met Brock
last night, along with Colt’s other groomsmen, Reed Lawson and Tyler Dresco, shortly before they
decided to crash the bachelorette party. Brock, Reed, and Colt went way back—back to the days
when Colt had spent summers at his dad’s house in Tennessee. Kady’s older brother, Tyler, and Colt
were also childhood friends, having grown up in the same Colorado suburb where Colt’s mom still
lived. All of which made Logan the obvious choice for best man. By selecting his college roommate
for the honor, Colt honored their friendship—one forged by cramped dorms, cheap beer, all-nighters,
and a few spring break incidents best left in the vault—and avoided choosing among the guys with
more tenure.
Tyler, an ER doctor at a big hospital in San Francisco, had beaten them to the bar tonight, and sat
chatting with Colt. Logan took the empty barstool between them. Brock, vice president of Having the
Right Last Name at his father’s company, straddled the barstool on the other side of Colt, and Reed,
the cop, sat down next to Brock.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Logan said. Then, mostly to needle Colt, he added, “Refresh my memory.
What’s on tomorrow’s agenda? Mountain biking, poker…what was it again?”
“Scavenger hunt. Tomorrow afternoon,” Tyler said. “You ready for some outdoor adventure?”
Logan grinned. Tyler had spent several years visiting some of the less-traveled parts of the globe
thanks to a stint with Doctors Without Borders. Maybe Dr. Dresco had never scaled a mountain, but
chances were good he knew his way around a nature trail. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re both going to win, because lord knows I’m not about to go traipsing across the
mountainside for a prize I can buy myself,” Brock drawled.
Reed stopped staring across the room, trying to burn his brand onto the pretty blond maid of honor,
Julie, long enough to incline his head toward Colt’s glass. “What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey,” Colt said, waving at Kady. “But not for much longer. My bride’s beckoning.”
“Nice,” Brock said, sending a smile Kady’s way. Then he signaled to the bartender. “Not before I
buy a round of drinks, though.”
Logan followed Reed’s gaze back to Julie, and watched a couple of young stockbroker types
abandon their plan to approach her when they sensed Reed’s silent threat from across the room.
Logan mentally congratulated them on the wisdom of their decision. He didn’t know if Officer
Lawson packed heat at Beaver Creek, but he wouldn’t bet against it.
Julie shot a quick, unerring look directly at Reed. One she probably meant to convey, Back off, you
don’t own it , but the unmistakable hint of fascination in her eyes changed the overall effect from
shutdown to challenge. You could own it, if you play things right…which you won’t.
He found himself biting back a smile, because he could see where these two were headed from a
thousand miles away, but just to mess with Reed’s head, he asked Brock, “Is it from Julie’s
company?” Her family distilled and distributed a top-shelf whiskey called One-Eyed Jack. He picked
up a pile of coasters and dealt them down the bar like playing cards. “If so, line ’em up.”
Reed’s eyes darted back to the bar and he raised a brow. “They have that here? I want to try some,
too.”
“Sure,” Brock agreed, completely unfazed at the prospect of dropping a hundred bucks plus tip on a
round of drinks. The bartender came up, and he smiled at her, oozing Southern charm. “Hey, sugar.
Can we get a round of One-Eyed Jack Whiskey?”
Logan added two champagnes, which, it turned out, were complimentary for the party guests. When
the bartender turned away to get their drinks, he said, “Next round’s on me, but it’ll have to be
tomorrow after the scavenger hunt. Tonight I have to drink and run.”
“Why?” Brock asked. “You got a hot date?”
Logan glanced at Colt. “Hotter than you four.”
“Speaking of which…” Tyler eyed Logan’s T-shirt and shorts. “Dude. You realize this is a black-
tie event, right? Not a visit to the Outback?”
“Seriously,” Colt interjected. “What the fuck, man?”
“Hey, I wore this for you, big guy.”
“Huh?” Colt frowned.
Logan leaned in and lowered his voice. “Long story, and no reason to get your panties wadded, but
I’m dressed like this so your little sister would come tonight. You asked me to keep an eye on her and
make sure she didn’t hide in her room, and this is what it took.”
Colt shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m not even going to ask. But thanks.
You’re the best.”
“It’s nothing.”
Colt looked him in the eye. “Actually, no. It means a lot to me.”
The striking redheaded bridesmaid, Christine, leveled a single scorching look at Tyler from across
the room. He didn’t know what the deal was between those two, but clearly there was one. Logan
drank up, saluted Colt and the remaining groomsmen with his empty glass, then took his two flutes of
champagne and headed back to Sophie, thankful for the comparative simplicity of his mission. Keep
her engaged and entertained. Make sure she had fun.
No scorching looks allowed.
…
“How did I let you talk me into this?” Not quite sure why she uttered the question aloud, Sophie
handed Logan his card key and then sipped her glass of champagne and tried not to melt into a puddle
from the sheer proximity of his body next to hers.
When he’d left her to go to the bar where Colt and the other groomsmen were gathered, she figured
he’d forfeited his room key for a clean escape—sort of like a wolf gnawing off his foot to free
himself from a trap. She never dreamed he’d be back, or that he’d bypass the seat on the opposite side
of the table and slide in beside her instead.
“What?” He brought his mouth closer to her ear to be heard over the din of conversation flowing
around them. Her temperature rose another billion degrees. “How did I talk you into going casual
tonight? Easy. You wanted to come.”
Boy, did she. But he meant to say she wanted to attend, and honesty forced her to set him straight.
“No.” She sipped again, enjoying the way the champagne bubbles threw a party at the back of her
throat. “Before you showed up in the lobby I fully intended to go to my room, order room service, and
spend some time working.”
“That’s maybe what you intended to do, but that’s not what you wanted to do.”
His warm breath tickled her ear and every erogenous zone in her body sat up and begged for the
same treatment. Unconsciously, she scooted a little closer to the wall, and then bit back a moan
because shifting around only intensified the distracting pressure between her thighs. She glanced at
him and hoped he couldn’t tell how turned on she was, just from sitting beside him. “It’s not?”
He smiled, and a groove appeared at the corner of his mouth. Her tongue tingled with an urge to
trace the tempting little bracket.
“You wouldn’t want to disappoint Colt and Kady. They love you, and they want you to be part of
their celebration, regardless of the dress code. Deep down, you would have felt terrible if you’d
skipped out on tonight.”
Yeah. There was that. As her mom frequently pointed out, cowardice lay at the heart of shyness.
Every time she caved in to her desire to run and hide, she forfeited self-respect.
“You’re right. Thank you for convincing me to come, and being my partner in fashion crime.”
He tapped his glass to hers. “I’ll be your partner in crime anytime.”
She laughed and tipped her head to sip her drink. For one long, suspended moment their eyes
locked, and something in his gaze sucked all the air out of her lungs. Finally, he blinked, smiled a
smile she could only call bemused, and shook his head. “Sorry for staring. It’s just…you look so
different. You’re not a cute little kid anymore. You’re a beautiful woman. I almost didn’t recognize
you in the lobby.”
Logan McCade just called you beautiful! Her heart nearly raced right out of her chest, even though
he meant it in a damn-it’s-shocking kind of way. She opened her mouth to say thanks, but the perverse
idiot inside her who could never gracefully accept a compliment immediately blurted, “Your mental
picture of me probably includes braces, bad skin, and a misguided attempt at a Halle Berry pixie cut,
which my mother correctly predicted would be a disaster. Anything would be a step up from where I
started.”
His smile faded and she immediately wanted to bite her tongue. The shy girl’s other natural gift
besides hiding in plain site? Always saying the wrong thing. The pathetic, self-conscious thing. He
scratched his chin and gave her a measuring look, starting at the top of her head and ending…she
didn’t know where, because she turned and stared down at the table rather than blush for him yet
again.
“Nope,” he said after a moment, “it’s not debatable. You’re beautiful.” His fingers toyed with the
fringe of her chin-length bob. She turned her burning face back to him. “And it’s not because you’ve
grown out your hair and gotten your braces off. Those are superficial things. It’s more like…I don’t
know…you’ve got secrets and a hint of determination hidden behind those soft brown eyes. Makes a
guy want to figure out what’s going on in your head.”
“You’d be—” God, was she really going to say this? “You’d be running for the hills if you knew
what was going on in my head.”
His mouth kicked up at the corner, and the sexy groove made an encore. He trailed his finger along
the edge of her hair again, making her shiver, and then leaned closer. “Try me.”
Here? Now? Her last semi-functional brain cell took a minute to realize that “Try me” meant “Talk
to me.”
Right. Conversation. “Oh-kay. Six months ago I challenged myself to accomplish three things.”
“Very adventurous of you,” he teased, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear.
Possibly, but the resolutions had been prompted less by a sense of adventure than overwhelming
frustration. Colt and Kady had just announced their engagement, and happy as she’d been for them, the
news had prompted her to take a good, hard look at herself.
The woman cringing back at her seemed pretty pathetic. An introvert who preferred to fly under the
radar at work rather than muster up the courage to tackle a client-facing role. A wallflower living in
bulky sweatshirts and baggy jeans, clinging to an extra twenty pounds like a buffer against the world.
An unfulfilled woman who wouldn’t know passion and excitement except through the racy text
accompanying the erotic product offerings of the spicy website she designed and maintained for her
firm’s biggest client, Eve’s Closet. Eve’s Closet was the J. Peterman of adult toys. Every product told
a story, and somewhere between Eve’s kinky adventures with riding crops, blindfolds, wrist
restraints, and all sundry of clamps and rings, Sophie had realized how small and dull her world had
become.
She was tired of lurking on the sidelines, observing life instead of participating, reading about
passion and excitement rather than experiencing any firsthand. Deep down, she wanted what Colt had
found—a life partner. Unlike her brother, she’d always dreamed of meeting that special someone,
falling madly in love, and having the object of her affection love her back with equal intensity.
Achieving her dreams meant making some changes. Mark, her neighbor and self-proclaimed “fairy
godfather,” had summed it up best. “Want a life partner? Sweetie, the first thing you gotta do is get a
life.” She’d promptly devised a three-step plan to New Sophie.
“So tell me, what are you hankering to do?” Logan’s question broke into her thoughts. “Skydive?
Swim with sharks? Bike down the slopes of Haleakala?”
She bit back a laugh. “None of the above. I think we have very different ideas of challenge. I
wanted to lose weight—”
“Why?” His brows drew together. “You don’t need to lose any.”
His response made her want to hug him. “Thank you for saying that, but six months ago I needed to
lose a bunch. The process took more determination than I’d given myself credit for.” Discipline, too,
but she’d learned to exercise every morning, and stop filling the voids in her life with mac ’n’ cheese
and brownies.
Hazel eyes appraised her in a way that made her pulse quicken. “I think you can consider that
particular goal achieved. What else is on your list?”
He angled his body toward her as he spoke. His forest-after-a-rainstorm scent seduced her just as
effectively as his hard thigh brushing against hers. She clamped her fingers around the edge of the
table to keep from shooting straight out of the booth like one of the homemade match rockets Colt,
Reed, and Brock had loved to set off as kids.
“I wanted to advance at work.” She threw the words out a bit desperately and silently ordered
herself to settle down. “I’ve been a web designer for the same firm for almost three years. I like the
job, but it’s time for me to make the jump to lead designer and start managing client projects. Last
week my supervisor told me they’ve opened up a new lead designer position, and asked if I’d be
interested in applying.”
“And you said…?”
“I looked him square in the eye and said yes.” Her chest swelled just thinking about it. “I put the
finishing touches on a proposal for our firm’s most important client before I left for Beaver Creek.
Hopefully, I’ll hear something from my supervisor while I’m here, but…” She shrugged. “I think it
was good. I think I have a shot at getting the promotion.”
Logan nodded. “Your supervisor wouldn’t have asked you to apply if he didn’t think you were
ready. You’ve got lead designer in the bag. I promise. So, what’s goal number three?”
That brought her to the whole passion/excitement thing. The only area where she’d made absolutely
no progress unless the inaugural bikini wax she’d subjected herself to before she left for Beaver
Creek counted. And now that the moment of truth had arrived, she wasn’t sure she was bold enough to
mention goal number three to him after all. But hey, here she was, sharing an intimate booth with the
man she secretly cast as the lead in every erotic adventure she’d ever uploaded to the Eve’s Closet
site…and she’d uploaded a lot. Sitting beside him, tingling from head to toe each time their bodies
brushed, qualified as excitement and passion, didn’t it? She shifted closer to him until their hips
touched, and prepared to speak, but the contact set off a flurry of vibrations along her leg.
Goodness, was he vibrating with need? For her?
He cursed under his breath. “Sorry, Soph. Let me take care of this.” Then he reached down between
their bodies. His knuckles grazed her thigh. Oh, my heavens! She held her breath. Is he actually
going to…?
He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
Oh. So much for vibrating with need. The tingling sensation had been his phone signaling an
incoming message. Her breath leaked out her nose and she sagged with relief…or disappointment. It
was a close call. A half-hysterical fit of giggles threatened until she noticed him wince at the screen.
“Something wrong?”
He sighed, and for the first time ever, she sensed weariness behind his Mr. Perfect facade.
“Probably. Defy Gravity is in negotiations to acquire a surf company. I thought we had every issue
tied down before I left, but things are starting to unravel, and now my CFO is blowing up my phone
every hour with new problems, and my board is asking for an update, and”—he tossed his phone on
the table—“I might as well have stayed in Boulder if I was going to spend the whole damn week a
slave to this deal.”
“Sucks to be in charge, huh?”
The comment earned her a weak grin. “Sometimes it feels like the company owns me. Growing the
business used to be fun, before the money guys and the analysts and the lawyers got involved. Fun or
not”—he heaved out a breath—“duty calls. I hate to ask, but will you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” He picked up his phone and card key before pinning her with a serious
look. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Amazingly, she didn’t have an urge to flee. She felt radiant from basking in his attention all evening,
and she didn’t want to lose the glow. But as she watched him weave his way through the crowded
restaurant toward the lounge, she noticed female heads turn like flowers to the sun as he passed,
including a couple of the other bridesmaids. Some of the warm feeling dissipated.
Get real, Sophie. Those girls are beautiful, successful, and waaaay better suited to Logan. She
could easily picture organized Julie, with her blond hair and cover-girl smile, on his arm at a fund-
raiser, or the alluring, flame-haired Christine, hosting a dinner party for one of his important business
contacts, or sultry, sassy Regan doing…whatever she darn well pleased, and leaving him begging for
more.
Logan lived a “look at me” kind of life, whether it was “look at me climb this mountain,” or “look
at me take my company from niche-market start-up to high-growth upstart in less than five years.” She,
on the other hand, strove to get through her days without drawing a second glance, and no matter how
much she pushed herself to change, the fundamental aspects of her nature would always remain. So
no, they’d never work in the long-term, but why not for one night of excitement and passion?
The bubbles in her champagne whispered, “Want in on that bridesmaid pact after all?” Why yes,
she did, even if she’d only admit as much to the champagne. She gulped the rest of her drink, for
courage, and slid out of the booth with the notion of intercepting Logan before he returned to the table.
From there, her plans got as fuzzy as her head. Seduction wasn’t her strong suit.
A quick scan of the room told her she hadn’t attracted any attention, except…shoot, Kady looked
over just then and their eyes met. Her nerves jittered. Silly, because the Drescos, including her soon-
to-be sister-in-law, had never been anything but kind. They were the sort of tight-knit family who
pulled out all the stops for stuff like Thanksgiving and Christmas, while her parents had often played
an uncivil game of “not it” when it came to taking her and Colt for the holidays. Tyler and Colt were
close friends, and she suspected the Drescos sometimes got wind of the fact that Colt was about to be
ping-ponged for the holidays.
On those occasions, they’d invited him to join them, and were kind enough to extend their
hospitality to her. Though three years older, and in a whole different universe when it came to looks
and popularity, Kady had always taken the trouble to make her feel welcome. Even so, the socially
awkward nerdy girl lurking inside Sophie still got a little intimidated at the prospect of interacting
with her. But interact she would, because Kady disengaged from the group of people she’d been
chatting with and headed for Sophie. Next thing she knew she was wrapped in a quick hug.
“There you are! I wondered if you’d stood us up tonight.”
“Oh. Sorry. I waved to Colt when I arrived, but I skipped circulating because…” She glanced
down at her outfit.
Kady’s brow wrinkled as she took in the oversize button-down shirt and jeans. “You forgot to pack
a cocktail dress?”
“Not exactly. I packed an appropriate outfit, but earlier today I sent my dresses to the hotel laundry
to get the wrinkles steamed out and they seem to have”—she shrugged—“misplaced them.”
“Oh, that sucks. If they don’t find them, make sure they reimburse you for… Wait a minute…” Kady
grasped her forearm. “Did you give them your bridesmaid’s dress?”
Whoops. She shouldn’t have brought this up. Not cool to distract the bride with a detail like this in
the middle of a party. “I did, but don’t worry. The manager promises they’re doing everything they
can to find the dresses. If they don’t, no worries, I’ll just attend the wedding as a guest rather than a
bridesmaid—”
“No. That’s not an option.” The hand on her forearm tightened. “You’re Colt’s sister. My sister-in-
law. We want you up there with us. Have you told Julie? Has she spoken to the manager? I need this
guy to understand they absolutely, positively have to find that dress.” Kady released her arm and
looked toward the exit. “In fact, I should tell him myself. Let’s go.”
Smooth, Sophie. Drag the bride away from the welcome dinner. She dug in her heels. “Wait.
There’s no need to hunt down the hotel manager. Logan spoke to him. Management assured us they’d
find my dresses.”
That seemed to calm Kady down. “Logan spoke to him?”
“Yes.” She nodded for emphasis and almost lost her balance.
“Okay. Good. That’s good.” She took a slow breath. “I’ll still tell Julie, just so she can keep an eye
on this situation, too. Don’t worry. You’re going to be standing at the front of the church in that
beautiful blue dress, come hell or high water.” With that, she strode off to find the maid of honor.
Sophie swallowed the wave of nausea Kady’s declaration provoked. Determined to shake it off,
she wandered to a corner of the lounge, where someone—probably Julie—had set up photo montages
of Colt and Kady. Colt at two, dressed like a cowboy for Halloween. Colt, Brock, and Reed, all
skinny-armed and wide-toothed, standing by the river near Dad’s house in Tennessee. The next photo
coaxed a laugh out of her. Same day, three seconds later—Colt and Reed tossing Brock into the
water. Hard to believe those three trouble magnets were all functioning members of society now.
Heck, in less than a week, her I’m-never-getting-married brother would be a husband, and after
that, someday, possibly even a father. All the more remarkable considering their parents hadn’t been
role models for domestic bliss, much less amicable divorce. They’d split shortly after Sophie had
been born. She always suspected she was a “save the marriage” baby who hadn’t done the trick, but
she’d take that over the ringside seat to their constant bickering that Colt had been stuck in during his
formative years. He’d decided early on there was no such thing as everlasting love—at least not for a
Brooks—and vowed never to chase the delusion of happily ever after.
For a long time she’d worried he’d never change his mind and open himself to the idea of love,
marriage, and family. But somehow, miraculously, Kady had changed all that. For her, he’d managed
to push the fear and cynicism out of his heart and take a chance on happiness. And he’d found it. The
thought had Sophie blinking back tears until another photo caught her eye. She nearly choked on her
own tongue.
Oh, good God. It was a picture of Colt and her, at Colt’s college graduation. There he stood, tall
and proud in his cap and gown. There she stood, short and dumpy, wearing one of the bulky
sweatshirts that had been her trademark since eighth grade, when nature had suddenly “blessed” her
with the biggest boobs anybody in her middle school had ever seen. Shiny red cheeks, a constellation
of zits on her forehead, and a botched home perm completed the catastrophe. She’d hoped the curls
would make her look like Keri Russell. Her Mom had taken one look and pronounced her a dead
ringer for “the frizzy-haired girl from Harry Potter.” Sadly, Mom was always right about that kind of
stuff.
She forced her attention away from the horror and her gaze landed on a picture of Colt and Logan at
Yosemite. She registered Bridalveil Fall in the background despite never taking her eyes off Logan.
Twenty-something, shirtless Logan. Twenty-something, sweaty, shirtless Logan, smiling into the
camera and giving off the same glow she’d basked in all evening and longed to bask in all night—if
she could somehow talk him into it.
While she tried to get her heart to stop racing at the prospect of luring Logan back to her room, she
let her eyes scan the other montage. Big mistake. The Kady collection included photos of the lovely
bride-to-be, in college, surrounded by her equally lovely sorority sisters. There was one of Kady and
the girls on the beach in Mexico, looking like Sports Illustrated swimsuit models. A younger but no
less authoritative Tyler stood behind them, warning every male in the vicinity off with a proprietary
gaze that, interestingly, seemed particularly focused on Christine.
She homed in on a photo of Kady, in bikini and chaps, standing in front of a mechanical bull.
Christine stood beside her, laughing as she placed a silly, sparkly crown on Kady’s head. Julie, in
denim shorts and cowboy boots, beamed down from astride the bull. Regan held court on Kady’s
opposite side, aiming a sly, sideways smile at a group of frat guys while she pretended to smack the
bull on the butt.
Not an awkward phase to be found. These fun-loving, extroverted girls attracted men simply by
breathing, and seeing them reminded her that even if she were tipsy enough to try to seduce Logan,
she’d have to get in line since Julie and Regan had basically rock-paper-scissored last night to decide
which one of them went after the best man. Her eyes drifted back to her picture, and then to Logan’s,
and her heart sank. Who was she kidding? She didn’t stand a chance.
Her sinking heart reversed course and nearly leaped out of her throat when Reed and Brock
materialized out of nowhere and flanked her. Holy smokes, had they noticed her drooling at Logan’s
picture? Please no. She’d never hear the end of it if they suspected she had the hots for the best man.
…
Logan leaned against the wall in the alcove leading to the restrooms and listened with half an ear
while his CFO, Peter Pinderski, droned on about the target’s new list of concerns. Sophie claimed the
better part of his attention by wandering over to the corner of the lounge where someone had set up
the obligatory “The Story of Colt & Kady” photo boards. He watched her peruse the snapshots and
found himself smiling.
“The target wants to review all these issues with you personally before they’ll proceed. The board
wants the acquisition agreement signed before quarter-end. We’re between a rock and a hard place. I
hate to say this, Logan, but we need you back here ASAP.”
His smile disappeared. “ASAP is after the wedding.” He stated it firmly, because he’d made
commitments to Colt when he’d agreed to be best man, and he intended to honor them. While he
watched, the most interesting of those commitments jumped like a kid caught with her hand in the
cookie jar when Brock and Reed sidled up to her. Though he’d only just met the guys, he wasn’t
worried about their intentions. The two groomsmen knew Sophie from way back—back to the
summers Colt and Sophie spent in Tennessee with their dad. They no doubt shared his view of her as
Colt’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister. Then again, he was having a real problem
remembering the “strictly off-limits” part. Who’s to say the other guys weren’t having the same
difficulty?
Peter’s voice cut into that disconcerting thought. “After the wedding might be too late. I’m telling
you, the target is having second thoughts, and this deal has hit the skids. We need you here to grease
them, like, now, because they don’t want assurances from me, or the accountants, or the lawyers. They
want them from you. They’re not feeling your commitment.”
Brock moved into Sophie’s personal space, directed a shit-eating, Southern-boy grin at her, and…
tapped her on the nose. What the hell was that? Sophie blinked up at him like a baby fox unaware she
was playing with a wolf. Logan took a step forward and prepared to intercede if Brock made another
move on her.
“They’re not going to get anything from me until next week. Look, I’m on vacation. I haven’t had
one in two fucking years and I’m taking five lousy days for my best friend’s wedding, so anyone
questioning my commitment to the deal is out of line. But there’s stuff happening here that requires my
attention. We have a whole team assembled back there to manage every facet of the transaction. If we
can’t ink this thing without me doing a command performance every time the target needs a hug, then
our deal team is a waste of time and money, and we’re not ready to execute.”
“The deal team is solid. I’ve already rallied them, reviewed the issue list, and we’re working to
resolve as many as we can while you’re out-of-pocket. The problem is all the apparent and actual
authority at Defy Gravity resides with you. To investors, analysts, and everybody else, you are Defy
Gravity…founder, president, and CEO. You’re the man, and people want to deal with the man. I
wholeheartedly agree you need to be able to get away every now and again to recharge. But if you
want a life, you’re going to have to officially delegate some of your control. Appoint someone else as
CEO. Hire a VP of strategy to spearhead acquisitions. Find a spokesperson to represent the brand.”
Logan pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose to try to block the pressure building behind his
eyes, and silently admitted Peter was right. He’d constructed this prison for himself, and he held the
keys—which made him his own worst enemy. But the thought of relinquishing control over something
he’d built from the ground up, something his friends and family had sunk their savings into, not to
mention an entity that now employed hundreds of people, seemed tantamount to admitting he couldn’t
handle the demands. It made him feel like a slacker, or worse, a failure. “I know,” he said quietly.
“I’m still thinking about it.”
“Think faster. In the meantime, we’ll continue moving things forward as best we can. Hopefully by
the time you’re back, we’ll have whittled the target’s concerns down to a handful, and you can put
those to rest in time to get the deal signed before the quarter closes.”
“Great. That sounds great. Thanks.” Some of the stress rolled off his shoulders, though he couldn’t
say whether it dissipated because Peter had, for the moment, stopped yanking on the Defy Gravity
choke chain he’d been wearing for far too long, or because Sophie had turned away from Brock, and
his c’mon-you-know-you-want-to grin, to focus on Reed. Had to be the former, he realized, because
she said something to Reed, smiled up at him while batting her long eyelashes, and all the tension
came rolling back.
He took another step toward them. “I have to go.”
“Wait! What about the board? Are you going to call the chairman back? If he calls me, what do you
want me to tell him?”
Jesus. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and reminded himself he’d wanted all this, once upon a
time. “Tell him…” He glanced back to the corner of the lounge just in time to see Sophie zigzag out
the nearest exit. “Shit. I’ve got to go.” He hit disconnect and headed after her, pausing long enough to
swipe a bottle of champagne from the host bar on his way out.
Chapter Three
Sophie had a head start, but Logan didn’t have any problem catching her. Partially because her shorter
strides couldn’t eat up as much ground as his, but mostly because she meandered the paved path
connecting the restaurant and the resort like a butterfly in a breeze. A tipsy butterfly in a stiff breeze.
He felt a smile tug his lips. Sophie was a lightweight.
“Hey, wait up.”
She spun around, and weaved a little as the move challenged her balance. He hurried over and put
a steadying arm around her waist. The full moon and lamps along the path illuminated her deer-in-
headlights expression. “I thought we were partners in crime, Soph. I can’t believe you ditched me.”
Those big doe eyes looked up at him, but instead of contrition, he detected a hint of suspicion in
their depths. She straightened to her full height and raised her chin with all the cautious dignity of the
mildly inebriated.
“I didn’t ditch you, I liberated you. I appreciate you talking me into coming, and hanging out with
me, but I’m sure there are people you’d like to spend time with besides your best friend’s little
sister.”
He made a show of looking around the otherwise empty path. “Nope.”
“Come on, Logan.” She slipped out of his hold and faced him down. “The party’s in full swing
back at the restaurant. Why are you out here with me?”
“Hey, I’m not the kind of guy who lets his date stumble back to her hotel alone in the dark. I’m
funny that way.”
She stared at the bottle of champagne in his hand, and then back at him. Her eyes narrowed. “Did
my brother bribe you to babysit me?”
Now would be the time to admit Colt had asked him to keep an eye on her, but, clearly, she’d be
pissed if he confirmed her suspicions, and Colt wouldn’t appreciate landing on his sister’s shit list
days before his wedding. A good best man knew when to finesse a situation. He didn’t have to lie,
exactly, just offer her a different truth than the one she’d asked for.
“I had fun tonight.” True. “But to be perfectly frank, I’m not really in the mood for a big, loud social
scene.” Also true. “So when I saw you slip away, I figured maybe we could take our party to go.” He
held up the champagne and lifted an eyebrow. “I stole this on my way out, because everyone knows
the pilfered stuff tastes better, and I was going to offer to split it with you.”
“Oh. Well, when you put it like that—”
“But now I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“You seem a little over-served.”
Her mouth fell open. “I am not. I’m completely sober…mostly.”
“Then you won’t mind submitting to a sobriety test.”
“A what?”
“More like a challenge.” He mentally measured the expanse of lawn leading to the hotel. About two
hundred meters. “Race me back to the resort. If you win, I’ll share my stolen beverage with you.”
According to Colt, Sophie had a hard time turning down a dare. Logan didn’t know if the trick only
worked for her brother, but he was willing to give it a shot.
“And if you win?”
“Then I’m cutting you off.”
She crossed her arms, and he did his best to ignore the mouthwatering swell of her breasts under
the thin button-down. Had she always been so…lush? He honestly didn’t know because he couldn’t
remember seeing her in anything other than sweatshirts.
“I get a head start,” she said.
“Fine.” He kicked off his Tevas and shoved them in the deep outer pockets of his shorts. “I start
when you pass the second light.” He pointed to one of the wrought iron lampposts flanking the path.
She nodded, dropped her arms to her sides and assumed a runner-take-your-mark stance. “Okay.”
“Whenever you’re read—” She zipped off across the lawn. “—dy.” He almost laughed at her hasty
takeoff, but damn…she was speedier than he’d anticipated. Winning this thing might actually require
him to sprint. He cradled the champagne like a football and ran after her as soon as she passed the
designated lamppost.
Luckily, her speed flagged after the first fifty meters. He closed in, enjoying the slap of the cool
night air in his face, the smell of the pine trees that grew thick on the peaks surrounding the resort, and
the sound of his blood pumping in his ears…and some other sound now. A familiar click followed by
a “shhh” noise he couldn’t quite place, but for some reason made him think of the manicured
landscape surrounding the Defy Gravity headquarters in Boulder. Oh crap, it was—
Sophie shrieked as their race route turned into a minefield of timer-deployed sprinkler-heads,
blasting water from every direction. Cold water.
He quickened his pace with the idea of catching up to her and serving as her sprinkler shield, but
just as he came up behind her, she slipped in the slick grass and fell forward. Changing direction was
out of the question. He was momentum’s passenger at this point. Reflexes he hadn’t relied on in
months kicked in, and he hurdled over her. He landed a few feet in front of her, his system awash in
adrenaline. Laughing, wiping streams of water off his face, he turned to Sophie, who sat in the grass
now, hissing like a wet kitten while the sprinklers doused her with another wave of cold water.
“You okay?”
She scrubbed at the grass-stained knees of her jeans. “Never better.”
He didn’t notice the dirty pants as much as the way her drenched shirt molded to her chest. The
sight made him want to peel the damn thing right off. Instead he thrust the champagne bottle into her
hands, and then turned, crouched down, and patted his back. “Hop on.”
“No…there’s no need—” Another wave of freezing water oscillated over them and cut her off.
He shrugged and started to stand. “Okay, but if they’re having a wet T-shirt contest in the lobby,
you’re going win first place.”
“What?” She glanced down. “Oh my God!”
The next thing he knew, he had one hundred and twenty pounds of soaking wet woman scrambling
onto his back. He stood, hefted her higher, and sprinted toward the resort, trying his best to dodge
sprinkler spray and ignore the feel of her thighs clamped around his waist and the soft weight of her
breasts bouncing against his back. With those distractions in play, he barely noticed the champagne
bottle thumping against his chest.
He could have carried her like that all night, but by the time he burst through the lobby’s automatic
doors they were both out of breath from laughing. The few guests and hotel personnel wandering the
lobby turned and stared with varying degrees of amusement or irritation. Logan dashed to the
elevators.
“Floor?” he asked when the doors closed and they were alone in the wood-paneled space.
“Six,” Sophie whispered, and then giggled when he used her toe to hit the button.
“You can put me down now.” She loosened the arms she’d wrapped around his neck and shifted
her hips to signal she was ready for the drop, and he found himself reading the fine print on the
elevator inspection certificate to stop from groaning out loud at the feel of her squirming against him.
“Sophie?” He mimicked her hushed voice.
“What?”
“Why are you whispering?”
The question pulled another giggle from her, slightly self-conscious this time. “I don’t know,” she
admitted, still whispering. “I don’t want to attract any attention.”
“God forbid.” He loosened his hold on her legs, used his hands to stabilize her descent, and let her
slide down his back until her feet reached the floor. The process offered him a highly detailed, but
mostly accidental tour of her denim-covered backside. He bit back another groan, waited until they’d
achieved touchdown, and then turned to face her.
Bad move. The elevator lights turned her wet shirt into a transparent second skin. He could easily
see her white bra, and the truly awe-inspiring curves it supported. Shy, adorable, strictly off-limits
Sophie, he mentally recited, while his brain attempted to signal his eyes to look away. His eyes told
his brain to fuck off. As he watched, the chill of air-conditioning—or maybe the heat of his gaze—
turned her nipples to hard little points and he pressed his lips together while he imagined testing their
resilience with his tongue.
Not to be outdone, the show-off south of his navel perked up and demonstrated its talent for getting
hard, too. An odd, slightly breathy sound from Sophie had his guilty gaze jumping to her face.
What he saw there did nothing to alleviate the discomfort of his dick swelling against the zipper of
his shorts. Her wide eyes roamed all over him, eventually homing in on his fly, which made him
realize his own waterlogged clothes revealed more than normal. Her cheeks grew pink, and her lips
parted to accommodate fast, shallow breaths. He envisioned backing her up against the wall, tearing
her shirt open, yanking her bra up, and letting those opulent breasts spill into his hands.
The elevator came to a halt. Her body swayed toward him, almost imperceptibly, bringing her erect
nipples infinitesimally closer. The muscles in his chest tightened in anticipation. Would her eyes drift
closed and a sigh of pleasure fill the small compartment if he—
The doors whooshed open. She jerked upright, blinked, and then turned beet red. “I have to get off
now.” Impossibly, as soon as the words left her mouth, her cheeks turned even redder. “I mean”—she
hugged the champagne bottle to her chest like a teddy bear—“this is my floor.”
“Yep. Mine, too.” He pulled his shoes out of his pockets, tossed them on the floor, and slid into
them, never once taking his eyes off her. Then he put his hand across the door to keep it open and
gestured her to precede him out of the car.
She walked past him, headed down the hall, and produced her card key from her back pocket. He
patted his front hip pocket for his own. Uh-oh. Nothing. He reached into his pocket and dug around.
Still nothing. Frowning, he tried the other pocket and came up empty again. The key hunt had him so
distracted he nearly barreled into her when she stopped in front of one of the doors.
“This is me. Room 612. Here”—she handed him the champagne—“you won.”
“You’re going to make me drink this all alone?” He took the bottle in one hand and continued his
key quest with the other. Calling it a night was probably for the best, considering the struggle he was
having remembering the Sophie-Is-Off-Limits rule, but still, disappointment landed heavy in his gut.
He’d had fun tonight. Hell, when was the last time he’d run barefoot in the grass under a full moon?
No clue, which meant it had been too long, he thought as he dug through his back pockets. Goddammit,
where was his key?
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I’m just”—he sighed and gave himself one last, fruitless pat-down—“losing my mind. I can’t
find my room key. Again.” Heat crawled up his neck.
“You’re not losing your mind.” She bit her lip and he had the funny feeling she did it to keep from
laughing.
“Okay, divulge. Where’s my key?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I suspect you have a…ahem…surprise waiting for you in your room
right now.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“Um…a bridesmaid.”
“A what?”
She lost her battle with her laughter. “You heard me,” she managed. “Keep this to yourself, but the
girls called dibs on the groomsmen, and, yes, someone plans to bag the best man. Don’t look so
shocked. You should be flattered. They’re all incredibly beautiful. Anyway, sights were set,
strategies devised, and room keys slipped from the pockets of unsuspecting victims. Since your
seductress apparently failed to make her move last night, my guess is she’s taking another shot at
claiming her prize.”
The beginning of a headache settled in behind his eyes again. He liked fun and games—and
recreational sex—as much as the next guy, but for whatever reason the idea of going back to his room
so a bored bridesmaid could use him like a personal toy sounded about as appealing as, well, it
didn’t sound unappealing, but it sounded superficial, and meaningless, and a little too much like a
stripped-down version of his current love life. Since Defy Gravity had taken off, the women he met
tended to look at him as the human equivalent of a Louis Vuitton bag. Serving as a “prize” in the battle
of the bridesmaids only took matters to a new low.
Then his thoughts turned in an even more uncomfortable direction. “Which groomsman did you
pick?” And why did he suddenly want to pound the crap out of Reed, Brock, or Tyler?
“None.” Her blush suggested otherwise, but she stood her ground. “Sneaking into some poor
unsuspecting guy’s room, lying in wait until he gets there, and saying, Surprise! Please. I abstained.”
His headache backed off a bit. “I don’t know about you, Soph, but between the hotel laundry and
the sprinklers, I’ve had all the surprises I can handle tonight. Let me hide out in your room until the
key-snatcher gets bored and leaves. We can pop this champagne and you can help me write my best
man toast.”
She stared up at him as if he’d just handed her another big surprise, but then swallowed and
unlocked her door. “Stay as long as you want. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be as a speechwriter,
but—”
“Invaluable help.” He held the door for her and then followed her into the room. “You’ve got all
the embarrassing childhood stories.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. The thing about older brothers is they have equally
embarrassing dirt on their younger sisters. There’s a little something called mutual assured
destruction that prevents me from talking.”
He held up the champagne and shot her a deliberately calculating grin. “Have a drink, Sophie.”
She took the champagne bottle and grinned back. “The vault stays locked, no matter how hard you
liquor me up.”
There was no way she realized it, but she stood directly under the recessed light in the entryway of
the suite, which put a spotlight on the front of her damp shirt. He looked his fill, imagining he could
see the dusky outline of her nipples through the layers, before his conscience piped in with a helpful
“note to self.” Stop staring at her tits like a fucking pervert.
He forced his eyes to keep moving and his attention strayed to her hands. One gripped the base of
the bottle, while the fingers of her other moved restlessly up and down the foil-encased neck. Holy
shit. If she kept fondling the bottle, she was going to jerk him off by proxy.
“Why don’t I take that?” He reached for the champagne. “I’ll pop the cork while you change into
dry clothes.” Baggy, shape-concealing clothes I’d need X-ray vision to see through, because I
can’t stop fantasizing about getting you naked, draping you across the bed, and finding out if you
prefer soft kisses along the underside of your breast or my teeth grazing the sweet curve of your
ass—or both.
“Deal.” She handed over the champagne and scurried into the bathroom so quickly he wondered if
she’d read his mind.
When the door closed, he quickly adjusted himself, and then headed to the cabinet containing the
minibar. He found two flutes, popped the cork, and filled them. Effervescence fizzed and subsided,
leaving him in silence. Except for the slap of a wet garment hitting the tile floor in the bathroom. Her
shirt? Her pants? An image of Sophie standing in the bathroom in nothing but underwear formed in his
mind. Would she reach behind her back to unclasp her bra and then lean forward to shimmy it down
her arms? Once the bra hit the tile, would she bend over a little more to step out of her panties?
The sound of the shower invaded his musings, and next thing he knew, he was picturing her under
the spray, tipping her head back and letting warm water run in rivulets down her chilled skin. His
mind’s eye filled with the vision of drops beading at the tips of her breasts, his hand cupping one
perfect white globe, guiding the peak to his mouth and catching the droplets with his tongue.
The water shut off abruptly and he realized he stood in the middle of her room with a glass of
champagne in each hand and a boner the size of the Cathedral Spires in his shorts. His wet clothes felt
like steam on his body. He downed one of the glasses. No help.
An empty ice bucket sat on the top of the cabinet. He put the glasses down and picked up the bucket
with the idea of doing something useful and, hopefully, cock-softening, like making an ice run…to
Siberia.
He took a step toward the entryway when the bathroom door swung open. Sophie stepped out in a
sugar-scented cloud of heat, wearing a white terry cloth “Beaver Creek” robe that, thank you God,
covered her from chin to toes. Still, propriety had him lowering the ice bucket to a strategic waist
level.
Her eyes found his. She offered him a hesitant smile. One that, for some inexplicable reason,
grabbed him right by the balls. Then her lips parted, and that low, soft voice said, “Would you like to
get out of those clothes?”
Chapter Four
The stunned look on Logan’s face had Sophie replaying her words. Holy crap, she’d just asked him if
he wanted to get naked. “I-I mean, there’s an extra robe in here.” She pointed behind the bathroom
door. “You’re welcome to it…and the shower.”
He cleared his throat and looked down at the ice bucket in his hands. “I was about to go get some
ice—”
“I’ll do that. You go get”… naked… “cleaned up.” She hurried to the side of the bed and slipped
her feet into the matching white Beaver Creek slippers the hotel supplied. Then she walked back to
where he stood and held out her hand for the ice bucket.
His chest expanded as he inhaled and it took all her restraint not to flatten her palms against his
pecs and revel in the strength emanating from him even when he did something as unconscious as
breathe. He exhaled and her attention moved to his diaphragm, and then to his hard, flat abs. What
would it feel like to run her hands down his torso, over those ripped muscles, and under the waist of
his shorts? Would his breath catch if she released the button and pulled the zipper down?
His voice echoed in her ears, but she was so distracted by the mental picture of him reclined on her
bed, with his head back, his eyes closed, and his breathing choppy as she slowly kissed her way past
his unbuttoned, unzipped shorts…she completely missed his words. Had he muttered something about
a cold shower?
She jerked her eyes back to his face. “What?”
He gave her a blank look and then shook his head. “Nothing. Here.” He handed her the ice bucket
and strode toward the bathroom. At the door, he stopped, glanced back at her, and said, “Thanks,
Soph. I’ll be out in a second.”
The door clicked shut. She stifled a groan and resisted the impulse to stuff her head in the ice
bucket like an ostrich. Instead she picked up the champagne flute resting on the cabinet and downed it
in two gulps.
The bubbles tickled her throat, her nose, and her useless brain. Yes, a part of her had wanted to try
her hand at seducing the best man, but, come on. Would you like to get out of those clothes? She
cringed and poured herself another glass of bubbly, drank half in an effort to wipe the stupid blunder
out of her mind, and then picked up her key and headed down the hall to get the ice because standing
there like an anxious puppy while Logan showered would do nothing for her nerves.
The chore took no time, and soon enough she was back in the room, sipping champagne and trying
to look casual and relaxed. She wandered over to the reading area, sat in one of the two cushy
armchairs, and placed her feet on the ottoman. The chair seemed to swallow her. She felt like a four-
year-old sitting in her father’s recliner. Not sexy. Not seductive.
She climbed out of the chair, opened the curtains, and attempted to look absorbed by the natural
beauty on display through the floor-to-ceiling French doors. Unfortunately, even with the enormous
moon glowing down on the pine-studded peaks, there wasn’t much of a view at night. The pose felt
contrived.
Her gaze wandered to the bed. Did she dare? She glanced at the bathroom door. The sound of the
shower pattered behind the wooden barrier. Give it a try, her inner vixen insisted. She put her glass
on the nightstand, shucked off her slippers, and crawled onto the bed, then leaned back against the
pile of pillows stacked at the headboard. Okay, that felt fairly normal. She looked down at herself.
Her arms lay by her sides and her legs stretched straight out in front of her. More virgin sacrifice than
va-va-voom. She adjusted the front of her robe so it wasn’t bundled up all the way to her throat, and
bent one leg until the robe draped to either side and left everything from mid-thigh to ankle exposed.
For a minute she wished for a mirror on the ceiling, so she could see if she looked sexy or just plain
stupid.
She took a fortifying gulp of her champagne and considered the room. Maybe she’d feel less on
display if it wasn’t so darn bright in the suite. The entryway light burned, plus the nightstand light, and
a standing lamp by the chair in the reading area.
The shower stopped.
All right, she couldn’t reach the entryway light without getting out of bed, and she might not have
enough time to get over there, flip the switch, and jump back into bed looking casual and relaxed
before he came out of the bathroom. The nightstand light was too small to make much difference either
way. The standing lamp had a switch on its cord. If she stretched her arm, maybe she could—
The lock on the bathroom door clicked as the knob turned. Okay, don’t panic. Maintain the pose,
just stretch a little farther. Hurry. Her fingertips brushed the cord, made a grab…and missed.
The bathroom door opened.
Gravity tackled her and dumped her onto the floor.
Ohmigod! So much for seductive, unless Logan had a thing for Humpty Dumpty. Of course he was
at her side in an instant, all careful hands and concern, but the only thing she could think of was the
sight she made, facedown on the low-weave, with rug burns on the heels of her hands. She started to
push up onto her knees, but Logan got a grip on her upper arms and in one smooth, seemingly
effortless move, lifted her and plopped her down on the bed. The tie around her waist failed in the
face of all the movement and her robe gaped precariously.
The instinct to hide a part of her that had been the bane of her existence since puberty asserted
itself, all the stronger because Logan crouched in front of her, his eyes basically level with her chest.
She scrambled to pull the front of her robe together. He did, too, and their hands tangled for a minute.
His long, capable fingers seemed to burn right through the terry cloth. She inhaled sharply, from
mortification, but also the pure, unadulterated thrill of the accidental contact.
His fingers stilled. “Sorry.” Slowly, he lowered his hands and let her do the honors. He occupied
himself smoothing the robe down over her legs. She re-tucked and retied her robe, but couldn’t help
noticing that his crouched position did all kinds of interesting things to his robe. The front hung open
to show a smooth expanse of bronze skin and a sculpted groove been his pectorals that came from
having amazing musculature and a BMI of zero. The bottom of the robe formed a vee between his
parted thighs, but left a shadowy question as to whether he wore anything underneath.
“No, really, it’s my fault. I’m sorry I’m so”… horny…“clumsy.” She pushed her hair back with a
shaky hand, and hoped if he noticed he’d assume the fall left her less than steady, and not the feel of
his palms running down the fronts of her thighs and over her knees.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, until an exasperated inner voice spoke up. Stop acting like a bobblehead. Use your
words. “Yes. Of course. The carpet is surprisingly soft.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Is that what you were aiming to do? Give the carpet a bounce test?”
She fought back the urge to say, I was aiming to give you a bounce-test. “If you must know, I
thought it was bright in here. I was trying to turn off the lamp without getting my lazy butt out of bed.”
“Ah.” He reached over and turned the light off, and then looked at her. “That better?”
The “better” sent a puff of breath along the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. She couldn’t take
her eyes off his mouth. The shape of his lips, their smoothness juxtaposed against the rough texture of
his five o’clock shadow. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Uh—hic!”
Good God, the hiccup blasted out of her like a bazooka and reverberated in the otherwise silent
room. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at him in horror.
The corners of Logan’s eyes crinkled and the groove beside his mouth appeared. “Tell me
something, Sophie.”
“What?” She said the word quickly, to avoid another cataclysmic hiccup.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
She licked her lips again and rubbed the tip of her nose, which was tingly and numb at the same
time. “Not that much.” The hiccup that followed her statement was much more contained. She wasn’t
even sure he heard it. “I’d love a little more.”
He rose with the grace of someone who never found himself on the wrong side of the laws of
physics, and crossed to the cabinet where the champagne sat in its Beaver Creek–emblazoned ice
bucket. He took the bottle and a plastic bottle of water supplied by the hotel. Then he disappointed
her by handing her the water.
“Hey…hic!”
He toasted her and then disappointed her even more by settling into the oversize chair nearest the
bed and resting his feet on the ottoman. “Give me a chance to catch up.”
They sat in silence for several moments. Uncomfortable moments where she frantically searched
her mind for something…anything…to talk about. She was about to resort to the weather when
another massive hiccup exploded from her lungs and practically shook the room.
“Oh, goodness,” she slapped her hand to her chest. “Excuse me.”
He pointed to the bottle of water in her hand. “Down that, or I’m going to be forced to scare you.”
She gulped down half, swallowed, and swiped her fingers over her lips to catch a stray drop. “You
might be surprised to learn I don’t scare that easily. Ask Colt…or Reed, or Brock.” She gestured for
the champagne bottle and he handed it over. “Which one of us was first to dive into the river from the
high branch of the big oak tree that grew along the bank?” She swigged the champagne directly from
the bottle, and then pointed the neck at her chest. “Me. Who got the garter snake out of the shed while
those big, tough boys screamed and ran like scaredy-cats? Me again.” She punctuated the statement
with another drink.
He held out his hand, and she passed the bottle over. “I had no idea you were such a thrill-seeker.”
He was teasing her, but not in a mean way, and she sensed a glimmer of admiration in those gray-
green eyes of his. Then he tipped his head back to swig the champagne. The movement of his throat as
he swallowed captivated her. Would he scream and run if she told him he was the thrill she sought
right now? “I have a wild side.”
“Clearly. So tell me, little Miss Wild Side, why does a woman who stares danger in the face
without blinking get the jitters at the prospect of being a bridesmaid?”
The muscles holding her smile in place gave out. “That’s different.” Feeling unduly exposed, she
pulled her legs up, crossed them, and arranged the big robe so not even her toes stuck out.
Logan dropped his feet to the floor and leaned toward her, forearms resting on his knees, the
champagne bottle dangling from his fingers. “Why?”
She picked at the ragged cuticle on her thumb. “You know why.”
He touched her leg, pulling her attention back to him—his patient eyes and slightly baffled grin.
“No. I don’t. I know you’re shy, and I can extrapolate from that you don’t enjoy the spotlight, but it’s
not as if you’ll be at the front of the church all by yourself. Colt and Kady will be there. Tyler, Reed,
Brock, me, the bridesmaids—”
“The other bridesmaids make being up there worse, not better.” As soon as the admission left her
lips, she wanted to crawl under the blankets and die.
Logan blinked and ran his palm over the back of his neck. “Um…you lost me.”
Of course she had, because she was a freak and he was Mr. Perfect. He’d probably never had an
insecure thought in his life—never worried about suffering by comparison. But right now Mr.
Perfect’s obtuseness worked her very last nerve. Or maybe the alcohol loosened her tongue.
She grabbed the bottle from him and took long, defiant drink. “Oh, come on, Logan. Four girls
standing in a line, wearing the same blasted dress, while the entire church plays a real-life version of
‘Who Wore It Best?’ How would that possibly make me, the short, chubby, awkward girl, feel less
self-conscious?”
He moved over to the bed and sat beside her. “You’re not chubby.”
“Thanks.” She pulled her legs up under her and twisted so she could look at him. A giddy part of
her brain piped in with, Good lord, Logan McCade is sitting in bed with you. Start the seduction
now. Say something hot! “That still leaves short and awkward.” Fail.
“You are short. I’m not going to lie to you. But the awkward is all in your head. Anyway”—he
crossed his long legs and faced her, smiling the sexy smile that put the groove in his cheek—“cut me
some slack. My mind is still reeling from what you just told me. I had no idea I signed up for the
Pageant of the Groomsmen when I agreed to be Colt’s best man.”
She leaned closer to try and hit him with a smoldering gaze, and then had to grab the bedspread to
keep from toppling over. “It’s not like that for guys, and you know it.”
He took the bottle back. “I don’t know anything anymore. You’ve upset my entire perception of the
world with your insights into the secret thoughts of wedding guests. What if, while I’m standing there
trying to be the best man, the guests are thinking Reed’s got better shoulders than me, and Brock’s got
better hair, and Tyler’s got a better ass?” He drank deeply, and she suspected he was trying to finish
the bottle so she didn’t drink anymore.
“Nobody’s going to think that.”
“Have you seen Tyler’s ass?” He buried his head in his hand and sighed dramatically. “I can’t
compete with that. Not now that I realize everyone has come to judge us rather than to enjoy a time-
honored tradition—not to mention a host bar—and wish the happy couple well.”
She whacked him on the knee, and he raised his head and grinned at her. The grin looked a little bit
off-center and it occurred to her maybe he was feeling the champagne, too, and the late hour.
“All right.” An answering smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Point taken.” Was she
especially smiley tonight? Maybe, but her facial muscles seemed to have a mind of their own. It took
too much effort to control them, or her eyelids, which kept drifting down. “I didn’t say my self-
consciousness came from a rational or logical place.” She paused to yawn, and belatedly
remembered to cover her mouth, because, after all, she was trying to seduce the man, not bray at him
like a donkey. “Deep down I understand the only important thing is Colt and Kady feeling the love
from their friends and family on their big day.”
The lure of the pillows could no longer be ignored. Would he pick up on the invitation if she leaned
back and made herself comfortable? Only one way to find out. She settled into the fluffy backstop.
Okay, it might have been more of a flop, but being horizontal felt so good she snuggled deeper. Her
eyelids drooped again. The rest of the room faded until all she could see was Logan, sitting there,
smiling down at her like an unbelievably good dream. “People probably aren’t going to notice me at
all. I should get over myself.”
You should get over him—all over him—right now. This is your chance, don’t blow it . She
wouldn’t. She’d make her big move…in a second. Just as soon as she worked up the energy to open
her eyes…
…
Sophie really wanted to get off the bike, but no matter which way she shifted, the seat seemed to be
right there, lodged in an extremely personal place. Weird thing was, she didn’t even own a bicycle.
She squirmed, and a low, very male, very sleepy groan filled her ear. The noise cleared her dream-
fogged mind quicker than the loudest alarm. She forced her eyes open and, for a few disorienting
moments, stared at an unfamiliar nightstand, in an unfamiliar room, where an unfamiliar digital clock
reflected 10:30 a.m. in rude red digits. Then memory flooded back. Beaver Creek, Colt’s pre-
wedding wine-and-dine, too much champagne, and…Logan. A heavy arm flopped over her side and
tightened, holding her against a wall of muscle pressed along every inch of her back and something
hard and insistent poking her backside.
Sweet heaven, Logan McCade was asleep behind her—his deep, even breaths assured her he was
still asleep—and, by all accounts, having a good dream. He scooted closer. She closed her eyes and
bit her lip as the enormity of the situation became even more apparent. A really good dream.
Bashful or no, she couldn’t shy away from this temptation. She held her breath, and then slowly,
carefully, started to turn so she could look at him. He mumbled something and rolled onto his back,
freeing her from the weight of his arm. Helpful.
She completed the turn and took a moment to inhale the morning “man” scent coming off his warm
skin. Then she propped her head on her hand and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, his face
relaxed. Her fingers itched to trace the outline of his lips, to detour along his raspy jaw, over his chin,
and down to the softer, smoother skin of his throat.
She lowered her eyes to see what came next, and momentarily lost her breath. His robe had come
undone, and presented her with an uninterrupted view of every majestic inch of him. All the lines and
planes of his chest, the rugged terrain of his abs, and the long, smooth, proudly jutting part of him that
had prodded her right out of dreamland. She swallowed to try to ease the dryness in her throat. He
was just so…perfect.
A wild, reckless voice in her head said, Go for it, and the next thing she knew, she was licking the
shallow gully bisecting his chest. It led to the first horizontal cut of his abdomen, and then the next,
and the next, like a thrilling little roller coaster. She knew she should stop, but her tongue had other
ideas, and kept dragging her down, down, down his body.
Chapter Five
Logan smiled to himself and complimented the limbic system of his brain for treating him to best
dream he’d had in ages. First Sophie had been rubbing her lusciously round backside over his lap,
teasing his cock to attention. Now she was kissing and licking her way down his body, taking a quick
detour around his navel, and then continuing on an unswerving mission to her final destination.
Sick and wrong of him to cast his best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister in his X-
rated dream, but hell, it was just a dream—a rules-free zone where there was no point denying the
attraction that had lassoed him by the dick the second he’d seen her in those ass-hugging pants.
Besides, dream Sophie wasn’t shy at all. At all, his dazed mind reiterated when she boldly went after
the bull’s-eye.
He slid his fingers into her silky hair and sank deeper into the dream. Those soft, plush lips closed
over him, and slowly descended his shaft, sucking him into the hot haven of her mouth. No point
minding his manners in a dream. He fisted his hand in her hair and lifted his hips, thrusting deeper.
And because it was a dream, she rewarded the ungentlemanly behavior by grabbing his ass with both
hands and taking him deeper. Her little moan of pleasure vibrated along his throbbing cock, and he
couldn’t resist groaning, “That’s so fucking good.”
Oddly, what he heard sounded more like, “…sofuckingood.” Huh?
But he didn’t have time to think about the disconnect between what he’d said in his dream and what
he’d heard with his ears because now she was getting down to it and all he could concentrate on were
those incredible lips sealed tight around him, and the suction of her mouth pulling at every nerve in
his body. Her fingernails dug into his ass, and those little points of pain only added another dimension
to the mind-numbing pleasure. Then her tongue joined the fray, and, Jesus, her teeth.
His heart pounded like a fist against his ribs. His lungs worked like bellows, and a jolt of white-hot
energy shot up his thighs, into his balls…
He clamped his hand along the back of her head and rocked his hips, helpless to do anything but
obey his body’s imperative to thrust for all he was worth. She moaned. Her lips loosened, and even
though it was his dream, he wondered if her moan was one of protest or surrender.
“Harder,” he whispered, or maybe he just thought it. But she sealed her lips around him again, and
ran the tip of her tongue down the back of his shaft while he bucked and strained like a bull rider
determined to go the full eight seconds. She kept her hands as busy as her mouth, trailing down
between his legs to cup and squeeze his balls. The energy gathered there surged straight into his cock.
“Jesus. Fuck me, I’m going to—”
The flat, slurred sound of his own voice hurtled him into full consciousness at the same moment the
orgasm tore through him. He had enough time to open his eyes, jerk his head up, and watch his best
friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister annihilate him with the most incredible blow job
of his entire life.
Guilt should have been his immediate reaction—a flood of it—but the only thought filling his mind
as he watched her gently release his extremely satisfied cock from her deceptively innocent mouth,
was My turn. Fair enough, he decided. Guilt would have been misplaced, and belittling to Sophie.
She was an adult, and what went down—so to speak—between two consenting adults was nobody
else’s damn business.
She knelt between his spread legs, slid her hands off his thighs, and finally looked up. Swollen lips
and flushed cheeks greeted him, as well as a stirring mix of defiance and contriteness in her huge
brown eyes. She swept the hair back from her face, and said, “Good morning.”
There he lay, sprawled out naked on the bed, with her saliva drying on his dick, and she greeted
him with a polite, civilized good morning? He laughed and resisted the urge to bundle her into his
arms, hug her just for being her…and then toss her on the mattress, throw her legs over his shoulders
and show her a good morning.
“Shit, Sophie. Good morning doesn’t begin to cover it.” He sat up, enjoying the way her eyes
widened as he closed in on her. “And we’re just getting started.”
A knock at the door froze them both.
“Who—who is it?” Sophie called as she scrambled off the bed.
“Guest Services, Miss Brooks,” came a feminine voice in reply. “I have your dresses.”
Logan tied his robe while Sophie dashed to answer the door. A short murmur of conversation later,
the door closed. He walked to the entryway and lifted the Beaver Creek garment bag from her fingers.
“All present and accounted for?” He hung the bag in the closet.
“Yes.”
“That’s a relief.”
But she didn’t look relieved. She looked nervous. He had just the cure. Hooking two fingers into
the belt of her robe, he tugged her closer. When they stood toe-to-toe, he flattened his palm at the
small of her back, bringing her even nearer. Her fingers latched onto the front of his robe. Her terry-
covered breasts settled against his chest like they’d been made to rest there.
Pupils as wide and dark as eternity locked on him, and then dropped to his mouth.
Her lips parted. “I have to—”
“Yes?” He squeezed her ass—the one he’d been dreaming about.
She blinked up at him, like a woman coming out of a trance. “I have to go to the bathroom. Be right
back.”
Next thing he knew she’d wriggled out of his arms like a double-jointed escape artist and
disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Well, hell. That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected her to say. He sat down on the bed and waited.
She emerged a couple minutes later with her hair neatly brushed, cheeks glowing from a quick
scrub, smelling like mint toothpaste and a light, sweet fragrance he recognized as her perfume, and he
realized she’d primped for him. The self-conscious thoughtfulness of the effort melted his heart at the
same time it tightened his groin. He reached out and pulled her to him, positioning her until she stood
between his knees.
Leaning in, he rested his forehead between her breasts and inhaled. “You smell good enough to
eat.”
Her fingers tunneled into his hair. “Thanks, but that’s not really me.”
He smiled but didn’t raise his head. Instead he tried to nose his way into her robe, where the scent
promised to be stronger. “Well, it’s not me.”
“I mean, it’s my perfume. It’s got”—her voice trailed off as he kissed the sliver of skin revealed
between the folds of her robe—“uh, vanilla, I think, and sugar, or maybe honey. I’m not sure. It’s
new.”
“Hmm. Did you spray some here?” He licked the soft skin between her breasts. Her sharp inhale
had his cock twitching.
“Y-yes.”
“Nice. Here, too?” He dipped his head and brushed his lips over her fluttering abdomen.
“No. I, ah…oh gracious…” She paused and swallowed audibly when he grazed his teeth over the
yielding flesh.
“Really? The scent seems stronger here.”
“I sprayed the places I thought you might have your nose closest to. My neck, my chest, and my…
um…well…”
“Sophie?” He slipped his hand into the folds of her robe and wriggled his way between her knees.
“What?” The single word came out pitchy as he slid his fingertips along her smooth skin of her
inner thigh, closing in on the apex.
“Did you spray…here?” But before he could reach the spot in question, a familiar, insistent
vibrating noise went off right by his ear. It took him a moment to realize it came from her.
“Oops. I totally forgot.” She pulled his phone out of the pocket of her robe and offered it to him.
“This was on the counter in the bathroom. I think someone’s been trying to get a hold of you.”
A reckless, rebellious part of him wanted to chuck the damn thing off the balcony, but the
responsible CEO inside him tamped down the urge. Instead he took the slim white device and looked
at the screen.
Twelve voicemails. Fifty-seven emails, and bonus, the chairman of the board was texting him like a
thirteen-year-old girl alone at the mall. For fuck’s sake, had the world gone to hell in a handbasket
while he’d been enjoying the most gratifying wake-up call he’d had in God only knew how long?
The headache he’d warded off last night crept back and all traces of his hard-on disappeared. He
dropped the phone onto the bed, rubbed his temple, and stood.
“Problem?” she asked quietly as she took a step back. She didn’t sound nervous now. Only
concerned.
“Apparently.” He exhaled, rubbed the back of his neck where a knot of tension formed, and glanced
at her. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but I have to go. There’s something important going down at work, and I
need to return some calls right away.” Jesus, he sounded like a self-important jerk.
She took another step back and re-secured the tie on her robe. “Oh, well, sure. I understand. Will I,
or, that is, will we see you at the scavenger hunt this afternoon?”
“Yes. Definitely,” he said with more confidence than he felt, and then strode into the bathroom
where he’d hung his wet clothes last night. “But I might be a few minutes late. Will you tell Colt and
Kady I’ll be along as soon as I can?” He hung the robe on the hook behind the door, grabbed his
briefs off the shower rod and pulled them on, grimacing at the still-damp cotton. Thankfully, he’d only
be in them long enough to get a new room key from the front desk.
“Of course. Don’t you want to shower or anything?”
“No time.” He hauled on his shorts, and then pulled his shirt over his head. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Okay.” She stepped aside as he headed out of the bathroom. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
He stopped at the door, turned and looked her in the eye. “Count on it.”
…
Sophie was late. Her shower had taken longer than she’d planned, because she’d kept imagining
Logan in there with her, running his soap-slick hands over her. Washing her breasts…thoroughly…
before moving around to her back, sending sudsy trails down her spine, over her butt, and then sliding
those talented hands along her stomach and between her legs. At some point she’d closed her eyes
and entered the world of make-believe, where her hands became his. Her body had bought into the
fantasy—hook, line, and sinker. It had helped alleviate some of the frustration brought on by his
sudden, incredibly disappointing departure. Some, but not all.
“Sophie?”
Surprise jolted through her body at the sound of a low, male voice calling her name, and she nearly
stumbled over her own feet. She took a moment to push her extremely embarrassing shower thoughts
out of her mind, and then turned and smiled at Tyler. She didn’t stop, but walked backward facing
him, and forced a breezy note into her voice. “If it isn’t my future brother-in-law himself, in the flesh.
You’re late.”
“So are you,” he pointed out, and took a bite of his blueberry muffin. Her mouth watered at the
forbidden carb. “And you’re going to run into something if you don’t turn around.”
“Yes, father.” She rolled her eyes and spun around the right way, falling into step beside him. “I
lost track of time. You?”
He grinned. “I kind of slept in.”
She checked the time on her phone. “I’d say so. Rough night?”
“You could say that,” he muttered, and she got the distinct feeling all was not right in Tyler’s
world. Remembering the looks he and Christine had exchanged at the party the first night, she figured
she might know the source of his irritation.
“You enjoying yourself so far?” he asked. “Fitting in with the girls, causing trouble, and breaking
hearts along the way?”
That was her…Sophie Brooks, Trouble Causer and Heartbreaker. She lifted a shoulder and gave
him what felt like a weak smile. “A girl never tells. How about you? Fitting in with the girls?”
He snorted. “Oh yeah. You know it.”
“Is that why you slept in? Were you fitting in with one a little bit too late?”
Tyler pointed his muffin at her. “That’s enough of that talk, little sister.”
Little sister? She couldn’t quite hold her brow down. “I’m not your little sister.”
“Might as well be after this wedding.”
She laughed. “I think I’ll pass. I heard how protective of the girls you are.”
“Who told you that? Let me guess. Kady?”
Sophie merely smiled and scanned the crowd in front of them. When she caught sight of Kady
standing with the other bridesmaids, she waved good-bye to Tyler and headed toward the bride-to-
be.
She squeezed in next to Kady and whispered that her bridesmaid’s dress was back safe and sound.
With one ear, she caught Regan teasing Julie for assaulting Reed with the kind of scorching look
Sophie normally only encountered in the pictures and video clips decorating the Eve’s Closet
website. Her knee-jerk reaction to that piece of news was relief. If Julie had eyes for Reed, she
probably wasn’t still fixated on Logan.
She spared a glance at Reed, saw him staking a claim to Julie from several feet away, and was
shocked to realize he’d fallen for Miss Sunshine. He was Colt’s friend, not hers, but she’d spent
enough summers tagging along with them to know Reed had a dark side—and exactly where it came
from. None of those guys had a modest bone in their bodies, but there were weeks when Reed would
always swim with a shirt on. Stretches of time when he wouldn’t come around at all, and then he’d
finally show up with a faded bruise on his jaw, or a puffy eye. She’d overhead enough angry
comments from her dad about Reed’s, usually laced with terms like “worthless drunk.”
Julie offered an unconvincing denial to Regan, and tried to pretend the palpable chemistry in the air
didn’t exist, but Sophie read the tension hidden in every line of Reed’s not-so-casual stance. Maybe
the match wasn’t completely counterintuitive. He’d had enough darkness in his life. He deserved
some sunshine, and Julie practically radiated warmth.
“No, she’s right,” Sophie said. “I’ve only been here a couple minutes, but it was long enough to
recognize first class eye-fuckery.”
Christine and Regan gave her shocked, it-can-speak stares, and then broke into laughter. What the
heck. She knew eye-fuckery when she saw it, even if only from the internet. Besides, it could be Julie
needed a bad boy, if the steamy glances she cast Reed’s way when she thought nobody was looking
offered any indication. Sometimes, apparently, opposites really did attract.
Julie turned her pretty blue eyes to Sophie and lifted one blond brow. “Sophie, I don’t want to
speak too soon, but I think you’re starting to come out of your shell.”
She shrugged. This wasn’t about her shell, and she wasn’t so easily distracted. “So…you and
Reed?” she asked Julie.
“I thought you were gunning for the best man,” Christine said.
“Logan,” Sophie offered, grateful for the chance to put the question of “dibs” to rest, once and for
all. “Yeah, what about that?”
“I’d love to indulge all your curiosities, but I believe we’re running late—”
“So you’re not going for Logan?” Regan asked. “Nice. Best man’s back on the market.” She flexed
her fingers and winked. “Game on.”
What? No, no, no. Logan was…well…not “hers”—she wasn’t smoking crack—but not up for grabs
either.
Before she’d had a full second to get depressed over the prospect of watching Logan fall like a
bowling pin under the force of Regan’s allure, Kady pushed two scavenger hunt lists at her. “Would
you wait for Logan, Soph? I don’t want him to get here and have no idea what’s going on.”
She was still trying to stammer out a plausible reason why she couldn’t when everyone headed out
for the hunt. Resigned to her fate, she trudged back to the lobby, over to her quiet, out-of-the-way seat
in the corner, and kept an eye on the elevators. And waited. And stewed in her own juices like a
rotisserie chicken.
Regan wanted Logan, and she came across as the kind of girl who generally got what she wanted.
The kind of girl who didn’t mumble, “Um, sure, no problem,” when the man she was about to have
sex with checked his phone and suddenly realized he needed to take care of some supposedly urgent
business. She would have made sure business was the last thing on his mind.
Was he attracted to Regan? Stupid question. He was a breathing heterosexual male, so obviously,
yes. Equally obvious, he wasn’t particularly attracted to her, considering how quickly he’d applied
the brakes this morning, shifted gears, and sped out the door. A nasty voice in the back of her mind
piped up, sounding suspiciously like her mother. Wake up, Sophie. There was no big crisis requiring
his attention. He just latched onto work as an excuse to get the heck out of your room without flat-
out telling you, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Humiliation flamed through her, followed by a back draft of indignity. No, he hadn’t asked for…
what she’d done to him that morning…but if he really wasn’t interested in her, why focus all of his
charm on her last night? Why snuggle up next to her in bed? He’d made her want him, and he dang
well knew it. A man as experienced as Logan had to have known she’d wake thinking she actually had
a shot at him. Did he get some perverse charge out of throwing a bone—no pun intended—to the
homely girl? The whole thing was just too cruel, especially since as soon as Regan arched one
perfectly shaped brow his way, he was going to come running and Sophie Brooks might as well cease
to exist.
She stood, crumpled the stupid scavenger hunt lists into a ball, and marched to the elevators. If he
wanted to be with Regan so badly, he could start by tracking down his new girlfriend all on his own.
Lord knows she couldn’t have gotten far in those heels she’d been wearing.
Sophie looked down at her sensible brown trail shoes. Unlike Regan’s, these shoes did not
whisper, “We look good down here, but we’d look even better crossed behind your neck.” Hers said,
“We’re sturdy. Walk all over us.” Well, guess what? She was done being walked all over.
The elevator doors opened and she strode forward, only to bounce off six feet one inch of strapping
male, cloaked in a heather-gray raglan shirt tucked haphazardly into well-worn jeans. An all-too-
familiar voice said, “Whoa Turbo, where are you running off to? The scavenger hunt is this way.”
Two strong hands curled around her upper arms.
Logan. She knew without looking up. Good thing, too, because looking up proved to be a challenge.
Something about the silver of his belt buckle and the white striations around the front pockets of his
jeans drew her attention like a magnet. Vivid sensory memories of what lay beneath a handful of
metal buttons sprang to mind. The suede-and-steel texture of him. His scent. His taste. Her mouth
watered, and an insidious heat burned its way through her body to settle uncomfortably between her
thighs.
An equally insidious heat flared in her chest and stormed into her cheeks, but she recognized the
source as anger and welcomed the burn. She raised her head to tell him he could shove his scavenger
hunt were the sun didn’t shine, but found him looking down at her, one eyebrow cocked knowingly.
“See something you like, Sophie?”
She brushed past him and got in the elevator. “Here’s your scavenger hunt list. Have fun.” She
threw the balled-up paper through the closing doors and had the satisfaction of seeing it hit him in
chest. He caught it on the bounce and looked up in time to give her a glimpse of his baffled expression
before the doors shut.
Okay, she might have come off a little crazy just then. Technically, he didn’t yet know he’d ditched
her for Regan. And the last thing she wanted was to give anyone, especially him, the idea she cared
one way or the other whom he hooked up with. Staring at his crotch like a sex-starved nymphomaniac,
throwing a paper ball at him, and stomping off probably didn’t say, “I’m totally cool.” The thing to
do, she decided as the bell dinged signaling her floor, was to avoid him from now on.
Digging her card key from the pocket of her khakis, she stepped out of the elevator—and straight
into six feet one inch of strapping male. Slightly sweaty, hard-breathing, strapping male. She blinked,
not quite sure she could trust her eyes, but Logan didn’t disappear, so she asked the only question that
came to mind. “How did you get here?”
“Stairs.”
“Six flights?”
“Yep.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a minute to catch his breath. “Why?”
“Because I want to know what crawled up your ass. Earlier you showed me the kind of good
morning that actually makes me happy I’m awake. Now you chuck a list at me, tell me to ‘Have fun,’
and run back to your room. Correct me if I’m wrong, but all I’ve done this whole time is…” He
trailed off and shook his head. “…breathe. So I can’t figure out what pissed you off.”
“I’m not pissed off. Seriously, don’t give me another thought. Just go on about your day.” She
waved her hand through the air like a magician. “You’re absolved of any need to spend time with
me.” Head high, she pivoted and walked down the hall toward her room.
He fell into step beside her. “Ah. I know what your problem is.”
Smug. He sounded smug. “I don’t have a problem.”
“You do. You’re all pent-up and frustrated because you didn’t get yours this morning.”
“Of all the stupid, egotistical…I won’t dignify that with an answer.” The only thing worse than his
accusation was admitting to herself it was true. The unfulfilled woman inside her—the one he’d left
hanging this morning—yearned to back him up against the wall, tug his clothes off, and do the things
she’d whipped herself into a frenzy thinking about during her shower. “Besides, what makes you think
I didn’t ‘get mine’ this morning, after you left?’
He aimed a panty-melting look at her. “Self-service?”
“Maybe.” She sniffed and ordered herself not to blush.
“Based on your mood, I’d have to say you didn’t do it right. The least I can do is help you take care
of things correctly. I know just what you need.”
She stopped, glanced around to make sure no guests or housekeeping staff hovered near enough to
overhear their ridiculous conversation. Luckily, the hallway was completely clear. “You don’t know
anything about my needs.”
He smoothed his thumb over her lower lip and she had to lock her jaw to stop her impulsive tongue
from darting out to taste him. “You need me to strip you naked, bend you over my bed, and slide my
cock inside you until you forget what it feels like not to have me filling you. And once you’ve come
so hard you can’t stand, you need me to flip you around, hike your legs over my shoulders, and do it
again, head-on, until you scream loud enough to have management banging on the door. The only open
question left in my mind is the order.”
His lips tightened into a cocky grin. “Since you’re the one who’s all hot and bothered, I’ll let you
decide.”
“I am not hot and bothered.” She was. So hot and bothered from picturing him handling her the way
he’d described, she wasn’t sure her legs would support her if she attempted to storm away.
Logan stepped closer, effectively trapping her between the wall and his rangy frame, and stared
into her eyes. “You are very hot.” His taunting gaze promised all kinds of wickedness, and then he
brushed his chest against her breasts, scraping her tight nipples. His smile deepened at her quick
inhale. “And you are extremely bothered.”
“That’s because you’re bothering me,” she shot back. “It’s like you’re deliberately trying to mess
with me, and it’s making me mad.” She pushed his shoulder. Of course it was like pushing a mountain.
He didn’t budge.
Instead, he brought his mouth level with hers. “Naughty of me, isn’t it?”
Her eyes dropped to his lips. “Yes.”
“You’d like to teach me a lesson, wouldn’t you?” He leaned in until just a few millimeters
separated them.
Her lips turned raw and tingly, just like a few other noteworthy areas. She drew in a quick breath
through her mouth. “Yes.”
“My room’s right down the hall.”
“Don’t tempt me. And don’t toy with me. I’m not here for your amusement.”
“Come on, Soph. I dare you.” Then he bit her raw, tingly lower lip, and every other raw, tingly part
of her clamored for the same treatment.
“You dare me?” The inherent challenge in those three little words drove her to show him that being
shy didn’t make her a complete chicken.
“You heard me.” He bit her upper lip, and her world tilted on its axis. She grabbed hold of the front
of his shirt to be sure she stayed upright.
When he let her have her lip back, she ran her tongue over the sensitive spot he’d inflicted. Passion
and excitement, New Sophie reminded her. By this time tomorrow he might be sinking his teeth into
Regan, but right now, it’s you he wants to play with. You’ve been perusing the playbook online
long enough. Give him a game he won’t forget . A particularly unforgettable scene from the Eve’s
Closet website leaped to her mind. One where Eve tempted Adam with a hell of a lot more than an
apple. There’d been a blindfold, and a leather strap, and a heck of a lot of…compliance.
“Logan, don’t let my shy, unassuming exterior fool you into thinking I’m harmless. I have a bold,
aggressive side.”
“Then what’s the problem? Maybe you don’t think you can handle me?”
Her chin came up. “I may not be the most experienced woman alive, but I know how to handle you.
I’ve read all sorts of information about how to deal with bad boys.”
The enticing little groove appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Prove it.”
Chapter Six
Logan led Sophie to his room. He spent a heady moment considering exactly what he’d do to her once
he got her alone, but as soon as he shut the door behind them, she turned to him with her hands on her
hips and said, “Take off your shoes and go stand in the corner.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I warned you not to push me, but you did. Now you’re going to get the lesson you
asked for.”
She looked sexy as hell, standing there all stern and irritated. “Sophie, are you going to…discipline
me?” For some crazy reason, the idea got his blood pumping. Power games usually didn’t interest
him, but the thought of her calling the shots, and more specifically, her getting turned on by the fantasy
of being in complete and total control of the proceedings, made him want to give her the illusion.
“Does that worry you? Maybe you can’t handle what I have in mind?”
Oh yeah, stern Sophie definitely did it for him. She wanted to feel like a boss? No problem. “I’ve
got no worries.” He toed off his shoes and then walked to a corner of his suite, by the bed.
“Take off your shirt and face the wall,” she instructed and took something out of his closet. He
complied, but craned his neck to watch her approach, and recognized one of his neckties in her hand.
His pulse kicked up a beat at the sight of her devouring every inch of his bare skin with her eyes, and
winding the silk around her fists. Twisting it. Untwisting it. Pulling it taut.
“Turn around and be still.”
“That’s one of my favorite ties.”
She placed it over his eyes, like a blindfold, and then knotted it tight at the back of his head. “That’s
a shame. I doubt you’ll look at it quite the same way after this.”
The blindfold thing wasn’t going to work for him. He wanted to see her, damn it. “How long do you
expect me to keep this on?”
“The question you need to ask yourself is, ‘How long can I take it?’ Your hands are free. Remove it
whenever you feel too…dominated.”
Yeah, not in this lifetime. He lowered his hands.
“Unbuckle your belt.”
Okay, that gave him pause. “This ‘information’ you’ve read—did it by any chance involve a red
room?” He pulled the leather from around his waist and held it out.
Cool, slim fingers took the belt from him. “Maybe.” She snapped the belt, and the crack of leather
against leather echoed around the suite. The noise sent a shiver along his spine. “Take off your jeans
and underwear.”
God help him, his cock jumped to attention. His hands nearly shook as he tugged at the buttons
along his fly. Finally, he got them all undone. He shoved the jeans and briefs down, and kicked his
feet free of the tangle of clothes.
“Good.” Her voice was softer now, and he could tell she was taking in the view. Enjoying it. She
ran the edge of the belt across his shoulder, down his back, trailed the stiff leather strip over his ass.
His skin tightened, in part because of the sensation and in part because he imagined her gaze followed
the path of the leather. “Now stroke yourself for me.”
“What?”
The belt moved lower, between his thighs, and grazed his balls. He groaned. She shifted position
until he sensed her standing at his side. Next thing he knew, the belt trailed along his shaft. He nearly
groaned again. “Stroke yourself for me,” she repeated, infusing a brook-no-arguments tone into the
instruction. “Since you’re such an expert on self-service, and so quick to accuse me of doing it wrong,
I’m going to require a demonstration.”
“This would work better if I demonstrated on you, dontcha think?”
“That remains to be seen. Show me you know what you’re doing when it comes to you.”
“You’re going to watch me jerk off?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about the plan, but his dick
throbbed eagerly—the exhibitionist.
“For starters.” She moved the belt around to his ass again, used the edge to trace a design along the
sensitized skin. “Do you need some incentive, Logan?”
He wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. He was so hard, so brutally sensitive, he wasn’t
sure he wouldn’t come right then and there. “Do you need to give me some incentive?”
“That’s entirely dependent on you.”
Right. “Let me just ask one last thing, for clarity’s sake.” He found he couldn’t quite hold still.
Release hovered too close. He braced a hand on the wall in front of him and pumped his hips just a
little, sliding his shaft inside the tight channel of his fist.
“Ask away.” The belt bounced lightly against his bobbing hips.
“Why are you punishing me?”
She was quiet for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the rough whisper of his hand
working his dick. Finally, she said, “For making me want you.”
A drop of pre-come welled at the tip of his cock, burned there like liquid nitrogen. He swiped it
with his palm, used it as lubricant as he moved his hand back down his shaft. “If it’s any consolation,
I want you, too.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay then.” He planted his feet and rested his forehead against wall. “Do what you gotta do. But
then it’s going to be my turn, and while you might hate how much you want me, by the time I’m done
with you, you’re going to be thanking me at the top of your lungs.”
The sound of her running the belt through her hand served as her response. His mind conjured a
picture of her carefully aligning the edges of the folded leather into a perfect strap.
His muscles quivered with anticipation, and just like that, he was clinging to a rock face, inches
from the summit, hanging by his fingertips over a thousand-foot drop. Same exact sensations—
adrenaline, euphoria, and a heightened awareness that the path ahead of him would test his mental and
physical strength.
The belt slapped his ass. Hard.
“Jesus—”
“Oh my God.” Sophie’s cool palm splayed over his abused skin and her voice, full of contrition,
filled his ear. “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. Your poor backside…”
He breathed through the pain, but couldn’t hold back a sound as the sharp sting diffused into a low
burn. Gentle fingers smoothed over his aggrieved nerve endings, adding another layer to the
experience, and drawing him closer to the pinnacle.
“I don’t want your apology,” he managed through overtaxed lungs. “I want to know if you liked it.
Did this excite you? Does taking a strap to my ass get you hot?”
“I…yes. It did.” Her breathless words were barely a whisper, but somehow he heard her over the
roar of the impending orgasm gathering force in this body. The hesitant confession wound everything
inside him even tighter.
“More excited than anything you imagined this morning on your own?”
“Y-yes.”
Now he was glad for the blindfold, because he didn’t think she’d have answered if he’d been
staring her down. But her reluctant honesty inched him even closer to the edge. “Do it again.” His
hand raced over his cock, fast and furious.
“Logan—I don’t want to hurt you.”
He shook his head, even though it might have been a wasted gesture. For all he knew she was
staring at his ass, getting a shameful thrill out of seeing the mark she’d put on him. “It doesn’t hurt.
It’s…” He shivered, unable to put the sensation into words…to articulate what driving her to do
something so beyond her comfort zone did to him. Luring shy Sophie out of her polite little shell
worked his shit on some primitive level, and damn if he didn’t want to feel that again. If she needed a
push, so be it. He knew how to push.
“Do it. I fucking dare you.”
She took the dare.
When the belt slapped his flesh, he came in his hand like a teenager jacking off to his first Playboy.
Violently. Endlessly. With an intensity that left him gasping for air and grateful for the support of the
wall to keep him from sinking to his knees.
When he could breathe again, he pulled the “blindfold” from around his eyes. If it hadn’t been his
favorite tie before, it was now. Thankfully, he was a lot less sentimental about his underwear. He
picked them up and used them to clean himself off.
Then he turned to Sophie. Her face was flushed. Her breath came in little pants. Her round eyes
were all pupil. Her lips trembled apart as she stared up at him.
He took his belt from her limp fingers. “My turn, Sophie.”
…
His turn? Oh, goodness. Having Logan at her mercy, keeping him perched on a brink between
pleasure and pain while he stroked himself to orgasm, had been the sexiest, most empowering thing
she’d ever done. But Miss Sexy and Empowered disappeared at the thought of him turning the tables,
insisting she drop her pants and stand in the corner while he spanked her like a naughty schoolgirl.
Miss Uptight and Chicken took her place. Her heart tripped and skidded into her stomach. “Ah,
um…” All right, she’d reverted back to being tongue-tied, but who could blame her? Logan stood
there, gloriously naked and pinning her with a look that made her knees wobbly. “I have to take a rain
check, because the scavenger hunt—”
He took a step toward her and her thoughts scattered like startled hens. “You decided to skip the
scavenger hunt, remember?”
“I know, but now I feel bad.”
He stepped closer. “I know just how to clear your conscience. Besides, a deal’s a deal. Take off
your shoes.”
Shoot. Had she really agreed to a quid pro quo? She slipped out of her shoes, and then backed up
until her calves hit the bed.
“Logan, there’s a couple things you should know.” She stared at the belt dangling from his grip.
“I’ve never been spanked in my life and I have a low pain tolerance.”
His laugh drew her attention back to his face. She sniffed at the amusement stamped across his
unfairly handsome features and crossed her arms over chest. “Low pain tolerance is no laughing
matter. If you do what you’re planning to do, I’ll probably scream.”
“There are a lot of things I plan to do to you, and yes, you probably will scream, but not because
you have a low pain tolerance.” He leaned in and fiddled with the top button of her chambray shirt.
“You’ll be screaming my name.
Her mouth went dry while other parts got very, very wet. He flicked the button open. Her pulse
skittered. He undid the next button and looked pointedly at her crossed arms blocking his path to the
next button. Oh, God, he wanted to take her shirt off…possibly all her clothes. Not an outcome she’d
considered when dressing this morning. She flashed forward to a vision of her standing before him in
her sturdy white bra and full coverage panties—an ensemble designed for eighteen hours of no-
nonsense support, and absolutely nothing else.
“I have a request.”
“Just one?” He uncrossed her arms and lowered them to her sides.
“Yes.” She swallowed and grabbed the front of her shirt before he could reach for the next button.
“Could we… That is, could you hold on one second while I close the curtains?”
“The curtains?” He glanced toward the balcony doors, then turned back to her. “Nobody can see
us.”
“I know. Privacy isn’t so much the issue. It’s more of a brightness thing. I can relax better if it’s
darker.”
“You don’t say.” He ran a finger over the hand she still had clasped to the front of her shirt. His
touch made her realize her knuckles ached from gripping the material so tightly. A thin laugh wheezed
out of her and she dropped her hand.
“Wait right here. Don’t move.” She hurried to the glass doors and drew the sheers. Not good
enough. The room still offered clear visibility. She drew the blackout curtain and the heavy drapes.
Better. Now the only sources of light consisted of a stingy band from the hallway coming in under the
door and a thin outline glowing around the edges of the curtains.
“You get any more relaxed, I’ll have to learn Braille.”
“You think it’s too dark?”
“I can’t see a fucking thing.”
Great. He thought she was a freak, which she was, of course, but he didn’t understand because he
had the body of a god. Never had he stood in a hallway at school, red-faced and near tears while
jerk-wad Jeremy Needleman taunted, “Come on, shorty, show us your tits,” and all the other kids
laughed. Never had he endured a girl’s locker room full of dissecting looks and behind-the-hand
comments like, “She could be cute if she’d just…”
Cut it out. This trip down memory lane is not helping.
“The darkness makes it exciting and mysterious, don’t you think?”
“I’m thinking dangerous, actually.”
She took a few steps toward his voice and stumbled over his shoes, unintentionally proving his
point.
Somehow he caught her despite the darkness. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work. Hold on.” He put her
on her feet, and then the next thing she knew, the nightstand light clicked on.
“There. That’s better. Now, come here.” He snagged a finger into the vee of her blouse and tugged
her to him. “You’re overdressed.”
She watched, mute with embarrassment, as his long, capable fingers made quick work of the rest of
the buttons. Her tongue unlocked when he parted the fabric and she started to babble.
“So, I just…I should warn you, I’m—”
“Irresistible,” he said as he pushed the shirt down her arms. His attention lingered on the swell of
her breasts over her mortifyingly unsexy grandma bra.
“Big. I’m big.” A splotchy crimson flush bloomed under his touch and she knew by the heat in her
face that her cheeks had turned the same shade of sunburn.
“Beautiful. I can’t wait to touch every inch of you.”
Whoosh. Anxiety came rushing at her like a tsunami. But his hands were already behind her,
unhooking her bra and lowering it down her arms before she could give voice to her doubts. Don’t
give them voice, New Sophie urged. Somehow you’ve hit the daily double of excitement and
passion. Don’t ruin this moment.
It probably was just a moment. One that would end as soon as the gorgeous Regan crooked her
finger at him, but strangely, the temporary nature of the opportunity lifted some of her stress. No need
to consider the long-term ramifications of this impulse. There wouldn’t be any, and that thought was
surprisingly liberating.
She shivered as wide palms cupped her breasts in a firm hold and lifted them…high. An
appreciative growl rumbled from the depths of Logan’s chest. This kind of foreplay normally made
her nervous. In her limited experience, guys tended to fixate on her breasts, completely forgetting
there was a living, breathing woman attached, who might find all the squeezing and tweaking more
annoying than arousing. But Logan’s touch caused her eyelids to droop. Then he removed the support
of his hands and let her tight nipples scrape down his palms as the heavy globes sank back against her
chest. Her gasp turned into a groan when he repeated the subtle torture.
“Too rough?” he asked, without stopping.
It should have been, because she hadn’t been kidding about her pain tolerance, but for some reason
every nerve ending in her body craved more. She couldn’t find it in her to ask him to stop. Her head
dropped back without her permission when his thumbs swept over her nipples. “I-It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
She wanted to laugh at the absurd compliment, but the noise that came out of her mouth sounded
more like a sob.
“Sophie?” His hands stilled and now she really wanted to cry.
“Just ignore me.” She squeezed her eyes shut and willed him to continue.
His amazing hands abandoned her breasts, and they immediately prickled with neglect. He used his
thumb to brush a tear from the corner of her eye. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not.” But the tears she’d blinked back now looked for an escape route through her sinuses. She
sniffed inelegantly and risked a glance at him. He pinned her with an I-call-bullshit look and held up
his damp thumb as evidence. “Don’t say things like that to me, okay?”
“Let me get this straight. Your ideal sexual encounter involves absolute darkness and no talking?”
He shook his head. “I hate to tell you this, but you have been doing it all wrong.”
“You can talk. Talking is fine. Just don’t call me beautiful or irresistible or perfect.”
“Hold on. Let me write these down, so I have a list of all the forbidden words.” His exasperated
smile took any sting out of his comment, but she still felt like an idiot.
“I don’t need pretty words. I know what I look like.”
His smile disappeared. “You don’t have the first clue.” He grabbed a condom from the nightstand
drawer with one hand and took her wrist in the other. “Come here.” Then he more or less dragged her
into the bathroom, turned on the ungodly bright light, dropped the condom on the counter, and
positioned them before the mirror—her in front of him. She felt stupid and ungainly and starkly naked
from the waist up, until he ran his hands down her shoulders and around to her breasts, took their
weight and kneaded them again. The feel of his calloused palms sliding over her smooth skin
overrode everything else. She leaned back against him for support and gave herself over to the
sensations.
“Look in the mirror, Sophie. Tell me what you see.”
“Beauty and the beast.”
He leaned down and bit her earlobe hard enough to make her moan, and then sucked the tender flesh
into his mouth and soothed it with his tongue. “Beast? Are you serious? I’m not that hairy.”
“Not you, idiot. Me.”
“If that’s really how you see yourself, you’re the idiot, not me. Keep watching.”
She did, holding her breath as his fingers worked magic on her nipples, feathering over them first,
then pinching and tugging them into hard little beads. Her toes curled and she found it impossible to
stand still.
“You’re so responsive. It’s sexy as hell.”
She tried to tell herself the words didn’t qualify as a compliment so much as an observation, but
that didn’t stop her face from heating. “No. I’m told I’m fairly uptight.”
“You’ve been told wrong. The dance you’re doing for me right now isn’t the least bit uptight. Let’s
see what other moves you’ve got.” His hands glided down to her waist and he unbuttoned her pants.
Okeydokey. Naked in front of Logan. New Sophie can handle this . But when he undid her zipper
and began sliding her pants and underwear down her hips, old Sophie took control of her vocal cords.
She closed her eyes again and rested the back of her head against the center of his chest. “Um, I think
you should know I’m still working on everything from the waist down. I’m five pounds from my target
weight, and then there’s a whole lot of toning to do—”
“Sophie.”
“What?” Her pants pooled around her ankles with a soft rustle in the otherwise quiet room.
“Shut up and look in the mirror.”
“’kay,” she said on an exhale, and then inhaled another deep breath for fortification. She stepped
out of her clothes and opened her eyes.
Whatever else she might have said got stuck in her throat as she watched his gaze sweep down her
body, over her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and come to rest at the landing strip of dark curls
between her legs. If someone had told her three days ago she’d be glad she’d slathered hot wax all
over her nether regions, she’d have told them they were crazy. But now, maybe she was the crazy one,
because everywhere he looked at her, she tingled as if he’d touched her. When she managed to exhale
again, it came out as a moan.
He kept one hand busy at her breasts while the other traveled down her spine. As he closed in on
the small of her back, she moaned again and arched away, because the thought of him touching her butt
and realizing it was nowhere near as tight as his made her squirm, but he clamped his other hand
across her abdomen and held her in place. “Keep watching,” he whispered.
His eyes lowered to follow the path of his hand and she couldn’t hold back a small, agitated sound
when he palmed her cheeks. “I-I think I mentioned that’s all a work in progress—”
“Shh. It’s a work of art. You have the best ass ever. I’ve been fantasizing about it since the first
moment I saw you in the lobby. Now be still and face front.”
But she couldn’t be still, because his fingers trailed down…down…goodness…all the way down.
Nobody had ever touched her like this. Ever. The sensation of his fingertips leisurely exploring the
virgin territory sent a rush of heat straight between her legs. Her eyes went wide, her knees went
weak, and a sound she didn’t recognize worked its way out of her throat.
“Incredible ass,” he repeated, his attention locked on her backside as those talented fingertips
moved on to the ticklish crease where her buttock merged with her thigh. After playing there for a few
seconds, he sent his long fingers between her thighs and stroked her from behind.
The heat between her legs turned liquid and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. If she’d been
alone, she would have slipped her hand between her thighs and relieved the pressure herself. Instead
she balled both hands into fists and arched her back—whether to get away or give him more access
she didn’t know.
He used the gesture to gain more access, groaning as he stroked deeper. “God, you feel like silk.
Smooth, sleek, and”—he eased a finger inside her and she nearly passed out—“tight.”
“Logan!” Her eyelids drifted shut and, in the privacy of the temporary blindness, she allowed
herself to push backward, into his touch.
He immediately withdrew. Over her groan of protest, he said firmly, “Eyes open. Good,” he added
when she obeyed, and then he shifted her forward and braced her palms on the marble counter so she
leaned in close to the mirror. The position left her a little bent over, and uncomfortably exposed, but
before she could utter a word, he insinuated his hand between her legs again and resumed those slow,
inhibition-destroying strokes that rocked her onto her toes. One finger inside her. Then a second.
Thought became impossible, much less speech. All she could do was keep her lips locked and not
babble as the ache at her core built to a crisis.
“That’s right. Watch closely, so there’s no fucking way you can miss how indisputably beautiful
you are, because I don’t intend to argue about this again. The next time I tell you you’re gorgeous,
you’re going to say, ‘Damn right I am.’”
She stared into the mirror, surprised to see her hair sexily tousled, her boring brown eyes heavy-
lidded and brimming with need, and her body boldly curved to better offer herself to his touch. And
then there was him. Muscled chest, broad shoulders, a face to make angels weep.
“Look at the way your skin glows.”
Her skin glowed because she was covered in sweat, but her mouth refused to cooperate with her
brain, so the explanation remained unspoken.
“I love how your breasts sway every time I do this.” He pushed his fingers into her, a little bit
deeper now. “Next time I’m going to put you on my lap and make you touch and tease and fondle
yourself until we both come.” Those diabolical fingers withdrew and slid into her again, deeper still,
so she gasped and stiffened against the first quivering warning sign of something so raw and powerful
she feared it might bring her to her knees. But Logan either didn’t know or didn’t care about her fear,
because he just kept on talking, destroying her with words.
“Your frame seems almost too fragile to support all these curves.” He splayed his hand wide over
her abdomen, so his thumb brushed the underside of her breast and his little finger pointed due south
—directly to the spot where the now unbearable ache centered. She whimpered.
“But then this place right here”—he ran his hand over the flare of her hip—“makes my mouth go
dry, because if I follow it down, it leads me right back here to my favorite part.”
Then, to her utter dismay, he eased his fingers out, and with one last, all-too-brief caress, removed
his hand from between her legs.
“Logan!” She instinctively sought a replacement. Discomfort with her exposed position? Gone.
Dignity and inhibitions? Gone. Need superseded everything. She ground her hips into his lap,
shivering at the feel of his erection riding the cleft between her cheeks. “Don’t stop—”
“Can you feel what you do to me?” He dragged the tip of his penis down her backside and
positioned himself between her thighs. “How much I want you?”
“Yes,” she panted. “Yes. I want you, too.”
He reached around her and took the condom from the counter. She closed her eyes and concentrated
on rubbing herself along his shaft, using little motions to try to relieve the need. The movements felt
awkward—probably looked awkward—but for once in her life she was too caught up in the
experience to spare much concern for appearances. She was close…so close.
The sound of the foil packet ripping should have warned her she was about to be abandoned, but
when he pulled away, she choked on a scream of frustration. She stood there with her arms braced,
her legs parted, panting like she’d just stepped off the treadmill, while he took his sweet time rolling
the condom on. When he finally came up behind her again, she jumped like he’d zapped her with a
live wire.
“Shh. Relax. Keep your eyes open, Sophie.”
“Oh, God, Logan. Please…” She forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror.
“Don’t look at me. Look at yourself.”
She did as he asked, and watched her mouth fall open and her skin flush pink as he guided himself
between her legs, parting them so he could ease in. But he stopped much too soon, giving her only his
wide, smooth tip while her body pleaded to be stretched and filled.
She pursed her lips together to hold back a sob and arched her back to coax him deeper, but he put
his hands on her hips and held her still. Greedy interior muscles quivered and clenched impatiently,
and her sob turned into a tortured moan.
“Look in the mirror. Tell me what you see.”
“I see…” A stranger. An uninhibited woman chasing fulfillment without apology or hesitation.
He brought his hand around front and cupped her between her legs. Her whole body jerked as the
tension coiled almost painfully tight.
“Tell me.”
“Oh, God. Logan, I don’t know…”
His quick, ruthless fingers danced up, down, and around the tight bundle of nerves at the center of
her universe, circling…grazing, but never giving her the exquisite relief of full contact. Meanwhile he
teased her from behind, barely penetrating while she clutched and squirmed for more. “You do know.
Say it.”
She shook her head and caught their reflection in the glass shower enclosure. Was that woman
really her? The one leaning over the counter with her back in such a deep, graceful arch her breasts
actually appeared taut and upswept in profile? Her waist looked long and impossibly narrow. The
pose forced her onto her tiptoes, which made her butt look high and perfectly curved to fit in the
chiseled cradle of Logan’s lap. His big, strong hand gripped her hip, and made her thigh seem
ridiculously slim. She wore a slightly agonized expression she couldn’t remember ever seeing on her
own face, but the woman staring back at her could have graced the banner of the Eve’s Closet landing
page. The sight made her straining muscles tremble. “I look—” She couldn’t utter the words, so she
resorted to begging. “Please. I’m so close, it’s painful. I can’t stand anymore…I need—”
“You need to say it.” He wrapped his arm high around her torso, creating a shelf to support her
heaving breasts. “Say the words and I’ll take away the pain.”
The dark-haired vixen in the mirror had a mind of her own. She whispered, “I’m beautiful.”
Logan drove into her—deep and relentless—and the agony splintered into a million points of sharp,
shimmering pleasure. Her head lolled forward and she made a high-pitched, inarticulate noise as the
room spun. And still he continued thrusting like he wouldn’t be satisfied until every atom in her body
scattered like dust.
“Say. It. Again.” The slap of their bodies slamming together punctuated each word. Her arms
trembled from the strain of holding herself up, and she struggled to get command of her vocal cords.
“I’m beautiful,” she bit out, and threw her head back to watch as he lifted her hips, changed the
angle, and plunged again—eyes closed, jaw clenched, his face a mask of concentration.
“Again,” he rasped. “Say it.” He tugged her hips back a little more, forcing her into a deeper bend,
and thrust once…twice… She screamed as the first soul-racking convulsion shook her, followed by
another, and another, in waves so fast and devastating she couldn’t get ahead of them.
His head tipped back; his fingers dug into her hips. Every muscle in his body went taut. “I want to
hear you scream the words as I come.”
“I-I’m—” She couldn’t catch her breath.
“Beautiful,” he finished for her, and she watched in helpless awe as his big, solid body shuddered
under the force of his orgasm. For the first time in her life, she felt like the words might just be true.
Chapter Seven
Sophie focused on her reflection in the big mirror before her. Red-faced, sweaty, panting so hard her
lungs might explode any second. Not a pretty sight.
Were all gym designers sadists? Or was there some rule dictating that a huge, unforgiving mirror
hang on the wall in front of the treadmills?
Having only herself for scenery always made a workout harder. This morning particularly, she
really didn’t need an added challenge. Her body already protested every step of her three-mile run.
Several long-ignored muscle groups ached from the workout Logan had given her last night. All the
clenching and flexing and straining had left her stomach and thighs sore, and between her legs…
goodness…she felt as if the least little touch might send her into a blinding orgasm. Would her
hyperactive nerve endings ever calm down?
You should hope not.
The naughty thought brought a smile to her face, but her amusement died away as she remembered
how she’d slunk out of Logan’s room in the wee hours of the morning. An old Sophie move through-
and-through, but when she’d woken up in the middle of the night, she’d quickly found herself
drowning in a sea of doubt about her behavior. Sure¸ he’d given her the wildest, most amazing, and
far most orgasmic night of her life, but the same probably couldn’t be said for him. What if he woke
up and stared at her with a mix of disgust and remorse?
Not likely. He didn’t seem the least bit disgusted or remorseful last night.
Okay, no, he hadn’t. He’d seemed pretty down with the whole thing, which made her disappearing
act all the more crazy-nuts. If she were honest with herself, she had to admit his possible “morning
after” reaction wasn’t what had scared her off. The really scary thing had been her reaction. She
wanted more of him. And not just more sex, although she wouldn’t have turned it down. She wanted
to…what? Hang out and talk? Be his girlfriend? Be a part of his future?
Those urges had rattled her enough to send her running for the door, because she and Logan lived
vastly different lives. They didn’t have a future, and allowing her teenage crush to develop into
something a hell of a lot more serious was just plain insane. But now, in the harsh glow of the gym
lights, she recognized the fleeing for what it was—cowardice. She’d bolted because her emotions
worried her, and she lacked the sophistication of, say, a Regan, who would have the confidence and
experience to behave like a normal woman after spending the night with him.
Speak of the devil. Regan glided into the gym, looking beautiful as always. Surprise nearly sent
Sophie stumbling off the treadmill. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone else in the gym this early,
especially not Regan. Maybe she wasn’t the only one dealing with thoughts so loud they’d chased her
from bed at an ungodly hour? Sophie quickly shifted her attention to her treadmill readout, but the
other woman waved and stepped onto the machine next to hers. “Hey.”
“Hey, Regan,” she puffed and sent the tall brunette what she suspected was a halfhearted smile. The
smile died away as she took a second look. She’d only seen the other bridesmaid in full man-eater
mode, with flawless makeup and gleaming, shampoo-commercial hair. This morning she wore no
makeup and had her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. No less beautiful, despite the lack of
effort, but the difference was nonetheless startling. This Regan seemed softer, more approachable,
and all the more entrancing.
Exactly the kind of woman Logan belongs with. The jealous, insecure thought slithered through the
back of her mind. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You look different.”
Jeez. What a moronic thing to say, as confirmed by Regan’s stunned silence. She turned back to her
treadmill. “Sorry. That was rude. Forget I said anything.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just in a weird headspace right now and not exactly fit for polite company.” She
rolled her shoulders and punched some keys on the treadmill, quickly increasing the pace to a fast
walk. “Besides, I’m not one of those smug bitches who gets done up to head to the gym. If you’re not
sweating, you’re doing something wrong.”
The comment made her smile. Who would have guessed she and Regan had anything in common—
other than wanting Logan? “I don’t think half the women at my gym got that memo.”
“Mine, either. I can’t figure out whom they’re trying to impress. Most of them have wedding rings.”
She nodded and settled back into her run, relieved she hadn’t put her foot in her mouth too deeply.
“I have a theory,” Regan piped up.
“What’s that?” she replied, a little surprised the woman wanted to chat. With her.
“They’re not trying to impress men—they’re trying to prove they get banging bodies just by
showing up. Women like that live on the shame of people around them.”
“That seems kind of harsh.” She’d never really thought about it, probably because she’d been too
busy sweating her butt off for every inch of progress she’d made. If she’d been born lucky, would she
put on a tiny second-skin of a workout ensemble and go flaunt what nature had so graciously gifted
her? No. Not likely.
“It is,” Regan replied unapologetically. Sophie felt more than saw Regan’s assessing look.
“You know, I’d suspected you were hiding a banging body of your own under those artfully baggy
clothes. I approve.”
Flashbacks to junior high had her automatically hunching her shoulders in an effort to minimize her
chest. Stop, New Sophie instructed. This isn’t school and she’s not making fun of you, she’s paying
you a compliment. Stand up straight and say thank you. She lengthened her spine, drew a deep
breath, and said, “I’m not quite there yet. Not like you.” Okay, not exactly thank you, but not awful.
Regan made a dismissive sound. “Me? Honey, I’d kill for an ass like yours.” She grinned. “So, you
were awful quiet the other night. Is there a groomsman you have your eye on?”
Her already run-flushed face heated at the question. Did she have “I’m so horny it hurts” tattooed
on her forehead?
Regan continued. “I think it’s pretty clear Reed’s spoken for thanks to our Julie, and I’m all over
Bro—holy shit, I mean Logan, but that leaves two highly eligible bachelors.”
Some deviant part of her brain envisioned turning to Regan and saying, “Didn’t I tell you? In
addition to the same workout philosophy, we also share the same taste in men, meaning Logan. In fact,
if I close my eyes, I can still taste him.” Instead she stammered, “I-I… Why would you think that?”
So much for playing it cool. A triumphant gleam danced in Regan’s eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I think that? Come on, spill. I can keep a secret.”
Maybe she should spill? This woman wasn’t a sociopath, for God’s sake. She was actually pretty
nice. If Sophie confessed her feelings for Logan—whatever they were—Regan would most likely
shrug, say, “good luck,” and set her sights somewhere else. But her phone rang before she could get
her words in order.
She knew a reprieve when fate sent one, and grabbed the phone from where she’d propped it on the
small shelf at the bottom of the treadmill’s display console. Colt’s name showed on the screen. She
hit the pause workout button with one hand and engaged the call with the other.
“Yes?”
“Hi Soph. Sorry to call so early, but Tyler and Christine are missing. Nobody’s been able to reach
either of them and nobody’s seen them since…”
His voice trailed off and she realized he was listening to something Kady was saying.
Uh-oh. “When?”
“At the scavenger hunt. Apparently they both headed out on one of the trails. Julie and Reed are
already out looking for them. We’re going to meet in the lobby and organize a search party, just in
case Julie and Reed can’t find them.”
Had they been stuck out on the mountain all night? “Oh crap, that’s not good. I’ll be right up.” She
disconnected, told Regan what she’d just learned, and got busy gathering her stuff.
She had her hand wrapped around the door handle before she realized Regan wasn’t right behind
her. She glanced back as she pushed the door open, and saw a wounded look on Regan’s face. Shoot.
Had she said something wrong? Probably, but she didn’t have time to dissect their conversation right
now and figure out where she’d gone awry, so she offered a simple, “It was…nice…talking to you.”
“Yeah, you too,” Regan replied, but as Sophie headed out of the gym, she wasn’t convinced.
…
Logan woke to a dark room, an empty bed, and the annoying sound of his phone vibrating on the
nightstand.
He ignored the phone and peered into the darkness. “Sophie?” No response, but the unrelenting
stillness of the space told him she’d gone.
What the hell? She fucks me blind and then bails? After the marathon night they’d spent together,
he honestly hadn’t expected to wake up before noon…or to wake up alone.
The nightstand clock confirmed it was too early to go pounding on her door demanding answers.
Too early for phone calls as well, but apparently whoever was trying to reach him hadn’t mastered
that particular etiquette lesson because his phone vibrated again. He picked it up, read the display,
and tamped down on the geyser of guilt that immediately erupted in his gut at the sight of his best
friend’s name. Okay, yes, this could be one reason she’d left before dawn, so her brother didn’t get
wind of them spending the night together. He’d have to figure out how to break the news to Colt,
because he fully intended to spend more nights with Sophie, and days, for that matter, and sneaking
around wasn’t his style.
Neither was letting a call go to voicemail because he wanted to avoid a confrontation. He sat up
and hit talk.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Logan. Sorry to disturb you at the ass-crack of dawn, but we’ve got a situation and I need
your help.”
He recognized the tone in Colt’s voice, one that said, I’m not going to panic the woman standing
beside me by saying this out loud, but get your ass in gear.
“What’s the situation?” He flung the covers off and stood, hissing out a breath as certain muscles
balked at the sudden movement. Good God, had he pulled a groin? How long had it been since he’d
lost himself in a woman, fucked her forward, backward, and sideways, until they’d fallen into bed,
shaking and spent? Self-conscious Sophie had charmed and exasperated him at the same time, but
once he’d pushed her beyond the bounds of her self-consciousness, another Sophie had come out—an
unguarded, uninhibited Sophie—and he couldn’t get enough of her.
“Tyler and Christine are MIA,” Colt explained, his voice carefully neutral.
“Sure that’s not by design?”
“Doubtful, considering it looks like they’ve been missing since yesterday’s scavenger hunt. Kady
remembers seeing them head for the North Trail. Julie and Reed are already out searching that route.”
Yeah, but dozens of trails crisscrossed the mountains behind the resort, ranging from easy, out-and-
back loops to three-thousand-foot ascents that would take a skilled hiker the better part of a day.
Without the right equipment and provisions, even two young, healthy people wandering around
unfamiliar terrain could find themselves in a world of hurt.
“Anybody talking to Beaver Creek management about a coordinated search?”
“Not yet. I’m just stepping into the lobby.”
“I’ll be down in five.” He disconnected, threw on cargo shorts, a T-shirt, a hoodie—which he
figured someone who spent a chilly night on the mountain might appreciate—and his cross-trainers.
Not exactly mountain rescue, but he could carry a few bottles of water, some basic first aid stuff, and
his phone.
He stepped off the elevator in time to see Reed come through the lobby doors, followed by Tyler,
carrying Christine, and Julie hovering at their side. The small crowd of onlookers gathered by the
reception desk—mostly the rest of the wedding party—immediately swarmed them. He made his way
over to assure himself everyone was present and accounted for, and got the gist of the story. Christine
had fallen off a trail late yesterday and hurt her ankle. She and Tyler had spent the night on the
mountain rather than risk descending the slope in darkness. Reed and Julie ran across them at dawn as
they were making their way down.
Tyler was a top-flight ER doctor, which meant Christine’s ankle was in good hands. He lowered
himself into a side chair next to Brock, wincing as his muscles reminded him Tyler and Christine
weren’t the only ones who’d had a busy night, and automatically glanced around for Sophie. She
stood at the edge of the cluster of people surrounding Tyler and Christine, draped in a big T-shirt and
leggings, her hair tugged back into a short ponytail and her temples damp with sweat. He figured
she’d just come from a workout.
Her gaze darted his way long enough to tell him she’d sensed his attention. Was it his imagination,
or did she blush a little? His phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it. The only person he wanted
to speak to was standing three feet away. Did she suffer from any sore muscles this morning? He
shifted in his chair.
“Buddy,” Brock drawled. “You’ve been spending too much time behind your fancy desk if a
scavenger hunt leaves you sore.”
So much for finding a more comfortable position. Not taking his eyes off Sophie, he answered,
“Yeah. It’s like somebody kicked my ass and left me for dead.”
Sophie’s cheeks turned as red as the roses in the flower arrangement on the reception desk. She
sent him a flustered look before she moved to stand on the other side of the group. When the drama
turned to what shoes the bridesmaids should wear now that heels were out of the question, Logan
tuned out, but for some inexplicable reason, the shoe crisis sprang Brock into action. The guy was all,
“Silver shoes. I’m on it,” and then he was gone.
The rest of the crowd parted to allow Tyler to carry Christine to the elevator. Sophie hurried after
them. He rose to follow, but his phone vibrated again. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at a
series of panicked emails from people freaking out about his unavailability. With his attention glued
to his electronic leash, he sensed Colt approach.
He must have made some kind of long-suffering noise, because Colt said, “I could throw the damn
thing down a ravine for you, but it won’t solve your underlying problem.”
Sad but true. Colt’s observation was all the more pointed because his friend spoke from
experience. He’d founded a private security firm, and he worked hard to make it successful, but
somehow he’d managed to carve out time to find the love of his life. And though Logan couldn’t be
happier for Colt and Kady, a small part of him envied them. And not just them. Marriage and
fatherhood had turned his oldest brother, Trevor, a hard-assed homicide detective, into a baby-
bouncing, lullaby-singing puddle of mush. His other brother, Michael, a stoic Marine Corps major,
was happily married now, too, and he and his wife were busy feng shui-ing a nursery for their first
child, due in a couple months.
After years of superficial relationships that always took a backseat to Defy Gravity, having
someone to come home to—someone with whom to escape all the commitments and obligations of his
professional life and just be himself—sounded pretty damn good.
But there was no reason to give Colt the satisfaction of admitting that. “Okay, Dr. Drew, what’s my
underlying problem?”
“You are. Defy Gravity has taken over your life, and now—sur-fucking-prise—you’re burned out. I
don’t know if you remember, but when you started the company, all you really wanted was a better
spring-locking carabiner. It was all about climbing faster and higher. But now”—he shook his head
—“how long has it been since you climbed anything more challenging than a flight of stairs?”
The sentiments echoed the ones that had been expressed by his family, and his CFO, and frankly,
the thoughts he’d had circling around in his head for too long now, but it irritated him to hear yet
another person pegging him as the primary roadblock to his own happiness.
“I have obligations to investors and employees now, and different priorities.”
“You have an obligation to yourself, too—to have a life. How long has it been since you took a
vacation? A real vacation, not a friend’s wedding,” Colt added when Logan looked around the lobby
as if to say, am I not standing in the middle of a resort?
“Name the last good book you read, or movie you saw, or…I don’t know…when was the last time
you got so wrapped up in a woman you forgot to check your messages?”
Something told him blurting out, “Last night, with your sister,” wasn’t the way to break that
particular news to Colt, so he said, “Are you telling me if I want to get what you have with Kady, I’m
going to have to make some sacrifices? Believe it or not, I do realize that.”
No shit. Especially since the woman he wanted to get wrapped up in would detest practically
everything about what passed for his social life. He couldn’t imagine asking Sophie to be his date for
a board dinner or a party for DG’s biggest West Coast distributors. She’d run from crap like that so
fast he’d need a zip line to catch her. Unlike most of the other women he’d dated, Sophie would not
fold easily into his existing life. They lived in different states, and she wasn’t interested in attending
corporate events or charity functions. Getting to know her meant spending time together on her terms.
Finding that time meant letting go of some responsibilities.
“Thing is, when the motivation is right, you don’t feel like you’re sacrificing one damn thing. You
feel like everything is finally falling into place, and suddenly, all those obligations you had to
shoulder yourself are miraculously delegable. And you realize you’ve been holding yourself back,
and holding your business back, out of some misplaced sense of pride or duty.”
He dumped his phone into his pocket and looked into his best friend’s face…his smug, got-my-shit-
together face. “You’re telling me to give something up.”
“I’m telling you to examine your priorities and make sure they reflect what you want now.” He
shrugged. “People evolve. What seemed like a dream come true at twenty-five might seem like a
grind by thirty-five. Life changes.”
Kady approached, visibly relieved that her brother and her friend were alive and well, but the
twinkle in her eyes promised Colt the morning’s excitement wasn’t over yet. “Life changes,” his
friend repeated, took his bride-to-be’s hand, and strolled out of the lobby.
Yeah. Logan’s phone vibrated again. Whatever waited on the other end of that call wouldn’t be
life-changing. It would be more of the same. He headed for the elevator and pressed the button for the
sixth floor, because the best change to hit his life in the last year currently occupied room 612.
Chapter Eight
Sophie stared at her laptop and reread the email at the top of the screen. The one from her boss that
started with the word “Congratulations” and ended with a reminder to order updated business cards
to reflect her new title as lead web designer. In between was a whole bunch of stuff about how happy
the client was with her proposal, and how eager they were to kick off the project when she returned.
She hugged herself and did a booty-shaking version of a happy dance while a fireworks finale of
pride and happiness exploded inside her. Yes, there were a couple fizzles of nerves in the mix, but
those were normal. New Sophie hadn’t hatched overnight, but she was slowly emerging from the
confining cocoon she’d called home for so long.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bureau and grinned at the bright-eyed woman
staring back at her wearing workout clothes and a rosy glow from her early-morning stint at the gym.
Check you. New look, new job, and, after last night, a few new experiences to store in the “passion
and excitement” file.
A few? What an understatement. Hopefully it would last her, because she probably wasn’t getting
any more new experiences with Logan. She’d heard the irritation in his voice loud and clear when
he’d made that snide comment to Brock that morning in the lobby. He was pissed that she’d left
without so much as a “See you around.” Who could blame him?
Not that he’d spend a whole lot of time thinking about her behavior. Regan had him in her
crosshairs, and she’d smooth out all his irritation. They were probably cozied up together at this very
minute, getting to know each other better.
The notion depressed her enough to make her want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her
head, but a knock at the door cut the impulse short. She crossed the room, looked through the
peephole, and nearly collapsed from shock. Logan stood outside her door.
Her knee-jerk reaction to slump down and pretend to be out was strong, but she shoved the instinct
aside. Hiding behind the door was a little too cowardly—even for her. She dried her damp palm on
her shirt, silently ordered herself to calm down, and then opened the door.
“Logan.”
“Sophie.”
His expression gave nothing away. The Mr. Perfect mask was firmly in place. “Do you…um…need
something?”
“Yeah. I do.” With that he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. Before
she could say a word, he had his hard thigh between hers, one big hand splayed over her butt and the
other curved along the back of her neck. She was holding on to his shoulders like he was the only
solid thing in her world.
“Why aren’t you with Reg—?”
She didn’t get to finish the self-defeating question, thank God, because his mouth was on hers, and
that’s all it took to drive thoughts of Regan, and bridesmaids’ bets, and every other darn thing right
out of her head. Her eyelids fluttered like flags of surrender, and then lowered completely, and all she
could do was feel. Him. His mouth moving over hers, fast and rough—just a little bit punishing—and
she knew she hadn’t imagined the annoyance she sensed earlier. She wanted to apologize, to explain
she was ill-equipped to handle a morning after a night like last night, but as soon as her lips parted,
his tongue slipped between them and proceeded to lay claim to every susceptible part of her mouth.
Vaguely she felt his thumb press the corner of her jaw, coaxing her open even more, but his coaxing
was unnecessary. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, tipped her head back into the support of his
hand, and gave herself to the kiss with abandon.
She wanted it to go on forever—the slick slide of his tongue over hers, the scrape of his teeth
against her lips—and so she groaned when he started to draw away. As if he understood, he ended the
kiss in stages, withdrawing by degree so as not to leave her plundered mouth suddenly empty and
aching for him. Still she chased his departing lips, going up onto her tiptoes for one last, clinging
contact.
Now he groaned, too, and cupped her jaw to keep her in place as he eased away. “What are you
doing right now?”
You, she hoped, but she shook her head and replied, “No plans. I was checking my emails. I’m still
in a state of shock because I just found out I got the promotion at work.”
His smile was immediate and genuine. “Congratulations. This calls for a celebration. Come with
me.” He took her hand and tugged her out the door.
“Wait. I need my room key.”
He let her go and held the door open while she retrieved it from the nightstand. Her body hummed
with anticipation for the celebration. Primed to the point that she could barely stand the thought of
walking all the way down the hall to his room. She didn’t know what was wrong with her room,
considering it was virtually identical to his, with the added benefit of being right here…but
whatever. She quickened her steps, brushed past him into the hall, and turned toward his room.
Maybe Logan liked the home court advantage? Except…he didn’t take it. He clasped her hand and led
her to the elevator, away from his room.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” He nudged her into the elevator when she hung back. Then followed her in and hit
the button for the lobby.
Okay, that was a surprise, because she somehow doubted he intended to have sex with her in the
lobby. The hormone combustion his kiss had lit inside her fizzled as concern set in. “Logan, I’m not
dressed to go anywhere.”
“You’re dressed perfectly for what I have in mind.”
She glanced at him from under lowered lashes. Was this “surprise” some kind of payback for
sneaking out of his room? He didn’t look upset. In fact, he looked relaxed and…pleased.
When the elevator stopped he took her hand and led her across the lobby. Within moments they
were out the double doors of the resort and following an “Adventure Trail” that the signage indicated
led to a whole bunch of stuff that made her palms sweat. Destinations included the Corkscrew, Bear
Trap, Half Pipe and something called the Wall. None of them sounded like the kind of adventure she
would survive.
Her nervous symptoms advanced from sweaty palms to stomach cramps when they peeled off the
main path and onto a smaller path toward the Wall. Then she saw it. Stretching straight up into the sky
—high into the sky—stood one of those man-made rock walls. The kind people had to don special
harnesses and helmets to attempt. He marched them right over to the ticket booth.
She dug her heels in when he told the guy at the booth, “Two adults.”
“Oh, no. No. No. I’ll watch.”
The ticket guy glanced at Logan questioningly, but he merely shook his head, held up two fingers
and handed the attendant his credit card. To her he said, “You have a wild side, remember? You
don’t scare easily. You were the one who got the snake out of the shed. You were the first one to jump
into the river from the oak tree.”
“When I was a kid! It’s been years since I climbed an oak tree, or anything else, and the tree was
not a thousand feet high.”
Logan took his credit card, the receipt, and the tickets from the attendant, and then turned to her. The
little groove beside his mouth appeared, and she felt her resolve weakening. “You’re nine hundred
and eighty-five feet off in your estimate.” He read from the sign at the base of the wall, “The Beaver
Creek Climbing Wall provides fifteen feet of safe and exciting climbing challenges.”
She watched a boy who looked about ten, and clearly had the genes of a spider monkey, scramble
up the wall. “It’s a broken leg waiting to happen.”
“You’re safely roped to a state-of-the-art belay system, and I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”
He leaned close, his face serious, and softly promised, “I won’t let you fall.”
The words drifted over her skin, and all those hypersensitive nerve endings he’d awaked yesterday
came tingling to attention. All she could do was stare helplessly into his fascinating gray-green eyes,
but she must have made some conflicted sound, because he moved his lips to her ear and in a low
voice added, “Trust me. Just like you did last night.”
In her mind, New Sophie urged, For God’s sake, trust him!
“I— ” Her dry throat choked on the words.
The corner of his mouth kicked up into a grin and she heard the words as clearly as if he’d spoken
aloud. I. Dare. You.
Screw it, what was the worst that could happen? She’d slip, the belay line would fail, and she’d
fall fifteen feet to land on her butt on the cushion of mats stacked at the base of the wall. She’d
probably only spend a couple of months in traction.
“Okay,” she heard herself say over the deafening sound of her blood pounding in her ears. Minutes
later she found herself facing the wall, snapped into a harness and clipped to the belay line. She
touched a nubby blue molded plastic handhold sticking out of the wall directly in front of her. “How
do I…um…mount this thing?” Crap, that didn’t sound right.
“Grab on to the highest handholds you can comfortably reach.” He demonstrated, grabbing two
handholds that were ideally placed for him and might as well have been on the moon for her. “Then,
using your right foot, get a toehold on an outcrop about knee high, figure out where your left foot is
going to go—aim for a crag a few inches higher than the one supporting your right foot—and then…”
He lifted himself onto the wall. Gracefully. Effortlessly. And all the spit in her mouth dried as she
watched his calves go taut and his back muscles flex and bunch under his shirt.
He hopped back down and raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”
To climb you like a rock wall? Yes. To climb this thing? No. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Great.” He guided her to the most appropriate handholds, and while she grabbed on to them like
lifelines, he crouched behind her and instructed her where to put her right foot.
“Perfect. Now, when you lift yourself up, put your left foot right here.” He tapped a purple block-
shaped outcropping, and then stood so his chest brushed against her back.
Something about Logan positioning her so she was stretched out on the wall, standing on her tiptoes
with one leg raised and bent, sent her dirty mind into overdrive. She flashed to an image of them
doing this naked, except the only thing about to be mounted was her, and Logan was poised behind
her, ready to do the honors. Heat rushed to the unprotected place between her legs and she sincerely
hoped her workout leggings were dark and absorbent enough to conceal her body’s reaction to him.
“On three,” he said, and placed his hands at her waist. She closed her eyes and tried to banish the
depraved sex fantasy before her bones dissolved and she had nothing left to support her.
“One, two”—she tensed and prepared to channel Catwoman—“three.” Strong hands at her waist
supported her as she pulled herself up onto the wall.
“Good job. Now find your next handholds. Let your dominant side lead, go hand-hand-foot-foot,
just like before, and pull yourself up the wall.”
She did as he advised and climbed another foot. Then another. She ascended over halfway up the
wall, without coaching, before her arms started to feel like overstretched Slinkys. Breathing hard, she
stopped to rest while a group of preteens practically climbed right over her in their race to get to the
top of the wall first.
So much for those three sets of ten-pound curls every morning. The red rover crowd just kicked
your butt.
“How are you doing?”
Logan’s voice broke into her musing and she nearly lost her footing as she whipped her head
around to find him casually hanging on the wall right beside her.
“Fine,” she huffed, ridiculously annoyed to note he wasn’t sweaty and his breath wasn’t the least
bit labored.
“If your arms get tired, you can let go of the wall. Your harness will support you.” He
demonstrated, bracing his feet, wrapping one hand around the belay line, just above the clip, and
easily leaning back into the harness.
Her arms wept for a reprieve. She let go of the wall, but neglected to hold the belay line.
Immediately, she tipped to the side, which threatened her footholds. A squeak escaped her throat and
for a panicked second she pictured herself dangling like a spider in a windstorm, swinging helplessly,
unable to get back to the wall. Then Logan calmly reached out, caught her line, and steadied her. She
grabbed a handful of his shirt, accidentally digging her fingers into his side.
“You can, you know,” he said softly.
The sun shone down on them. The calls and coaching among other climbers faded into an indistinct
soundtrack.
“Can what?”
He waited to respond until she looked up and met his patient gaze. “Hold on to me.”
There went her heart again, racing away like a hyperactive terrier slipped free of its leash.
“I—”
“Why’d you leave this morning?” There was no acrimony in his voice, just curiosity and a note of
something that sounded a lot like disappointment.
She stared at the rock wall and blinked. “I don’t know. I was lying there in the dark realizing I
didn’t have the first clue what I would say to you when you woke up. I don’t have any clever, sexy
morning-after banter, and I’d probably just make things awkward, so…I left.”
“You’re clever and sexy without saying a word.”
She snorted before she could stop herself. “No, I’m not. I’m so not.” Yeah, that right there? Not
clever or sexy.
“Am I going to have to prove this to you? After yesterday, I think we both know I can.”
Heat seared her cheeks as she remembered watching her reflection in the mirror yesterday while
he’d turned her body into an instrument of pleasure. Unfortunately, one amazing afternoon didn’t
negate a lifetime of insecurities. And they were her insecurities, dang it. She might have to live with
them but she sure as heck didn’t have to take them out and pass them around for his inspection.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, but frustration had something much more raw and painful
spilling out. “Have you ever, even once in your whole, charmed, perfect life, wished to be invisible,
because if you weren’t invisible, you were a walking joke—a target for other peoples’ insensitivity
or flat-out meanness?” To her mortification, her voice rose precariously and her eyes started to burn.
“You’ve had it so…effing…easy. Do you know what it’s like to stand there like an idiot while your
ninth-grade gym teacher—your male gym teacher—says in front of the whole class that you ought to
get a sports bra so you can, and I quote, ‘keep your chest under control’? Oh, and by the way, you’re
already wearing two sports bras at your mother’s insistence. Do you know what it’s like to have
Jeremy Needleman and his band of fools hum that godforsaken “Baby Got Back” song every time your
algebra teacher calls you to the blackboard to solve an equation, and then to eventually realize her
solution is to not call on you anymore? Of course you don’t, Mr. Popular. Believe me, it doesn’t make
you feel clever or sexy. It makes you feel like a freak. It makes you wish you could disappear.”
“I’m glad you didn’t disappear,” he said quietly, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Did you tell
Colt? I can’t believe he didn’t teach a few people the meaning of the term ‘harassment.’”
She puffed out a breath and consciously relaxed her stiff shoulders. “Colt and I are eight years
apart,” she reminded him. Thankfully, her voice sounded reasonably normal. “He was long gone by
the time I went to high school, and I doubt the army would have given him a pass to come home and
deal with sleazy Jeremy Needleman for me.”
“Want me to hunt Needleman down and stomp on his balls for you? I’m happy to do it.”
An image of tall, imposing Logan confronting skinny, freckle-faced, and completely unsuspecting
Jeremy—who probably didn’t look anything like that anymore—made her smile. “Thanks, but no.
Wherever he is today, I like to think he’s already sorry for being such a jerk in school.”
“With a name like Needleman, I guarantee he’s sorry. I’m sorry you had to put up with little pricks
like him, and assholes like your gym teacher, and do-nothings like your algebra teacher. And you’re
right. I don’t know what it’s like to endure that kind of treatment. Not because I’m some kind of Mr.
Perfect and nobody’s ever fucked with me, but I was always surrounded by my brothers, Trevor and
Michael. Always,” he repeated and raised his eyes heavenward. “Whether I wanted them around or
not. Throw shit at one of us, get it back from all three. Consequently, I never had to put up with more
than a normal amount of shit. But I don’t need to have experienced the shit you went through to
understand it left scars.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Too bad now that he understood, he had to realize what a broken
wing she was.
“The thing is, Sophie, you’re not the same girl you were in high school. You’re so far beyond that
girl the rest of us can’t even see her. We see a clever, sexy woman. A woman I would have
appreciated waking up next to, after everything we shared last night. Oh, and just for future reference,
I don’t expect a stand-up routine first thing in the morning.”
With that, he resumed climbing the last few feet to the top.
Wait…what? Future reference? Did he really say future reference? She huffed and puffed after
him. “Just for…future reference…what do you expect?”
“This may come as a shock, but when I let a clever, sexy woman show me the proper use for my
favorite tie, about the only expectation I have is that she not sneak off in the middle of the night. Other
than that, I’m wide open. With me, you can do anything you want, and say anything you want. Or you
can say nothing, because while I’m a big fan of bold, aggressive Sophie, I like your quiet side, too. I
could use more reflection in my life these days.”
He looked at her then, and must have read something dubious in her expression, because he reached
down, took her hand, and hauled her up next to him. Only after she’d caught her breath did she dare
glance around, and realize he’d lifted her the last couple feet to the summit. She took in the panoramic
view of the mountain, the sky—she swallowed loudly—the tiny, ant-like people wandering the path
far, far below.
“You look like you’re about to tip your head back and yell, ‘I’m king of the world,’ at the top of
your lungs.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nope. Not going to happen. I’m the quiet girl, remember?”
“I remember you making some not-so-quiet sounds last night.”
Do not blush. Don’t. But it was no use. Heat climbed into her cheeks.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” But he didn’t look repentant. He looked cocky and happy. “Do you know
why I love climbing?”
“Because you have a death wish?”
The comment earned her a grin and a head shake. “It’s a chance to escape all the demands on my
time. I can shed the guy-in-charge image and relax. Reach a place where all the bullshit disappears.”
He leaned back in his harness, looking completely at home fifteen feet up, and stared off into the
distance. “I feel the same way when I’m with you.”
“Spending time with me is relaxing? I think you may be confusing ‘relaxing’ and ‘boring.’”
“I’m not confusing anything. Who else would take a moonlight sprinkler run with me? Who else
would climb a rock wall with me?”
“Not Regan.” As soon as she said the words she wanted to hurl herself over the other side of the
wall and disappear.
But he simply wrinkled his brow. “No. Probably not. The footwear alone would be a
showstopper.” He lowered his voice. “Who else would discipline me when I get out of line?”
Her face heated. Regan would. This time, thank God, she managed to keep the thought in her head
rather than letting it spew out her mouth. “You, ah…liked that, did you?”
“I’m not ready to embrace the lifestyle, but with you, last night, I definitely got into it. The whole
thing was surprisingly stimulating, and…fun. Somewhere along the line I let all the fun leak out of my
life. I miss it,” he added softly, as if to himself. “So thank you for that.”
Then he glanced at her and tightened his hold on her hand, tugging her toward him. When he had her
close enough that she could see the striations in his irises, he kissed her, and her heart did some kind
of crazy aerial maneuver that had nothing to do with her current altitude. “I feel like I can be myself
when we’re together,” he said, “and I’m trying to tell you, you can be yourself, too.”
Herself? Plain old Sophie, who was putting all this energy and effort into becoming someone more
outgoing and interesting? Heck, maybe they weren’t complete opposites. He craved peace and quiet
sometimes. She appreciated excitement and adventure…sometimes.
As long as you remember you’re both just fooling around, maybe you can share both for a little
while.
Chapter Nine
It wasn’t graceful, but Sophie made it down the wall in one piece, without taking out any innocent
bystanders in the process. She’d lost her hold on the belay line toward the end and started to rappel
too fast. Luckily, Logan was there to catch her.
While she debated giving in to her wobbling knees, sinking down, and kissing the ground, a resort
employee made a beeline toward Logan and handed him a message. He quickly scanned the small
pink sheet, and then frowned and sent her an apologetic look. “Apparently my playtime’s over. I’ve
got to join a call.”
A wave of something like disappointment rose up, but she tamped it down. Any time with Logan
was borrowed time and she’d best remember that. Wanting to hang out with him was one thing.
Allowing herself to need him was another thing entirely. “No problem.” She let him help her out of
the harness and then handed it to an attendant. “You go ahead. I’m going to check out the shops on the
way back. Maybe find a little memento for Colt and Kady.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later.” He leaned down and gave her another of his patented, Lycra-melting
kisses, and pulled away far too soon. “Save a dance for me,” he said and then took off jogging toward
the resort in a loose, easy gait that would have left her in the dust.
Save a dance? Oh, right. Dance lessons were on tonight’s agenda. She cringed as she walked
through the faux Alpine village full of resort shops. Normally she avoided dancing in public the same
way she avoided public speaking, but heck, if she could scale a rock wall, she could handle a two-
step, couldn’t she?
Her gaze snagged on a flash of crimson in a shop window. A slinky dress with a neckline that
plunged low and a flirty skirt that ended mid-thigh. Open-toed red lace stilettos completed the
ensemble. The outfit whispered, “Give me a twirl,” and a whole lot more.
Show up in that and nobody’s going to notice your dancing skills.
Did she dare?
“Amazing dress, Sophie. You should try it on.”
Sophie whirled and came face-to-face with Kady. “Oh, hey.” She glanced around, unaccountably
nervous that her brother might be nearby and, somehow, reading her mind. “What are you up to?”
Kady wiggled her fingers. “I’m on my way to get a mani-pedi, but I’m way early.” She grabbed
Sophie’s hand and pulled her into the shop. “I’ve got plenty of time to help you decide whether to say
yes to the dress.”
“I was just window-shopping. I’m not in the market for a new dress.”
“Please. A girl is always in the market for a perfect red dress, and the dance lesson tonight is
reason enough, if you really need an excuse.”
When a pretty blond saleswoman approached, Kady said, “Do you have the dress in the window
in…what do you wear now, Soph? 8P?”
“We do,” the saleswoman answered, before Sophie could do more than nod. “Let me get you set up
in a fitting room and I’ll bring the dress to you.”
“Thanks,” Kady said as they made their way to the back of the shop. “The shoes, too. Seven and a
half.” She settled herself into one of the two dainty Queen Anne style chairs just outside the fitting
rooms.
“Of course,” the saleslady replied. She unlocked a room and gestured Sophie inside. “Be right
back.”
When the door snapped shut Sophie eyed her reflection in the mirror. Don’t just stand there , the
Sophie in the mirror admonished. Lose the workout clothes. There really didn’t seem to be anything
else to do, so she started stripping down. Within minutes the saleswoman knocked. She peeked out at
the smiling woman.
“Here’s the dress.” The woman passed it through and then offered a stack of two shoe boxes. “I
brought the shoes in seven and a half, and eight, because you never know with heels. I thought this
might also interest you.”
Sophie blinked as the clerk handed her a black satin bra with lace edging. “It works perfectly with
the neckline of the dress, and don’t let the prettiness fool you—this little wonder can handle anything.
It’ll boost your cleavage so you look like you stepped off the cover of Cosmo.”
Sophie felt her face turn as red as the dress, but she murmured a thanks and took the frilly scrap. In
the privacy of the fitting room she wriggled into the bra and paused for a moment to check herself in
the mirror.
Wow. The woman was not kidding. While putting her chest front and center went against every
deep-seated instinct she’d obeyed since middle school, she remembered how incredibly appreciative
Logan had been of those particular assets last night, and deep-seated instinct gave way to a desire to
watch his eyes widen and fill with lust—ideally before he ripped the satin-and-lace miracle of
engineering right off. She lifted the discreet tag looped around the underwire between her breasts.
Holy crap, $120 for a bra? Maybe he wouldn’t rip it off her after all. Maybe she’d shrug out of it
carefully, fold it, and tuck it in the room safe.
“Don’t leave me in suspense,” Kady piped up. “Get out here and show me how the outfit looks.”
“One sec.” Sophie turned around, pulled the dress over her head, zipped it up, and stepped into the
shoes. Too anxious to look in the mirror, she held her breath and walked out of the fitting room.
“Oh my God. Sophie, get a load of you.”
“What?” She looked down at herself but she couldn’t force her gaze past the unprecedented amount
of cleavage on display. “Do I look like a hooker?” The shock on Kady’s face had her cringing and
backing into the fitting room. “I do, don’t I? Like a cheap hooker, which is really funny because I’m
wearing a hundred-dollar bra.”
Kady got up and took her arm to stop her retreat. “Get your chicken-butt out here.” She spun Sophie
toward the three-way mirror at the opposite end of the room. “Look.”
She looked, and nearly stumbled at the sexy stranger in the glass.
“That dress is made for you,” Kady declared. “It’d be a crime if you didn’t have it.”
In a daze, Sophie reached for the price tag hanging from her right side, and drew in a quick gasp.
Au contraire. It would be a crime if she did have it, because the dress cost even more than the bra.
She couldn’t even think about the shoes.
Did you not just get a promotion and a raise? Blow the cobwebs off your Visa and buy the outfit.
She turned to the saleswoman hovering nearby. The blonde nodded encouragingly.
“I’ll…um…that is…I’ll take it?” The words came out more like a question than a statement.
“Wonderful. You know, the bra has matching panties. I could have them up front, waiting for you.”
You can’t possibly wear that bra with any of the underwear you own . “Sure,” she mumbled and
avoided Kady’s sharp eyes as she ducked back into the fitting room.
By the time she stood outside the shop again, Sophie was two bags heavier and almost five hundred
dollars lighter. The panties—and that was a generous word for a triangle of silk and lace dangling
from three strategic strips of elastic—set her back another sixty bucks. Certain parts of her actually
clenched at the notion of wearing them, but she told herself they couldn’t possibly be as
uncomfortable as they looked.
“What are you doing now?” Kady asked.
Calling Visa to assure them there hasn’t been any fraud on my card. “Nothing, why?”
“A good pedicure is mandatory with the shoes you just bought. Come on.” She hooked her arm
through Sophie’s. “I know just the place.”
Oh, God, some poor nail technician was going to have her work cut out for her, dealing with a pair
of unpampered feet that had been shoved into running shoes all morning. She shuddered at the thought
of sharp implements digging into her tender toes.
You survived a bikini wax. You can survive anything.
…
Logan headed downstairs after a grueling afternoon of conference calls with only one objective.
Sophie. He stepped out of the elevator and nearly shoved his phone into a potted plant when the damn
thing buzzed. A quick look at the screen had him engaging the call.
“Hi, Mom.”
“That’s funny. You don’t sound like you’re in jail, the hospital, or the morgue.”
“Why would I be in any of those places?” He tried to sound confused, but he knew where this was
going.
“I left you a message two days ago. Where’s my call back?”
Yep. That’s where it was going. Guilt tried to dig a wormhole through his good mood, but he
blocked its path. If she’d really needed to reach him, she would have asked his assistant to track him
down. “Sorry. I just now got out of jail. Just this minute.”
“Sure you did. A jail called Defy Gravity. You’re working too hard.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. You looked terrible at Michael’s wedding. Pale. Exhausted. I can’t believe I’m
forced to say this is someone who spent the better part of his formative years listening to me scream,
‘Get the hell down from there!’—but you need to go outside and climb something.”
He propped an elbow on the concierge desk and got comfortable. “As it happens, I went climbing
today.”
“Hallelujah. Where?”
“Right here at Beaver Creek.”
“Did you and Colton do a climb for old times’ sake? What’s to climb around there? Sounds more
like a hike to me.”
“They have a rock wall here at the resort.”
“Rock wall? I know you’ve been deskbound for a while, but that doesn’t seem like much of a
challenge for the two of you.”
He considered his next words, and figured, what the hell. “I wasn’t with Colt. I took his little sister
Sophie climbing.”
“Sophie…Sophie…I remember her. We met at your graduation. Adorable little thing. Goodness,
she’s probably all grown up now.”
“Yes, she is. All grown up.”
“Amazing how that happens.”
“Yep.”
“A man with a reasonable amount of free time could give chase when something amazing crosses
his path.”
“Don’t you have enough to keep you busy with one grandkid and another on the way?”
“Consider me the constant gardener. I expect all my seedlings to bear fruit. Besides, Trevor and
Kylie had Max. The ultrasounds suggest Michael and Chloe are expecting Cameron rather than Kate.
Boys are wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve already raised three of them. I want a girl! So
forgive me for getting right down to it, but is Sophie amazing enough to convince you to make some
changes and admit there’s a life beyond Defy Gravity?”
He dodged the question because he wasn’t ready to discuss the answer. “All of my friends and
family invested in Defy Gravity. I can’t just ignore it and go chase after every new interest I have.”
“We’ve all seen plenty of return on our investment. Plus I have a really nice Defy Gravity parka to
keep me warm when your father and I go to Big Bear. I’m happy. I’m proud. And I’m confident in
your ability to find the right people to help you manage the business. You don’t owe anybody
anything…except your mother, whom you owe a granddaughter.”
“I appreciate the confidence, but as for the rest, you’re getting way ahead of yourself. All I’m
planning to do at the moment is attend a dance lesson.”
“You already know how to dance. I spent good money on lessons.”
His mom had coerced him into taking cotillion in exchange for rock-climbing lessons at the local Y
when he was a kid. He’d bite his tongue off before he’d admit it, but the truth was those “stupid dance
lessons” had come in handy over the years.
“Thanks for the lessons. Now it’s time for me to put them to use. Love you, Mom. Same to Dad.
I’ve gotta—”
“If you really want to thank me, you’ll put them to good use and give me another daughter-in-law.”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
“Say hi to Sophie for me—”
He disconnected, stifling a smile. Maybe he would say hi from his mom, just to watch Sophie’s
cheeks go pink at the idea of being a topic of conversation. Just as he reached for the banquet room
door, it swung open and Colt stepped through.
“Hey. You’re bailing on the dance lessons and hitting the bar? Isn’t that bad form for the groom?”
“Har-har.” Colt shook his head. “I’ll be back. Kady had a bunch of notes for Julie and she left them
in the room. I’m running up to get them for her. This may or may not include a quick stop at the
minibar. I neither confirm nor deny.”
“Scotch.” Logan held up two fingers, and then slapped Colt on the shoulder. “Go fetch those notes,
honey. Is Sophie already inside? I spoke to her earlier today and I told her I’d meet her in there.” He
gestured toward the door.
Colt smiled and nodded. “She is. Thanks for staying on top of her. I owe you.”
Guilt dropped into the pit of his stomach like a cold, hard stone. If Colt knew how “on top” of
Sophie he’d been, the only thing his best friend would owe him was an ass-kicking. “You don’t owe
me anything. Honestly. Don’t give it another thought.”
“I know damn well if it wasn’t for you riding her ass, she would have skipped the party at Spago,
and the scavenger hunt. Hell, Kady ran into Sophie at the shops this afternoon and heard you guys
scaled the rock wall earlier today. You’ve done more than just make sure she participates—you’ve
gone to the trouble of showing her a good time. I seriously appreciate it.” Colt grinned, stepped away,
and pointed at Logan in a way that automatically made Logan think of a gun—and how proficient his
friend was with one. “You’re the best, man,” Colt added as he turned and walked off in the direction
of the elevators.
Logan ran a hand over his face, surprised to discover he wasn’t drenched in sweat. He was in some
tricky shit here, and a smart man would proceed with extreme caution if he didn’t want to lose a
friend, and the most amazing woman to cross his path in forever. And all his self-respect, while he
was at it. Unfortunately, the warning didn’t stop his eyes from automatically scanning the ballroom for
Sophie as soon as he opened the door.
He didn’t spot her. Guests were milling around chatting, a few couples were already dancing. He
saw Brock across the ballroom, kicked back in a chair, looking like a guy who might have a flask
tucked into a pocket. Valid secondary objective, he decided, and started toward the other groomsman.
He’d barely taken a step when Regan sauntered over, sleek and graceful as a panther, and smiled
up at him. “I believe we’re partners.”
Were they? He had no clue how tonight’s dance lesson was supposed to work. Frankly, he hadn’t
counted on sticking around long enough to find out—which didn’t sound much like best man behavior.
Try to get with the program.
He mustered up a smile, said, “That we are,” and guided her into the dance floor while scanning the
room for Sophie. As usual, Regan looked like she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine—all
calculated perfection, but undeniably eye-catching. He knew these kinds of women. He worked with
them. Admired them. From time to time even slept with them. But tonight, Regan’s carefully tousled
waves made him imagine Sophie’s dark, silky hair tumbled over his chest in beautiful disarray as she
kissed her way down his body. Regan’s glossy, painted mouth filled him with a hunger for the taste
and texture of Sophie’s full, pink, utterly naked lips.
The woman in his arms presented the world with a shiny, chip-resistant shell, but he recognized a
veneer when he saw one. He’d stared at his own often enough to know. Sophie didn’t have the
veneer. She was brave or honest enough to put her true self out there, vulnerabilities and all, which
probably accounted for why she preferred the company of people she knew and trusted. He wanted—
needed—to be one of those people.
He moved Regan around the dance floor on autopilot, all the while searching for Sophie.
Tonight’s instructor—some fussy guy with a fake French accent—swept up and “corrected” their
stance, but Logan barely noticed the man’s coaching because he finally spotted Sophie across the
dance floor. He nearly tripped over his own two feet at the sight of her. She wore a short, sexy red
dress that showed off every mouthwatering line of her body. A body Brock currently had plastered
against his under the guise of dancing with her.
Oh, hell no. Country Boy had better back off or…shit, Regan was talking to him.
“So, Kady tells me you own your own business? That’s very impressive.”
After the day he’d had, his business was about the least engaging topic imaginable, but he plastered
on his company smile and gave her his attention. She was trying to be social. The least he could do
was make the same effort. After a few minutes of chitchat, he’d excuse himself and go cut the fuck in
on Country Boy.
“Says the successful headhunter,” he replied, hoping to turn the conversation back to her. “You
looking to poach one of my executives?” Then, because he caught a glimpse of Sophie looking up at
Brock with her big, bottomless brown eyes before they moved out of his line of sight, he spun Regan
around.
Regan’s moves were as smooth as the rest of her. She smiled and commented that she didn’t know
enough about his business. He recognized it as an invitation to dive into a topic she assumed he’d be
interested in discussing, but he couldn’t make himself play along, so he volleyed the conversational
ball back at her. “Professional curiosity, of course?”
She really was smooth, or his rough edges were showing, because she picked up on his reluctance
and changed course completely. “Maybe I’m considering taking up mountain climbing?”
He nearly burst out laughing at the image of Regan trading in her sky-high heels for a pair of flat,
utilitarian climbing shoes and ruining her manicure scrambling up a slab of granite. She couldn’t care
less about climbing. Obviously, she just wanted him to talk, and God help her, she’d hit upon a
subject he could discuss until she snored. “In that case, let’s skip the business talk and get right to the
good stuff.”
She smiled eagerly. He glanced over at Sophie and found himself the recipient of a brooding look.
He took a small, perhaps petty measure of satisfaction from her reaction.
He returned his focus to Regan and launched into his standard spiel about the different types of rock
climbing, the equipment, and the best places to climb. From the corner of his eye he watched as
Sophie said something that made Brock laugh. She glanced his way again. He didn’t know what her
game was, but he figured two could play.
He leaned closer to Regan and said, “But this is all theory until you get up on the wall,” which
would happen sometime between “hell” and “never” if her expression served as any indication. “I
don’t know much about what gyms are the best in New York, but if you ever end up on my side of the
States, I’ll take you up.”
Regan stretched her pretty mouth into a smile that didn’t quite hide the no-freaking-way look in her
eyes, said, “Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” and then went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
Chapter Ten
Sophie hissed in a breath as Regan put her lips on Logan. Apparently she also dug her fingers into
Brock’s arm because he made a noise that sounded almost like a growl. She let go, and stepped back,
all too aware she felt like growling, too. The apology that sprang to her lips died away when a quick
look at Brock told her his growl had nothing to do with her clutching his arm and everything to do
with the kiss between Regan and Logan.
How could Logan spend all morning taking her on his own special version of an Outward Bound
adventure, telling her how much he enjoyed spending time with her, and then stand there in the middle
of a ballroom, smiling that Mr. Perfect smile while Regan put the moves on him? How could she have
ignored her own inner voice—the one that had been insisting all along something about his attention
didn’t add up, and that it was only a matter of time before somebody more confident and outgoing
caught his eye? How could you have let yourself fall for him?
Before any part of her could bother to deny she’d fallen for him, commotion erupted on the other
side of the ballroom. Christine yelled at Tyler, poked him in the shoulder, and yelled some more
while Kady stood between them like a referee between two battling coaches. Finally Tyler stalked off
in one direction, and Christine hobbled away in the other. Kady lost it and burst into tears.
Apparently even smart, tough, slightly intimidating soon-to-be-sister-in-laws had their limits, and
Kady’s ended somewhere around watching her brother and her best friend tear into each other mere
days before her wedding. Sophie couldn’t really say why she rushed over to comfort Kady. She had
Colt to lean on, and he was already running over, but maybe because her own frustration and
disappointment were so close to the surface, she empathized. Kady had signed on for a fun-filled
week with friends and family, leading up to what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Instead she’d gotten a bunch of drama and conflict. Sophie slapped a lock on her own conflict and
drama and headed over to do whatever she could.
In the end, “whatever she could” didn’t turn out to be all that much. Kady was understandably upset
by the scene in the ballroom, and Sophie didn’t have the first clue what had gone down between
Christine and Tyler, let alone any idea how to fix things. She left Colt and Kady at their door with an
utterly useless, “Don’t worry. Everything will work out.”
Right. Why would either of them take comfort from the platitudes of a woman whose idea of
conflict resolution generally involved running away? That had to change. She stiffened her spine and
marched to the elevator. New Sophie was extremely capable of speaking her mind, and someone was
overdue for an earful.
When the elevator opened on six she steamed out and strode past her room and straight on to
Logan’s. She raised her fist to pound on the door, then hesitated when a little voice in the back of her
head whispered, What if he’s in there with Regan and they’re…
They’re in for a rude interruption… She banged on the door, and had her fist poised to do it again
when the door swung open. Logan grabbed her by the arms and hauled her into the room. Before she
knew quite what had happened he’d slammed the door behind her and had her backed up against the
hard surface. Her breath rushed out in a startled gust.
“Let go of me,” she said and tried to shove him away. He didn’t budge an inch, but the press of his
body against hers set five-alarm fires in all her vulnerable zones. She had a quick mental flash of her
wispy new panties disintegrating from the heat.
“Whose attention were you after in that dress, Sophie?” His voice held a note of something
primitive she’d never heard before, and certain overstimulated intimate muscles fluttered in reaction.
“Why do you care?” She couldn’t help scanning for signs of Regan, but she saw no evidence of the
statuesque brunette. “Seems like you were too busy with Regan to notice anyone else. Where is she?
Don’t tell me she’s come and gone already. How disappointing.”
“Regan?” He looked confused for a moment, and then…he burst out laughing. The jerk. Mild-
mannered, introverted Sophie officially left the building and stands-up-for-herself Sophie slugged him
in the stomach.
She might as well have punched a wall. He barely flinched, but her hand wept from the impact with
his unyielding abs. Following instinct, she brought her throbbing knuckles to her mouth.
He drew her fist away from her lips and kissed it. “Feel better?”
“No.” She yanked her hand back. The bastard had the nerve to grin at her. The little groove
appeared beside his mouth and she had an uncharacteristic urge to slap it off his face.
“How about now?” He snuck his hand under her skirt and stroked her sex through the microscopic
panties that offered no defense whatsoever.
Her whole body tensed at the contact. The power of speech fled. All she could do was cling to his
shoulders and stare up at him helplessly while the wet sounds of his long fingers sliding in, out, and
around her private parts like he owned them filled the otherwise silent room.
A low, appreciative groan rumbled from Logan’s throat. He dropped his head until his lips were
next to her ear. “Now I know why you’re so cranky. This little scrap of underwear you’ve got on is
soaked. Must be very…uncomfortable.”
She’d bite her tongue before confirming, although obviously, her body was giving him all the
confirmation he needed. That scared her, realizing what little control she had over her reactions to
him. She was mad, damn it. She shouldn’t be holding her legs open and grinding against his hand like
a desperate woman unable to resist his touch.
“This sweet little spot needs some TLC. Here’s the deal, Soph. You admit it was me you thought
about when you got dressed this evening, and I’ll kiss it better.”
Her eyes nearly crossed at the notion of his mouth replacing his hand. Her inner muscles issued
their own answer. He must have felt the spasm because he whispered, “Should I take that as a yes?”
She pressed her lips together—her own pathetic version of defiance.
“Stubborn? I should warn you, I can be stubborn, too.” So saying, he removed his hand. She wanted
to burst into tears at the instant and overwhelming feeling of deprivation. “Who were you thinking
about tonight?” he repeated.
Pride forbade her from admitting she’d dressed for him and tried to turn herself into the kind of
woman a man like him belonged with, because she’d failed so miserably he’d spent the entire time in
the arms of another woman and barely spared her a second glance. She didn’t know what kind of
game he was playing with her, but she wanted no part of it…except now he was kissing his way down
her throat, and into the vee between her breasts, and she couldn’t find the willpower to tell him to
stop.
Quick fingers latched onto the zipper at the back of her dress and tugged it down. “Who did you
think of when you zipped yourself into this cock-tease of a dress?” Another tug sent the dress pooling
at her feet.
Logan sucked in a breath. “Jesus, look at you,” he muttered, then grabbed her hips and hauled her
up until their faces were level.
Braced between his unyielding body and the equally unyielding door, she automatically wrapped
her legs around his waist. Trembles started somewhere in the vicinity of her knees and worked their
way up—another involuntary physical reaction to all the temper and desire swirling inside her.
“Who’d you fantasize about when you picked out this lingerie?” He ran his finger along the lacy
edge of one bra cup. Using his other hand, he toyed with the back clasp. “Who’d you visualize peeling
it off? Unwrapping you like a gift…me?”
“No,” she lied.
“That’s too bad”—he abandoned the clasp—“since I’m the one who’s going to have the pleasure.”
Then he lowered his head and used his tongue to tease her nipple into a tight point through the silk.
“This bra hides nothing. Who’d you put it on for? Who were you imagining having these breasts
pressed up against?” He scraped his teeth over the now-firm peak.
She couldn’t hold back a gasp, nor stop her fingers from spearing into his hair. But the gasp turned
into a moan when he lifted her breasts until her nipples popped free of the cups. “Nobody. Don’t—”
Logan ignored her, and proceeded to torture her breasts. He licked. He bit. He used merciless
suction to take each nipple deep into his mouth, sending a bolt of heat straight to her core. Then he
raised his head and looked at what he’d done to her.
“The only chest you’re going to be pressed up against is mine.” So saying, he leaned in until his
starched dress shirt scraped across her nipples. She sucked in a breath, barely managing not to beg
out loud.
Her body pleaded with him in other ways. Her hips lifted and rocked, striving to use the ridge of
his erection to alleviate the uncomfortable tension building inside her.
“No cheating.” He stepped back so her legs fell from his waist… She squeaked and clung to his
shoulders to avoid falling to a heap at his feet, but he didn’t allow that to happen. He kept his hands at
her waist and eased her down the door until her feet made contact with the floor. As soon as they did,
he knelt before her and draped her leg over his shoulder. She stood there, propped against the door,
balanced precariously on one high heel to try to stay upright.
She flattened her palms against the smooth wood. What she’d thought was too much before now
became unbearable. Her heart pounded in her chest and an echoing pulse beat insistently between her
thighs.
His lips brushed her navel. He pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to the ticklish skin just above her
panties, and then scraped his teeth along her quivering inner thigh. Her muscles gave out and, next
thing she knew, both legs were draped over his shoulders, his big hands cradling her butt. “Who was
going to make your knees so weak you couldn’t stand anymore?”
She tried to squirm away but he tightened his grip and held her still. With the tip of his tongue he
traced one seam of her panties all the way to where it disappeared between her legs. “Who’d you
envision doing this?”
She bit her lip to keep from confessing anything, but couldn’t hold back a low, edgy groan. Nor
could she stop herself from bowing her back, lifting her hips and offering herself up to him. She ought
to have been mortified by her behavior, but decency was losing a battle with desperation. She needed
that mouth, and it hovered maddeningly close.
His tongue darted out and laved her through the thin silk. Her stomach muscles coiled painfully
tight. She cried out and jerked away as if he’d branded her. But then the burn subsided, to be replaced
by a low, persistent, unspeakably addictive heat, and she came rushing back for more.
He wouldn’t give her more. Instead he held her there, shaking and twitching and senseless with
longing. “Are you suffering?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Who’d you dress up for, Sophie? Say my name and I’ll take the ache away.”
Oh, God, she wasn’t going to be able to hold out. Pride…anger…everything inside her crumbled
beneath the weight of her need. “Please, Logan.”
He tore the flimsy excuse for underwear away, leaving her completely exposed. “Tell me,” he
ordered and lowered his head, as though fully expecting her to comply. His hair tickled the inside of
her thigh. His breath feathered over her center and her pelvic muscles contracted again, seeking
relief. She closed her eyes and whimpered.
“That’s a very nice reply, but not the right answer.”
Her whimper gave way to a shocked cry when he lifted her hips and sank his teeth into the tender,
swollen flesh protecting her entrance.
“You,” she screamed, and pounded the door with her fist as he used his tongue to drag her up and
over the first jagged peak. Before she could catch her breath and beg for mercy, he drove her up
again. His mouth plundered, ravaged, and sent her tumbling headlong into a place she’d only dreamed
about—before Logan.
…
Sophie’s bucking and squirming and praying to God were gratifyingly unrestrained, but left Logan
with the self-imposed obligation to bring her back down slow and easy. He held tight and kept his
mouth on her, kissing her as intimately as she could stand, then gradually gentling the pressure and
slowing the sweep of his tongue as her orgasm receded, leaving her limp and panting. He kissed her
softly one last time while he slipped her shoes off. Then he eased her legs off his shoulders, gathered
her up in his arms, and carried her to the bed. If he’d needed any assurances as to whom she wanted,
the last few minutes had given him plenty. Now it was his turn.
He laid her across the white sheets, stepping back to soak in the sight of her—arms flung out above
her head, ankles crossed and knees drawn up. Naked, except for the black bra not quite containing her
breasts. Dark, dazed eyes gazed at him from half-lowered lids. Her full lips trembled apart. “I’m still
mad at you,” she whispered.
“Uh-oh. Better get rid of this.” He undid his belt, slid it from around his waist and let it drop to the
floor. It was hard to make jokes with the scent of her teasing his brain, the taste of her coating his
tongue, and his need for her creating an unholy pressure between his legs, but he thought he pulled it
off.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not funny.”
“Oh, come on.” He aimed a grin at her and went to work on his shirt buttons. “That was a little bit
funny.”
She tugged her bra into place and then propped herself up on her elbows. “No. You’re not funny,
and you’re not charming. You’re just a…a no-good player, plain and simple. I can’t believe I ever
had a crush on…” Her voice trailed off and she blushed all the way from the roots of her hair to the
center of her chest.
“You had a crush on me?” Smiling, he shrugged his shirt off and reached for his fly.
“I’m over it. Keep your pants on, player, I’m not staying.” She sat up and made a move to scramble
off the bed. He tugged his pants and briefs off, and then caught her ankle, preventing her escape.
“Before you rush off and slam the door in my face, want to tell me why I’m a ‘no-good player’ as
you put it?”
If looks could kill, the one she shot him would have wiped out his entire family tree. She blew the
hair out of her face and said, “You know why. I’m not blind, or stupid. I saw you with Regan tonight.
You had your hands all over her—”
“It was a dance lesson. We were dancing.”
“She had her lips all over you, and…and…this is ridiculous. I’m done. Let me go.”
She tugged at the ankle he still held captive. When he didn’t let go, she crossed her arms over her
chest and stared past him, looking so jealous and miserable he wanted to cuddle her, and then kiss
her, and then… But he wanted to put this particular insecurity to rest first. It’s not that he didn’t have
some sympathy. He’d experienced a flash of jealousy seeing her dance with Brock tonight, but he’d
gotten over it as soon as she’d shown up at his door. He’d had his hands and mouth all over her, and
she still doubted him.
“She kissed me on the cheek, Sophie, and it was nothing but friendly.”
Her eyes zipped back to his. “Bull. She picked you from the start.”
His confusion over that comment must have shown on his face, because she rolled her eyes and
continued, “The bridesmaids’ bet, remember? You couldn’t find your room key after the dinner at
Spago, and I told you about the bet? Regan was the one aiming to bag the best man. Well, no actually,
at that point it was Julie, but then the morning of the scavenger hunt things shuffled and Regan called
dibs—”
“Jesus.” He let go of her ankle and dropped down beside her on the bed. “I’ve been passed around
like a canapé.”
“My point is, her interest in you goes way beyond friendly and I’m not so naive I don’t know it. She
wants you. And you know what? That’s fine—inevitable, really. I always knew you’d end up with a
girl like Regan, so go tango with her. No hard feelings. But stop paying attention to me, and flirting
with me, and”—she made a vague gesture toward her lap—“all the rest of it.”
“By which you mean the”—he lowered his voice dramatically—“S-E-X?”
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare laugh at me. What you’re doing isn’t amusing. It’s mean, and
unfair, and you have to stop because otherwise, I’m not going to be able to keep myself from…
from…” She shook her head and clamped her mouth shut, but her chin trembled.
“I’m not laughing,” he said firmly, and steeled himself to stand tough in the face of her tears,
because if she figured any part of what he had to say stemmed from a desire to make her stop crying,
she’d never truly believe the words. “Maybe you’re not naive, but you’re sure as hell blind.”
Her wide, wounded eyes filled with indignation.
“That’s right. You’re blind if you honestly can’t see that I don’t want Regan. Or Julie or Christine,
for that matter. None of them interest me, and to make that sound less self-centered, I’ll hazard to
guess I don’t rank very high on their lists of interests either, despite the damn bridesmaid pact.
There’s only one woman who interests me. Only one woman I want. And she’s the only one I’ve been
paying attention to, and flirting with, and all the rest of it. But if you can’t see that, and you can’t trust
me, and you really believe I’m just a no-good player, then I’ve been wasting my time. Not to mention
setting myself up for a shitload of disappointment, because without trust, we’re just fucking around.
You might as well have dealt yourself in on the bridesmaid games, called dibs on me, and walked
away with the win at the end of this week.”
Sophie closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I want to trust. I want to believe, but
Logan, you didn’t even notice me that first night at the bachelorette party, and then, the next evening,
you’re suddenly standing in the lobby like my knight in shining armor, dragging me to dinner, sticking
by my side. I guess a part of me can’t fathom how I went from invisible to so dang interesting
overnight.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth about why he’d dragged her to dinner that night,
but admitting that any part of his actions stemmed from his promise to Colt would undermine the trust
he desperately wanted from her. Besides, in truth, she’d caught his eye that night in the lobby before
he’d even known who she was, and the attraction had been immediate, so the fact that Colt had asked
him to take her under his wing was largely irrelevant.
“Were you wearing snug jeans and leaning all over the concierge desk the first night?”
She sniffed, looked at him, and wiped her cheek. “No.”
“Well, there you go. Mystery solved.”
Now she gave him a watery laugh. “Be serious. You did not notice me because you liked the way
my butt looked in jeans.”
He reached over and dragged her onto his lap, splaying his hand across the butt in question. “Have
you seen your butt in jeans? Until you have, you’re not qualified to comment.” He squeezed, just for
the fun of watching her squirm, and then looked her in the eye. “For the record, the night of the
bachelorette party was the night I arrived at Beaver Creek, after working nonstop for weeks in what
turns out to have been a wasted effort to give myself enough breathing room to detach from Defy
Gravity for a minute. I was functioning on less than three hours of sleep and I barely knew my own
name. The only thing that really sticks out in my mind about the first night is that I lost my room key—
which could have been my own damn fault considering I was, essentially, a zombie.”
“Really?”
“Really. But, Soph, I’ve been noticing you like crazy ever since.” He pushed her hips down so
there was no way she could miss exactly how much he was noticing her at the moment. “You make me
stand up and take notice. And not just because of all these mind-boggling curves wrapped in silk and
lace—though I’m certainly not complaining. Your honesty, your sense of adventure, the way you can’t
turn down a dare…those things grabbed my attention, and I’ve been captivated ever since.”
Sophie sucked in a breath, and then melted against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“That’s the nicest thing any man has ever said to me.”
The feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples drilling into him through the skimpy
bra, the stirring little hitch in her voice—it all had a predictable effect on him. He eased back and
brought his lips down on hers, taking almost savage satisfaction in the way hers instantly parted and
her tongue darted into his mouth to mate with his. Her hungry moan only added fuel to the fire.
Seducing an angry Sophie had its merits, and he’d reveled in every second of her reluctant
capitulation, but keeping up with cooperative—hell, enthusiastic—Sophie unleashed a whole new
level of need. Watching her shed her inborn reserve, her inhibitions, enthralled him in a way nothing
else ever had. Or ever will, a fatalistic voice in the back of his mind added.
Her fingernails raked lightly over his scalp, down his neck, and then dug into his shoulders,
transmitting an urgency he understood all too well. He broke the kiss. “There’s a box of condoms in
the nightstand. Let me—”
Before he could finish, she shifted off his lap and crawled over the mattress until she could reach
into the nightstand. Okay, definitely beyond inhibitions, he thought as he stretched out and took in the
view. But when she scooted back down the bed, tore open the wrapper, and reached for him, he
intercepted her eager hands. “Nope. Sorry. If you do that, this particular phase of tonight’s
entertainment will last about three seconds.”
Instead, he flipped her onto her back and straddled her. They both watched as he rolled the condom
down his cock. Job done, he looked at her. She licked her plush, pink lips.
A heavy, almost debilitating ache built somewhere behind his balls. “Christ. Don’t even think about
it. Just…” He slipped a hand behind her knee and hitched her leg up, opening her to him, and
positioned himself at her threshold. Then he played there a few seconds, rubbing the head of his cock
over her clit to make sure she was ready.
“Logan!” She raised her hips to try to take him in. “I’m so empty. All day I’ve put on a calm face
for everyone, and tried to pretend that my body wasn’t so painfully empty I might die if you didn’t
come and fill me. It’s like some kind of punishment. You’ve got to make it stop, so I can think straight
again.”
“Holy shit, Sophie—” But it was too late. Her words broke the restraints he’d put on his desire. He
reared back and drove into her, grunting as she closed around him like a slick, tight fist. He felt
gigantic inside her, and still ached to go deeper, but he froze when she inhaled sharply and winced.
Goddammit. She was small, and delicate, and the “punishment” she’d endured all day had a lot to
do with the fact that he’d spent most of last night pounding into her like a jackhammer. He knew better
than to go at her again so soon, but he’d forfeited every bit of finesse he owned as soon as she’d
shown up in that red dress tonight. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and held still.
“Please,” she cried, trying desperately to rock her hips even though his weight effectively pinned
her to the mattress. “Don’t stop.”
He kissed the soft curve where her neck and shoulder met. “Shh. Baby, I’m not stopping. But you’re
so tight, and I don’t want to hurt you. Hold on.”
He rolled them over until she sat astride him, jostling a high-pitched, surprised sound out of her in
the process.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie looked down at him. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”
He let out a slightly pained laugh. “My cock could drill granite right now. I guarantee you’re not
going to hurt me.” Then he closed his eyes and groaned as she shifted her hips and seated herself on
him more fully.
She immediately braced her palm in the center of his chest and reversed course. “I thought you said
I couldn’t hurt you? Dang it, Logan, I’m bad at this. I’ve only read about it. I don’t actually know what
I’m doing.”
His hands flew to her waist to stop her from lifting off of him completely. He looked her in the eye.
“I’ll tell you exactly what to do. And you’re going to follow my instructions to the letter.
Understand?”
For some reason, his words made her heart beat faster. “You’re sure?”
“Don’t make me tell you twice. Now get back where you belong.”
“Okay. Okay. Like this?” She slowly lowered herself down his shaft.
He watched her face like a hawk, and it occurred to her he was looking for any signs of pain. That
knowledge quickened her heartbeat even more. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he worked his
hands under her and encouraged her to lift up. “Oh yeah. Take it back up. Nice and slow. Then slide
on down. Keep going.”
She did as he instructed, but couldn’t resist a greedy little grind at the end when her clit hit the base
of his cock. “Again. No, wait.” He reached behind her, unhooked her bra and swept it down her arms.
She closed her eyes and moaned her dissatisfaction with the order to hold still, but she obeyed. Once
he lay back against the mattress, with his hands under her hips again, he said, “Now go. I want to
watch you ride me, feel these muscles bunching and tensing”—he squeezed her glutes—“and hear
those noises you make when you’re about to come.”
His words alone worked for her. She leaned in, supporting herself on her arms, and moved her hips
faster. The position splayed her thighs and butt, and he took full advantage, getting a better grip on her
hips and letting his fingers intrude into the extremely sensitive center groove between her cheeks. She
couldn’t hold back a gasp any more than she could stop the wave of heat that crept up her chest and
into her face. Still, she didn’t try to pull away. She couldn’t bear to. Her muscles contracted around
his cock, faster and tighter, every time he danced his fingertips nearer to the point where their bodies
connected.
Her landings became harder. Less controlled. And even in the midst of such incredible pleasure, it
became difficult to ignore the fact that her breasts didn’t appreciate all the jostling. She hunched her
shoulders and brought her arms closer together in a subtle effort to hold everything still.
He reached up and cradled her breasts. “Better?”
So much for subtle, but honestly, the support helped. “Uh-huh. It’s just…they’re so heavy. It’s
uncomfortable when they bounce around.”
A quick crunch of his abs brought them face-to-face and wrenched a startled cry out of her. He
pried her hands off his chest and moved them to her breasts, introducing her to the sensation of her
tight nipples raking over her own palms.
“Take them,” he ordered. When he let go, however, she hesitated and lowered her hands, too used
to considering this particular part of her anatomy as an annoyance or a source of embarrassment than
a means of enticement.
“I don’t know how you want me to—”
He guided her hands back to her breasts, and spoke against her parted lips. “Hold them. Support
them. Do as I say, because you’re only going to fuck me harder from here on out. Now”—he gave her
backside a quick swat—“get this sweet little ass moving. I didn’t tell you to stop.”
“Oh, God.” Heat flooded her center. She clamped her hands to her breasts and started moving,
double time. Their mouths slid together, apart, together, apart as she rocked up and down. The
pressure inside her wound tighter and tighter, introducing her to a whole new universe between
pleasure and pain. Her breath came out in high-pitched whimpers. She barely heard them, but he must
have, because he said, “You have no idea how much I love those sounds, but now it’s time to make
you scream.” With that, he worked his hand between their bodies and probed her soft, swollen folds.
She gulped in air and jerked away. “Oh, no.” Every nerve ending inside her twisted tight. Her
vision went white around the edges and a low roar drummed in her ears.
“Oh, yes,” he ground out, the words more a vibration than actual speech. He clamped his other hand
on her ass and pushed her forward. Then he dragged the pad of his thumb over the knot of nerves
quivering for his attention. She arched up and chased the addictive spear of lightning his touch
released. Arms clasped to her head, elbows pointed to the sky, her whole body froze there for one
long, silent second, absorbing every wave of pleasure coursing through her. As if in a dream, she
heard her own ragged cry.
Then his voice reached her ears. “There’s no rush like you. No business deal. No climb. Nothing
compares to being inside you.”
And then she couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her pulse echoing in her head, which was
safer than listening to Logan call her incomparable. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d start to get used
to it.
…
Sophie woke in a beam of sunlight, with the muffled sound of Logan’s voice chasing away the last
wisps of a dream in which she’d been dancing with Logan on top of the Beaver Creek rock wall,
wearing nothing but black lingerie. She sat up and blinked around the sun-flooded suite, confused to
find the bed—the entire room—empty. Then she saw him through the closed balcony doors, leaning
on the railing, facing the mountains, wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans riding low enough on his
hips to make her wonder if he had anything on underneath. Had he not been speaking into his phone,
she might have wandered over to find out. But he was on the phone, and it was obviously a business
call. Every line of his body conveyed restless energy and the closed doors couldn’t mute the
frustration in his voice.
As if he sensed her attention, he turned. Their eyes locked and his tense expression immediately
loosened into a smile. It turned apologetic and he pantomimed strangling his phone.
She laughed, wrapped the sheet around herself, and climbed out of bed. He made a move to open
the door—an invitation to join him on the balcony—but she shook her head and padded to the
bathroom, stopping every few steps along the way to pick up another piece of her outfit.
Please let there be no witnesses in the hallway when I take the walk of shame back to my room.
In last night’s dress. Commando, she added as she lifted her torn panties off the floor.
In the privacy of the bathroom she placed her clothes on the counter, stared into the mirror, and
laughed at herself all wrapped up in the bedsheet. Don’t you think the modesty is a tad misplaced at
this point? He’s seen, touched, and tasted every inch of you.
That he had. She raised her arms over her head and stretched until her deliciously abused muscles
trembled. Maybe in the time it took her to dress, wash her face, finger-brush her teeth, and get
dressed, he’d be off the phone and they could start seeing, touching, and tasting each other all over
again? A girl could hope.
Hope fizzled a few minutes later when she stepped out of the bathroom to find him sitting at the
small desk, firing up his laptop. “I’m logging on right now,” he said into the phone while his gaze
lingered on her. “Give me a minute to access the file. Then we can get started.”
The person on the other end of the call responded, and then another tinny voice echoed across the
line and Sophie realized he was on a conference call. He’s busy. You should go . The depth of her
disappointment startled her. She didn’t want to go.
And if that scary thought didn’t get her butt in gear, nothing would, because falling for him was one
thing, but falling so hard she lost sight of the limitations of their…whatever it was they had going
on…was another thing entirely.
She gave him an awkward wave, then pointed to the door and mouthed, “See you later.”
He shook his head, put the phone face up on the desk, hit speaker, then another button, and then
gestured her to come closer. She approached the desk as a man on the other end of the call said,
“Thanks, everyone, for dialing in. While Logan’s booting up, I’ll take a minute to walk through the
agenda, which is pretty extensive…” A series of groans from the other attendees followed that
announcement.
Logan smiled, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her closer. “It’s on mute,” he explained, before his
smile turned wicked and he slid his hand under her skirt. “I seem to recall ripping your panties off
last night, so tell me, Soph, whatcha got on under this little red dress?”
The voices on the other end of the phone went quiet, and then someone cleared his throat.
Logan winced and slowly removed his hand. “Okay, I take it we’re not on mute?”
Several beats of silence greeted the question, and then a female voice said, “This is the best
conference call ever.” People laughed.
“Glad to bring you your prurient moment for the day. Everyone, say hi to Sophie.”
“Hi, Sophie,” the disembodied group replied as one.
“Hello,” she somehow choked out. “And good-bye.”
Logan grinned and winked at her. “Sophie’s face is almost as red as her dress right now.”
The voices on the other end of the phone chanted, “Picture! Picture! Picture!”
“Sorry, team. I’m keeping her to myself for the time being. But if you all behave, and we get this
freaking deal closed by the end of the quarter, I’ll see if I can talk her into being my date for the
closing dinner.”
That statement brought a round of whistles and cheers.
Date for the closing dinner? Dear God, he was talking about taking this thing between them
forward. Beyond Beaver Creek. Into their real lives. Her heart galloped off toward an uncharted
horizon while he added, “Great. Now, Peter’s going to walk you through the agenda, and I’m going to
put you on mute while I say good-bye to Sophie.”
Several “Bye Sophies” flowed over the line, along with a few kissing noises. Logan rolled his
eyes, hit the mute button—took an extra second to make sure the icon came up on the screen—and then
put the phone down and looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
She waved his apology away. “It’s me. My bad luck has rubbed off on you.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her forward, and rested his forehead against her
middle before looking up at her. “Something about you has rubbed off on me, but I don’t think it’s bad
luck. Sure you have to go? You could hang out here and…fuck…I don’t know…be bored to death.
Doesn’t that sound fun?”
It did, which only went to show how far-gone she was. She needed to get out of there and figure out
what the heck she was doing before she said something lame. “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day,
but…” too late… “I need to go. I have some work to do, too. Plus my parents are arriving tonight. I
have to mentally prepare for that.”
“Wow. They’re arriving together? I didn’t think they spoke to each other, much less traveled
together.”
“Lord no. They’re arriving separately. We hope the resort offers enough neutral ground for them to
occupy at once.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I should be used to it. I was too young when they split up to remember them any other way than
how they are now. They’re just very different, and”—she shrugged—“incompatible. Mom’s outgoing
and likes a busy social calendar. Dad prefers his own space and company.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. But do me a favor and remember different doesn’t always mean
incompatible.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. See you tonight at the rehearsal?”
She nodded and walked to the door. “Yes.”
When she reached out her hand to grab the knob, Logan stopped her. “I think you’re forgetting
something.”
Was she? She turned around and surveyed the room, and then looked up at him. “What?”
“This.” He lowered his head and kissed her. Within seconds, all thoughts of conference calls and
closing dinners fled from her mind, to be replaced by vivid memories of exactly what had gone down
the last time she’d been standing between Logan and the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck
while her body revved up for a repeat performance.
Logan groaned, tipped his head, and changed the angle of the kiss, and then groaned again when a
voice from the other end of the room called, “Logan McCade. Paging Logan ‘Pantyripper’ McCade.
Please return to your conference call.”
“Oh, goodness.” Sophie jumped, turned, and would have run smack into the door if Logan hadn’t
grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back against him. He opened the door for her, kissed her again,
and whispered “Bye, Soph,” before she floated out into the hall.
Back in her room, she showered, changed, and tried her best to push her whirling thoughts about
Logan and his sort-of dinner invitation out of her mind. Work proved to be a decent distraction, but
after a few hours, she’d answered all her emails, taken care of a couple quick projects, and received
a text from her mom telling her she was on her way to the resort, as well as an email from her dad
saying his flight had just touched down.
Great. Two and a half hours before the Bickermans hit Beaver Creek. Even as a divorced couple,
they presented a strong argument for staying single. Forever.
Feeling restless, she changed into loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved workout shirt and went for
a run-walk along the paths surrounding the resort. Somehow she found herself back at the same dress
shop where she’d dropped her life savings yesterday. The same nice saleswoman talked her into “a
sexy-but-classy wrap dress the exact same shade as your eyes,” a pair of black patent leather sling-
backs, and another naughty set of underwear in deep violet this time. The shopping killed another hour
and another three hundred bucks.
On her way back, she contemplated ordering a late lunch from room service and spending the rest
of the afternoon indulging in her favorite guilty pleasure—reading. She had several new titles on her
Kindle, but for once, an afternoon immersed in erotic tales didn’t sound enticing. It sounded isolated.
And that’s when it hit her. She was tired of her own company.
Sophie Brooks, introverted lover of solitude, craved interaction. Lunch alone in her room held no
appeal. Instead of cutting through the lobby to the elevator, she made her way to the Berlitz Bar, a
Swiss chalet-style pub, with the idea of ordering some food and people-watching. The place was
mostly empty, save for a foursome of seniors who looked as if they’d just strolled off a golf course,
and a cozy couple lost in their own world, whispering and giggling at the end of the bar. She walked
to an empty stool at the other end of the bar, tucked her shopping bags beside the stool, and took a
seat. Her gaze wandered the room, searching for a bartender, and inadvertently landed on the couple.
Correction, make that Colt and Kady lost in their own world, whispering and giggling at the bar. As
she watched, Colt tipped Kady’s chin up and kissed her.
Right. They were perfectly balanced. No need for a third wheel. She’d just sneak out before they
noticed her. She hopped off the tall barstool, unbalancing it in the process, and then watched in horror
as it proceeded to topple the next three barstools like a big, loud line of dominoes.
Every head in the place turned toward her. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. She busied herself
picking up barstools.
“Hey Sophie.” Colt strolled over, took the stool from her hands, and set it on its feet. “What’s up?”
He leaned over and picked up the next fallen soldier.
“Oh, you know, nothing much.” I’m sleeping with your best friend. She grabbed her bags. “I was
just heading upstairs to—”
“Don’t rush off.” He righted the last stool. “Stay and keep us company.”
“I don’t want to intrude…” She looked past Colt to Kady, who smiled wide and patted the seat next
to her.
“Come on.” Colt took her shopping bags and led her over to to Kady. “Day after tomorrow we’ll
fly off to Hawaii, you’ll fly back to California, and I won’t get to see my little sister again until
Thanksgiving.”
“Good point. You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asked Kady.
“Mind? Are you joking? I’m dying to talk to you. I’m bursting with curiosity.” Kady rubbed her
palms together. “Sit your butt down and tell me where you were this morning.”
She nearly toppled her barstool for the second time in five minutes. “This morning?”
“Yes, this morning. I knocked on your door to see if you wanted to join us for breakfast with my
parents, but you didn’t answer. I have to assume you hadn’t made it back to your room from whatever
shenanigans you got up to last night—after you escorted Bridezilla to her room so she could have her
nervous breakdown in private. And thank you for that, by the way.”
“You’re welcome, but you’re not Bridezilla. Have Tyler and Christine kissed and made up?”
“They will,” Kady replied confidently. “I’m not worried anymore. Nice try with the deflection, but
you didn’t answer my original question. Are you being evasive, Sophie?”
“No.” Stop fidgeting. Play it cool. And for God’s sake, don’t blush. But even as she coached
herself, she felt heat sting her cheeks. “I must have been at the gym.”
Kady stared pointedly at Sophie’s workout clothes. “You’re working out twice a day now?”
“Um…I did a circuit of weights this morning. Just now I went for a walk and sneaked in some
cardio.” Was it hot in here? It felt like she was sweating buckets.
“Hard-core. I love it. It’s totally paying off, too, because you looked amazing last night in your red
dress.” She winked and nudged Sophie with her shoulder. “I thought maybe you’d gotten lucky.”
Colt choked on his beer. “What?”
“Nope. Not me. No luck here.” The words came out way too fast, and way too loud, and although
she told herself not to look, her eyes darted guiltily to Colt. She was a lousy liar. Desperate for a
distraction, she blurted, “Well, that’s not entirely true. I had some luck…at work.” No, came out
wrong. “I got a promotion.”
“Oh my God, honey, that’s awesome,” Kady cried.
“Congratulations,” Colt added. “I’m proud of you, Soph.”
“It’s just to lead web designer, but I get a raise and more responsibility. Direct interaction with
clients.”
“You’ll do amazing,” Kady assured her, “because you are amazing. You’ve really come into your
own in the last few months. You’re more outgoing and confident, and…I don’t know…you’ve
bloomed. Your mom and dad aren’t going to recognize you when they see you at dinner tonight.”
She felt her smile slip a bit. She hadn’t seen her mom since Christmas, and yes, she’d undergone a
few internal and external transformations since then, but the thought of receiving her mother’s
assessment of those changes set off a small earthquake of nerves in her stomach. “I’m sure Mom will
find something to fix.”
Colt laughed. “Don’t take it to heart. Constant criticism is part of her charm. If I had a dollar for
every time she told me to stand up straight, or comb my hair, or change clothes because I looked like I
got dressed in the dark, I’d have been a millionaire before I graduated from high school.”
“I know.” Sophie sighed and traced a dark grain in the wood of the bar with her finger. “She
always wants us to show the world our best, but sometimes her comments are hard to take.”
Her brother wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “Tell you what. You handle Dad,
and I’ll keep Mom off your back.”
Tempting as the offer sounded, she shook her head. “No. This is your wedding. The least I can do is
be the buffer, and let you and Kady relax and enjoy yourselves.”
Kady wrapped her arm around Sophie too, and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Have I
mentioned you’re the best sister-in-law ever?”
“Yeah, yeah. Pick out a nice souvenir for me in Hawaii.” The bartender headed over just then with
a smile and a menu. A three-note tone sounded from Colt’s pocket. He pulled out his phone, glanced
at the screen, and announced, “Speaking of Mom, she’s arrived, and she wants lunch.” He tapped out
a text message. “We’ve already eaten, but I’ll tell her to come down and join you.”
Sophie contemplated ordering a large, stiff drink, but Colt closed out his tab and they moved to a
table. A minute later her mother swept into the bar, looking slim and effortlessly beautiful, as always.
She’d styled her dark hair in a sophisticated twist, and wore a shoulder-baring black-and-white
striped top over slim-fitting white pants. A large black designer handbag and matching heels
completed the ensemble. Not every fifty-five-year-old woman could pull off the outfit, but their mom
could.
“Darlings,” she called when she spotted them, and glided over to the table. Colt stood as she
approached. “Glad you made it, Mom,” he said, and they embraced. She kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t
miss your big day.” When she drew back, her perfectly groomed brows knitted. “Honey, you’re going
to get your hair trimmed before the wedding, right?”
Colt, to his credit, didn’t allow a ripple of annoyance to disrupt his relaxed expression. “Yes,
Mother.”
She patted his cheek. “Good.” Then she turned to exchange cheek kisses with her soon-to-be
daughter-in-law. “You look beautiful, as always, Susan,” Kady said.
“You’re too kind, sweetheart.” She eyed Kady’s dark-blue tank dress and canvas sandals. “I wish I
was still at the age where I could throw on any old thing and not worry about how I looked, but alas,
those days are gone.”
Kady gave her a thanks…I think smile and linked arms with Colt. “We need to go meet with the
wedding planner. See you both at the rehearsal?”
“Of course,” her mom said. Sophie nodded, and refrained from adding, If I don’t drink myself into
a coma at lunch.
Then they were making their escape, and her mom turned to her, smiled, and hugged her. “Sophie.”
“Hi, Mom.”
Her baggy, long-sleeved T-shirt hid most of her weight loss, but as soon as her mother wrapped her
arms around her, she noticed the difference. She straightened and narrowed her eyes at her daughter.
“My Lord, look at you! You’ve finally outgrown your baby fat.”
She tried to take a lesson from Colt and Kady and let her mother’s condescending comment roll off,
but failed. She refused to go the old Sophie route and not stick up for herself. Instead she sat, pulled
her chair to the table, and said, “I didn’t ‘outgrow’ anything, Mom. I decided to lose some weight, so
I changed my lifestyle and eating habits in order to accomplish the goal.”
“Well.” Her mom settled herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table and in a move Sophie
recognized as force of habit, discreetly scoped the room to collect any admiring glances.
“Congratulations, honey. Whatever you did worked.” She turned back to Sophie. “I wish you
wouldn’t hide all your progress under”—she wrinkled her nose and gestured to Sophie’s outfit
—“sloppy, shapeless clothes. You know a shirt like that, with your chest, just makes you look like a
tent.” With that, she opened her menu.
Dismissed. Sophie picked up her menu and nearly gave voice to the “yes, Mother” hovering on the
tip of her tongue, but new Sophie issued a firm no. She put the menu down. “This shirt is comfortable,
and I went for some exercise before I came here. I wasn’t actually planning on competing in the Miss
America pageant this afternoon.”
Her mom looked up from the menu, brows high. “Of course not, sweetheart. I’m just saying—”
“Mom, I know what you’re saying, because you’ve been saying it for years. Trust me, you’re
relentless on the topic of what’s wrong with me. It used to hurt my feelings. Now it just annoys me.
Stop picking me apart.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t pick you apart.”
“Come on. I’ve never measured up to your standards. What I’m suddenly realizing is I never will,
because they’re impossible. Even if I were a supermodel, you’d still find fault. You’re not happy
unless you’re criticizing.”
“That’s ridiculous, Sophie.” Her mother sounded genuinely shocked by the accusation. “I do not
constantly criticize you.”
“I lost twenty pounds, and after one quick pat on the back, you immediately told me I’m dressed all
wrong. There’s no satisfying you. You’ve done this my entire life.”
Her mom opened her mouth to issue an automatic denial, but paused to replay her remarks. Then
she had the good grace to blush. “All right, yes, I might be a tad quick to point out when I see room
for improvement.” She dropped her palms to the table. “I don’t do it to criticize or pick you apart.
Believe it or not, I’m trying to be helpful. I’d like to think I’ve taught you and Colt the importance of
personal presentation. You never know who you’ll run into when you’re out and about, and you
always want to make a good impression.”
“Why, Mom?”
“What do you mean, why? So you don’t end up alone.”
The words hung in the air between them as the irony sank in. Her mother frowned. “You know what
I’m trying to say. Of course you need to fall in love with someone—someone who truly suits you so
you don’t end up middle-aged and divorced, like your parents…”
And there it was, the exasperating, messed-up truth. She sighed and shook her head. “Mom, I’m not
going to end up alone because I wore sweats to the grocery store or had a hair out of place.”
“I know. I know you’re right.” She reached across the table, squeezed Sophie’s arm, and offered a
weak smile. “And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you never measured up to my standards. I don’t
feel that way. You are lovely, sweetheart, inside and out, and I am awfully proud of you. Hurtful or
annoying as my efforts have been, ultimately, I just want my kids to be happy.”
Colt was there. Crazy in love and confident enough in that love to embark on a journey he’d never
anticipated taking. In two short days he’d pledge himself to Kady, for better or worse, till death did
them part…and when Colt made a pledge, he honored it. She thought about all the recent changes in
her life—new outlook, new job, and best of all, Logan—and couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I think you’ll get your wish.”
Chapter Twelve
Under the hum of conversation at the rehearsal dinner, Kady said, “I think Sophie got lucky last
night.”
Logan nearly coughed up the bite he’d just swallowed. Colt slapped him on the back and shot his
bride-to-be a horrified look. “We’re back to that? Seriously?”
“Yes, we’re back to that.” Kady aimed an exasperated look right back at Colt. “Don’t tell me you
bought the I-was-at-the-gym-this-morning line she handed us earlier. That was a lie if I ever heard
one. Besides, look at her.”
Three sets of eyes shifted to the opposite end of the table. Past Reed and Julie, sitting so close they
might as well have been sharing a chair. Past Christine and Tyler, equally lost in their own private
world. Past the empty chair Regan had occupied until it had become obvious Brock would not be
joining them for the post-rehearsal dinner. Past Tyler and Kady’s mom and dad, beaming at each other
like newlyweds. At the very end, Sophie sat between her parents, smiling and nodding at something
her father was saying.
“What about her?” Colt asked. “She looks fine. Surprisingly relaxed, considering she braved the
hot seat tonight, sitting between our mom and dad.”
Kady nodded. “Exactly my point. It’s not easy playing Switzerland for those two. I’ve done it, so I
know. And Sophie’s appetite for conflict is much lower than mine, but there she sits, smiling,
completely at ease and, dare I say, a little dreamy-eyed. Plus she’s got that glow.”
“Yeah,” Colt said drily, “the glow from one too many glasses of wine, which is why she’s all
smiley.”
Logan laughed, and then gulped some water to cool down. He was sweating like he’d just free-
soloed Yamnuska.
“No.” Kady whacked Colt in the arm. “She’s got the glow of a satisfied woman.”
His throat constricted and the water went down the wrong pipe. A coughing fit ensued. Colt
slapped him on the back again.
“Okay, new topic. Neither Logan nor I are going to survive a discussion of my sister’s love life.”
“Why not? Oh, not the salacious details.” Kady gave Colt a look that told Logan more than he
needed to know about their details. “But wouldn’t you like to see Sophie as happy and in love as we
are? I don’t know about you, but I want that for her.” She lifted a brow at Logan and added, “I want
that for all our friends.”
Right then he got the distinct impression she knew exactly who was responsible for Sophie’s
satisfied glow. He hoped she kept her suspicions to herself, because he had every intention of
speaking to Colt directly about his feelings for Sophie, man-to-man, after the wedding. Yes, he felt
guilty keeping news like “I’m falling for your sister” from Colt, but he owed those words to Sophie
first, and he owed Colt and Kady a happy wedding day, untarnished by whatever misplaced concerns
Colt might have about his sister and his best friend being together.
Colt glanced down the table again. “Of course I want her to find love.” He shifted in his chair and
folded his arms over his chest. “Pure, chaste love, from a gainfully employed, mentally stable guy
who agrees to sign the oath of celibacy I present to him before he gets within ten feet of my sister—
and understands I’m going to break him in two if he ever so much as thinks about violating it.”
Yeah, definitely after the wedding.
Kady giggled, then leaned over and kissed Colt. “Isn’t he cute when he goes all prickly and
protective?”
“‘Cute’ is not the word.”
Colt cupped the back of her head before she could draw away and planted a much deeper, much
longer kiss on his bride-to-be. The move caught the rest of the tables’ attention and applause broke
out. Sassy Kady actually blushed, which Logan had never seen before, and the blush only deepened
when Colt said, “Who’s the cute one now?”
Logan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The alarm he’d set as a ten-minute warning in advance of a
call he’d scheduled with his board. They needed to discuss the latest round of changes to the
acquisition agreement and, please God, put the damn thing to a vote. “Sorry, I’ll have to leave you to
settle this important question on your own.”
“Past your bedtime, princess?” Colt chided.
Logan stood. “My day’s just getting started, slacker.” But he was tired, and even he could hear the
lack of enthusiasm in his voice. If he could have kicked the board call until tomorrow, he would have,
but tomorrow was out of the question, so he had to get board approval tonight. “I gotta talk to a guy
about a thing.”
“Get your talking done tonight,” Colt said, “because if I catch you with a phone in your ear at any
point tomorrow, you’re not going to like where it goes next.”
“Don’t worry.” Logan patted his friend’s shoulder. “My phone stays in my pocket tomorrow, right
next to the rings and those little blue pills you wanted for the honeymoon.”
“Ah ha ha. Funny guy. Go take your call.”
“I plan to. For the record, she’s the cute one.” Logan kissed Kady’s cheek, and then waved good-
bye to the rest of the table, trying his best not to let his gaze rest on Sophie any longer than what
would be considered normal.
He sent her a text on the way to his room. I’m hungry for dessert. They’d spoken before the
rehearsal—a rushed, whispered exchange in an alcove at the chapel during which he’d explained
he’d have to cut out of the group dinner early to attend a call, and asked her to come to his room after
dinner. She’d agreed, and promised to bring him dessert. Under a stained glass panel featuring the
Virgin Mary smiling down on them, he’d whispered, “You are my dessert.”
He held back a grin as he stepped into the elevator. Luckily, the wrath of God had not struck him
down in a bolt of lightning right then and there, and Sophie had been alluringly flushed and short of
breath all through the rehearsal. If he’d been a little distracted, thinking of all the ways he planned to
devour her, well…nobody had complained.
His phone vibrated in his hand, alerting him to an incoming call. His brother Trevor, according to
the screen. He hit talk. “How’s my nephew?”
“Asleep. Which is just how we like him at this time of night.” The response came not from Trevor,
but from his other brother, Michael.
“Jesus, Trev. Doesn’t Kylie have enough on her plate taking care of Max? You really want to inflict
Michael on her, too?”
“Kylie’s not here,” Trevor explained. “She, and Mom, and a passel of other women are at the cabin
in Big Bear for Chloe’s baby shower. They’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Holy shit, and she left you—worse, the two of you—in charge of a baby? Overnight? Was she
high on some kind of judgment-impairing postpartum brain chemicals?”
“We’re doing fine,” Michael said. “Had some beer and pizza. Played some Texas Hold’em, and the
little guy drifted off to dreamland right there in his high chair, face down in his poker chips. Never
even saw the full house waiting for him at the end of the river.”
“I’m no expert, but I’m fairly certain boozing and gambling are not appropriate activities for a kid
Max’s age. I’m calling social services—I think they might be interested in giving you some advice.”
“Speaking of advice, that’s why we called you,” Trevor interjected.
“You called me for advice?”
“No, blockhead, we called to give you advice. Mom told us you’d managed to break away from
building your empire long enough to catch some poor misguided woman’s attention. It’s been so damn
long since you’ve romanced anything except your right hand, we figured you might have some
questions, or need some pointers on how to go about convincing this Sophie girl to take a chance on
you.”
Fuckers, he thought, well aware he was battling a grin. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Yeah, she’ll be the judge of that,” Michael joked. “Sure you still know what goes where and
why?”
“I know you can kiss my ass,” he responded in a perfectly pleasant voice.
Michael and Trevor responded loudly with rude kissing noises, which promptly provoked a high-
pitched wail from somewhere nearby.
“Damn it. You have to keep your big bullhorn of a voice down when the baby’s sleeping, idiot.”
“Me? That one’s on you, Mommie Dearest.”
“Fuck you, Uncle Mikey.” Trevor’s insult grew faint and Logan pictured him holding Max and
doing the patented walk-bounce around the kitchen.
“That’s no way for Mommy to talk.”
“Sounds like you’re having a little babysitting crisis over there. I’ll say bye. Give Max a hug for
me.”
“Not so fast,” Trevor’s voice came back on the line at full volume, which told Logan he’d picked
up the phone. “This girl…Sophie…Mom got the impression you’re into her. Is that true?”
Jesus, his Mom had some kind sixth sense. All he’d said was he’d taken her climbing. “She’s fun.
We’re having fun, but we’re not planning—”
“I didn’t ask what you’re planning. I asked if you’re into her.”
He intended to make a joke, but what came out instead was, “Yeah. I am.”
“Okay, then do yourself a favor and stop spending eighty hours a week on Defy Gravity. Put some
time into this relationship, so she knows she rates with you. Otherwise, it might not be easy for her to
see that you care about much outside of your company.”
The advice, sharply delivered, carried an uncomfortable undertone truth. “Is that what you guys
think? You don’t rate with me?”
“We know we rate with you, and we know you’re working hard, which is why Mom doesn’t take
offense when she calls you more than once, leaves messages, and doesn’t get a call back. I don’t take
offense that you’re only a two-hour flight from L.A. and you haven’t come in to meet your nephew.
Michael’s not offended by the fact you’ve met Chloe exactly once—at their wedding. We know how
you really feel, so we don’t take it personally when your actions suggest you’ve put work ahead of
your friends and family. But Sophie probably doesn’t know you as well as we do. She might not see
past your behavior to your actual feelings.”
A brick of shame slammed into his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not trying to make you sorry. I’m trying to make you see what your priorities look like to
someone who doesn’t know better.”
“I see your point, and I appreciate the tough love. I guess I have some thinking to do.” He looked at
his watch and winced. “Later. This minute though, I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’ve got a conference call,” Trevor said before the line went dead.
Twenty minutes later, with his board call showing no signs of winding down, he opened his door to
let Sophie in. She looked positively edible in her body-hugging dress and shiny black heels. Hoping
to wrap up the call, he said, “Gentlemen, we’ve discussed the agreement. If there are no questions,
can we put it to a vote?”
The chairman of the board droned on about increases in the acquisition costs and requested they
walk through the ROI one more time. Logan stifled the urge to say, “Walk through it all you want. Call
me when you’re ready to pull the freaking trigger on this deal.” Instead he mouthed, “Ten minutes?” to
Sophie and gave her his best I’m sorry smile.
She waved off his apology, reached into her purse and pulled out an e-reader and a bottle of Cab.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and because he knew she wasn’t prone to accept compliments
gracefully, he underscored it with a kiss while Peter commenced an explanation of the revised
financial model. When he made a move to untie the bow at her waist, she shooed his hands away and
pushed him toward the desk. He sat, barely listening to the detailed breakdown of the financials for
the deal, which he knew by heart. His attention lingered on Sophie as she moved about the room,
bending low to get the corkscrew from the minibar, rising up on her tiptoes as she pulled the cork
from the bottle. She poured two glasses of wine, handed him one, and then settled on the bed with her
wine and her Kindle. Within a few minutes, she was engrossed in her story. His mind wandered from
his call while he appreciated the gleam of the lamplight in her hair and the shadows slanting down the
front of her dress. When she shifted position, his attention zoomed to the smooth expanse of thigh
revealed by the split in her skirt and an intriguing flash of purple he caught just before she recrossed
her legs.
The conversation on the other end of the phone stopped, and he realized they were waiting for him
to speak. “Um, thanks Peter, for the rundown on the financial picture. Are there any other questions,
or can we—”
“I have a question,” the chairman of the compensation committee chimed in. “I’d like a better
understanding of the change-in-control provisions in key executive contracts for the target.”
Oh, God, he was going to be on this call all night. Didn’t these men read any of the information sent
to them in advance of this meeting? The senior partner from the outside counsel they’d retained to
work the acquisition fielded the question, thus ensuring another hefty billing cycle for her firm. Over
on the bed, Sophie looked up at him. Something in her expression had his dick surging behind the
zipper of his black dress pants in less time than it took the outside counsel to say, “golden handcuffs.”
What the hell was she reading?
Sophie put her Kindle in the nightstand drawer, got up, and walked over until she stood in front of
him. A condom landed on the desk seconds before she pulled the tie at her waist and unwrapped her
dress to reveal her traffic-stopping body in skimpy purple silk. His mouth went dry and his brain
blanked. “Holy shit.”
“Sorry, Logan, did you say something?” the outside counsel asked.
“No. Nothing. Keep going.”
Sophie shrugged out of her dress and knelt in front of him. She reached behind her and unfastened
the sleek purple bra. Let it slide down her arms, and then straightened and fluttered her fingertips over
her stiff nipples.
His eyes drifted shut, but flew open when those nimble fingers went to work on his belt buckle. He
swallowed. When she unzipped his pants, reached in, and fondled him, his hand covered hers, and he
didn’t quite succeed in stifling his groan.
“I know,” outside counsel commiserated. “Negotiations were delicate. Some situations require a
light touch. Don’t you agree, Logan?”
Boy, did he. Sophie’s light touch was driving him out of his mind. “Absolutely.” The word faded
on him when she freed his cock from his boxer briefs, leaned in, and dragged one nipple over his tip.
“I’m…in complete agreement.” Jesus.
Her lips followed, and her hand burrowed into his pants to hold his twitching dick still so she
could do as she pleased with him. He nearly wept.
“Anyway,” the attorney went on, “we just kept massaging the deal until everyone felt good about
it.”
“Do you feel good about it, Logan?” one of the board members asked.
Sophie sucked him in deep. “Oh, God, yes. So good.”
“Excellent. I have to say, you sound very passionate about the whole thing.”
“Some mergers are all win,” he muttered as Sophie swirled her tongue over his throbbing head one
last time and then stood and shimmied out of her tiny purple panties.
The board gave a general murmur of agreement and then the outside counsel moved on to the next
clause of the contract. Sophie rolled the condom down his shaft. He bit his lip to keep from groaning.
Then she straddled him. Slim fingers circled the base of his cock, and she slowly lowered herself
onto his lap.
“We approached this next phase of the proceedings very meticulously,” outside counsel stated.
“We didn’t rush things. We took our time and did them right.”
“Yes,” Logan blurted. “Hell, yes.” He clamped his hands under her ass and helped her glide up and
down his shaft. A little bit faster. A little bit deeper.
“But we didn’t hesitate to play hardball when we had to, did we, Logan.”
Heat flared everywhere she touched him. “N-no. Sometimes you’ve gotta play hardball.”
Her inner muscles clenched and released around him. The heat centered in his balls and burned up
his shaft, coaxed along by the pull of her body.
“Right. So if you look down here at clause ten, you’ll see an example of where we hammered
away, and hammered away, until they begged for mercy and gave us what we wanted.”
Sophie made the whimpering noise he knew so well. Anxious to bring her home, he leaned in and
scraped his teeth over one pink-tipped breast. She cried out and stiffened.
“Is everything okay over there?” one of the board members asked.
“TV,” Logan gasped. “The room next door has their TV on too loud.” Praying they bought the
explanation, he closed his eyes and locked his jaw as Sophie milked the orgasm out of him. He
wrapped his hands around her waist and held her to him, so he didn’t miss one single quivering
aftershock.
Outside counsel concluded her comments about the change in control agreements, and said, “I think
we dealt with all the issues vigorously and thoroughly. I’m sure all the parties will be extremely
satisfied. You’re satisfied, aren’t you, Logan?”
“I am,” he managed, and smiled into Sophie’s slumberous eyes. “Extremely satisfied.”
She smiled back, and then leaned in and bestowed a butterfly kiss on his parted lips.
“Thank you,” he murmured as she untwined her legs from around his and carefully got to her feet,
leaving him happily annihilated.
“Our pleasure,” outside counsel replied.
Sophie shot him a questioning look and pantomimed hanging up a phone.
“What about the integration plans,” another board member asked.
Logan closed his eyes and shook his head. “What about them?”
While the discussion moved on to the intricacies of aligning the target’s operations with theirs, he
watched Sophie stroll lazily to the bed and snuggle under the covers. Every cell in his body longed to
climb into bed and snuggle up with her. There was something seriously fucked up about his work-life
balance when the only time he could find to have sex with the woman of his dreams was during a
conference call.
“Logan, what are your thoughts about production synergies?”
The question pulled his attention reluctantly back to the call. He tucked himself back into his pants,
swiveled his chair until he faced his laptop and opened a file. “Well, Steve, if you look at the
spreadsheet we sent over earlier today…”
Twenty minutes later he closed Excel and pushed back from the desk. “Any other questions?”
“No,” the chairman responded. “I think we’re ready to vote. Can I get a motion to approve the
acquisition we’ve discussed, under the terms and conditions of the proposed agreements?”
Logan sighed his relief as someone made the motion, another board member seconded, and the
board unanimously approved the deal. A surge of triumph swept through him, and he turned in his
chair. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Sophie, snuggled into his bed, one leg drawn up,
face buried in the pillow. She’d kicked the covers off somewhere along the line, and now presented
him with an uninterrupted view of her graceful back and lush, round backside.
He wanted her. He needed her. Hell, he was falling in love with her. And if he didn’t make some
changes, she was going to slip right through his fingers.
“Congratulations, Logan,” the chairman of the board said. “Is there anything else we can do for you
tonight?”
“Yeah,” he heard himself reply, as he stared at Sophie. “I need to redefine my role at Defy
Gravity.”
…
Sophie woke to the bone-dissolving sensation of a tongue sliding down her spine. Her eyes popped
open when the nimble trespasser reached the end of the line and showed no signs of stopping. With a
squeak, she pushed herself up on her arms and flipped over.
Logan looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked and the groove she adored so much flirting by his
mouth. “How about a good-morning kiss?”
“Let me brush my teeth fir—oh!” Ready or not, he lowered his head and kissed her good morning—
a very good morning—in a place she’d never dream of putting toothpaste. “Never…mind,” she
managed, and let her head drop down on the pillow. When he kissed her again, she arched off the
mattress. Her head lolled to the side…and she caught sight of the clock on the nightstand.
“Ohmigod! That can’t be the time.” She sat up, which brought an abrupt end to the good-morning
kisses and a not-so-subtle pang of regret from the parts Logan had been lavishing with attention.
He frowned and made a move to recapture her hips. “We’ve got hours. The wedding isn’t until this
afternoon.” Then he aimed another illicit smile her way. “Besides, I only need another five minutes to
finish wishing you a good morning.”
“I don’t have five minutes.” She climbed off the bed and hurried over to the desk where he’d
placed her underwear on top of his folded laptop. “I’m supposed to be downstairs in three minutes,”
she explained, while shimmying into her panties, “to meet the girls for breakfast and then head to the
bridal suite to start getting ready. I still have to go back to my room, shower…stuff.”
“Jesus, are you serious?” He got up and followed her. “How long can it possibly take to put on a
dress?”
“It’s not just putting on a dress. There’s hair and makeup. And then we have to get Kady ready. Plus
pictures. Dang it, I can’t believe I’m late.” She pulled her bra on, and then reached behind her to deal
with the clasp, only to find he’d beaten her to the chore.
“Thanks.” She turned and scanned the room for her dress.
“I hung it in the closet. Hold on. I’ll get it and walk you back to your room.” She tried to stop
herself from fidgeting where she stood as she watched him stride to the closet wearing nothing but a
pair of white boxer briefs that made her want to sink her teeth into his butt. Down girl.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and shrugged into a white button-down shirt, and then came back with
her dress over his arm. Thanks to his shirt being unbuttoned, he gave her a glimpse of a whole new
selection of highly biteable places. Later. You can lick him up one side and down the other after the
wedding. Maybe find a quiet, secluded spot at the reception.
Something of her thoughts might have showed on her face, because when she turned to slip her arms
into the dress he held open for her, he kissed her neck and murmured, “You’ve certainly changed from
the girl I met when I first got here.”
“H-how so?” Because I’ve turned into a nymphomaniac where you’re concerned?
“At first, you were looking for any excuse to avoid the planned activities—especially the wedding.
Now, here you are, raring to go.”
His observation made her pause in the process of tying her dress. “I guess you’re right.” No
guessing involved. She was looking forward to it—all of it: primping with the girls, standing at the
front of the church watching Colt and Kady pledge their love to each other. She was really looking
forward to the reception, and the possibility of grabbing a private, naughty moment with him. Frankly,
her earlier trepidation about everything seemed stupid and self-centered.
He finished buttoning his shirt and kissed her again, a quick, knee-weakening possession of her
mouth, and then led her out the door. “I’m glad. Even if it means you’re blowing me off to spend hours
with a bunch of girls rather than staying put and letting me wish you good morning properly.”
“Can I get a rain check on the proper good morning?” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes
as they walked down the hall hand-in-hand, and silently held her breath. He’d made the comment on
the call yesterday about bringing her to the closing dinner, but since then he hadn’t said much about
what came next for them. And she hadn’t brought it up, in part because there hadn’t really been a good
time to talk, and in part because his answer felt too big…too important. She’d wanted a little more
time to get her heart prepared for reality.
His expression sobered. They stopped in front of her room and she turned away to unlock and push
the door open. When she turned back, he cupped her face in his big hands and stared into her eyes.
“You can get as many rain checks as you want. And redeem them at your convenience.”
So saying, he leaned in and kissed her again. Slow this time. Devastatingly slow, as if trying to
impart some important message through the slide of his tongue over hers. Her heart slammed into her
ribs like a caged bird. What did he mean, at her convenience? What if she told him every day for the
rest of her life would be convenient? Did he mean he would make that happen?
Only one way to find out. When he drew back, she wrapped her hands around his wrists and held
on. She floated in the crystal-clear depths of his eyes and said, “My place, next Tuesday?”
He breathed in her nervous exhale, and rubbed his lips against hers, as if to soothe away the tension
he’d heard in her question.
“That’s something we need to discuss. Soon. As soon as we’ve done our wedding party duties. I
proposed some changes last night during my call, and my board agreed, and what I hope it means is
—” He broke off and waited as someone passed by, and Sophie realized whoever it was had just
gotten an eyeful of them kissing. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “This isn’t the time or the place. I know
you have to go—”
Her well of bravery ran dry. If he intended to tell her he wanted them to have a future, she could
wait until after the wedding to hear his plan. If he intended to tell her he was…what? Moving the
company headquarters to Timbuktu, but they could be Skype buddies for the rest of their lives, she’d
just as soon not know. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him with everything she had, and hoped
it was enough to remind him there were certain interactions a person simply couldn’t get from Skype,
no matter how good the screen resolution.
Message delivered to the best of her ability, she slipped into her room.
Ten minutes later she stood in the lobby with Kady, Christine, and Julie, secretly grateful she
wasn’t the last to arrive. Regan held that honor. She strode off the elevator a minute later, and Julie
joked about sending out a search party. Regan deflected the comment by pointing out that Christine
was the only one of them who’d needed a search party. While Kady and Julie took turns teasing
Christine, Regan surprised her with a sly question. “How was your night?”
She felt her face go oven-hot. Oh God, what had Regan seen? “J-Just fine.”
“I’ll bet.” Regan leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He’s a really great guy.”
“I know.” Okay, apparently at least one member of the bridal party knew she’d spent the night with
Logan. Interestingly, the brunette didn’t sound the least bit bitchy or jealous. But that didn’t mean the
rest of the world needed to know her business. She shot a glance at Kady. “Can we not talk about this
now? I don’t need my brother or the other two Amigos getting wind of it.”
“Sure.” Regan smiled. “I think they’re all going to be plenty busy today.”
Julie stopped between them and looped her arms around both their shoulders. “Hey, there are no
secrets among friends.”
Sophie’s heart tripped a little at the offhand gesture and comment. Friends. After five days of
interacting with them, she could actually see herself becoming friends with these women.
“Now let’s go get some food,” Julie said. “I’m hungrier than a badger with a hangnail.”
After breakfast she ran up to her room to grab her stuff and then headed to the bridal suite. In one
hand she held the garment bag containing her bridesmaid’s dress. In the other she clutched a bag
containing her underwear, shoes, jewelry, and toiletries. The net effect being she had no hands free to
knock on the darn door. From inside the suite came sounds she could only describe as chaos. Chatter,
laughter, music, and a hair dryer.
She put her mouth close to the seam where the door met the frame and called, “Hello!”
Miraculously, somebody heard her. A woman Sophie didn’t recognize opened the door, and then
Julie appeared wearing a robe, a few huge Velcro rollers in her hair, and a big, relieved smile. She
reached over and swept Sophie into the room.
“Oh, thank God, sweetie. I was beginning to think alien abduction. Come on over this way.” Julie
lifted the garment bag and tote from Sophie’s fingers and passed them to the woman who’d opened the
door. “Marisa is one of the event coordinators. She’ll put your things in the closet ’til you’ve gotten
your hair and makeup done. But first”—whirlwind Julie paused for breath and took the mimosa
Marisa handed her—“this is for you. Now, come stand right here.” She positioned Sophie in front of
a curtained window and waved a woman with a large camera over. “Before picture,” she explained
and then a flash went off in Sophie’s face.
“Oh,” she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots dancing in front of her eyes. “Okay. Thanks.”
Kady came over and nudged her shoulder. “Girl, you earned that.” She pointed to the mimosa.
“Dinner last night went smooth as ice. Colt and I can’t thank you enough for keeping your mom and
dad civil. Heck, better than civil. They actually looked happy every time I glanced over.”
“They are happy. Despite all their differences they have one important thing in common—they love
their kids. They’re thrilled for you and Colt, and determined to play nice and enjoy the wedding.”
“Oh God, that’s a relief. You’re a miracle worker, Soph.” Kady’s chin trembled. “I think I might
cry.”
Regan and Christine stepped over, both in various stages of hair and makeup. “No waterworks,”
Regan said firmly. “If any of you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I refuse to walk down the aisle
with tear tracks marring my makeup.”
Sophie couldn’t hold back a giggle. “For some reason, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the
sentimental type.”
Regan pretended to glare. “Well I am. I cry at weddings. Don’t spread it around.” Then she
grinned. “We all have our little secrets.”
“Not me,” Christine said proudly. “No secrets anymore. Want to know who rocked my world last
night?”
Kady put her hands over her ears. “No. I’m not listening to you. La. La. La.”
Christine pulled Kady’s hands away from her ears. “Your brotherrrrrr,” she teased in a singsong
voice. “First he swept me into his arms, then he tossed me on the bed, and then I got my hands all over
that fine ass of his, and—”
Kady clamped her hand over Christine’s mouth. “Sophie, I hereby apologize for any UN-seemly
and highly IN-appropriate comments I may have ever dropped which hinted at your brother and I
having a sex life. I see now how very wrong that was.”
“Come on, mouthy.” Regan took Christine’s arm and tugged her back to the hair stations set up
across the room. “He’s not my brother, and I want to hear all the details.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Christine said, then turned and stuck her tongue out at Kady as Regan led her
away. “First he kissed me, and then…”
As they walked away, Christine’s voice faded. Sophie was half tempted to follow along and hear
the rest. Tyler wasn’t her brother either. Instead she grinned and said, “Something tells me this is
going to be one wild wedding reception.”
“Damn right, it is,” Julie agreed. “But we gotta get through the wedding first. Go on over there to
the last station. The redhead there is named Elise, and she’ll get you all fixed up. Then we’ll dress,
help Kady dress, pose for some after photos and group shots, and by the time we’re done with all that,
it will be time to take this show on the road.”
Sophie made her way to Elise’s station in a slight daze. A couple hours from now her brother
would be married—something he’d sworn he’d never do. She and tough, smart, slightly intimidating
Kady Dresco would be sisters, and she didn’t feel at all intimidated anymore. Fate worked in strange,
amazing ways sometimes.
Also amazing? The way she looked after two hours of being styled and groomed like an America’s
Next Top Model contestant. By the time she stepped into the bedroom to zip herself into her short blue
strapless bridesmaid gown, she barely recognized herself. Her hair had enough spray to deflect a
baseball, but Elise had managed to transform her simple bob into loose, face-framing waves. Smoky
eyeliner and soft plum-colored shadow turned her boring brown eyes mysterious and sultry. Tinted
gloss gave her lips a pink, just-been-kissed pout. Who knew she had a pout? A sexy one, too.
For one fanciful moment, while she stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror, an image of
Logan materialized at her side. He smiled down at her as they exchanged vows to love each other
forever. A disembodied voice said, “You may kiss the bride.” Her pulse raced. Her heartbeat
thundered in her ears. Logan took her in his arms, slowly lowered his mouth to hers and—
“Don’t leave us in suspense!” Kady called from the other side of the closed bedroom door. “Get
out here and show us the finished product.”
She blinked herself back to reality, laughed a little self-consciously in the empty room, and made a
mental note to schedule an appointment for a makeup overhaul when she got home.
The other girls were deep in the midst of the beautification process by the time she stepped back
into the main room. Kady looked up at her from beneath an intricate, partially assembled updo and
smiled. “Woo, Sophie, check you out! I knew you’d kill in that dress. Hold on, I want to get a
picture.” She hopped up and ran to a luggage-sized purse, then dug around for her camera. Instead,
she pulled out a white index card. “Oh, shoot.”
“What?” Julie prairie-dogged up over the top of her vanity. “What’s wrong?”
Kady frowned at the card. “Probably nothing, but Colt and I wrote our own vows, and I just
realized I still have his. I wonder if he needs this to, you know, review again before the big moment.”
“Want me to have someone run that little old cheat sheet over to him?” Julie asked.
“I’ll do it,” Sophie volunteered. “I’m good to go.”
Kady smiled and handed her the card. “Thanks. And while you’re over there, scope out the scene
because I expect a full report. If any of those boys has corrupted my sweet, innocent groom with
cheap liquor and fast women, I need to know.”
Sophie took the index card, and then posed so Kady could get her picture. “I’m on it. Back in a
few.”
Colt’s groom’s suite was a few floors down at the end of a hall. She knew she’d found the right
place because the door was open and room service waiters were wheeling carts laden with dirty
dishes out. Clearly, she’d missed brunch. She stepped to the side to allow the room service carts to
pass, and spotted Colt and Logan standing just outside the door, deep in conversation. Her insides did
some kind of fancy arabesque at the sight of Logan all handsome and polished in his tux.
Deciding to surprise him, she stayed close to the wall as she closed in on the men. Colt’s back was
to her and her brother’s frame blocked her from Logan’s view. She sneaked up behind Colt and raised
her arm to tap him on the shoulder with the note card when she overheard him say, “…and I can’t
thank you enough for taking Sophie under your wing these past few days. Kady and I made bets she’d
hide in her room the entire week, but thanks to you, she actually participated. I know you were
crushed with work, so the fact that you found the time to befriend her means a lot to me.” Colt paused
and touched his coffee cup to Logan’s, while her heart crumbled. “You went above and beyond the
call of duty.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was on the tip of Logan’s tongue to tell Colt he’d had the best week of his life hanging out with
Sophie, to admit he planned to convince her they should hang out on a permanent basis—for the rest
of their lives—but a strangled sound interrupted. Colt turned, and just beyond him, Logan saw Sophie
standing in the hall, holding a note card.
His first thought was that she looked beautiful. The next, more urgent and overriding realization
was that something was wrong. Huge, wounded eyes stared out from an alarmingly pale face.
“Hey, Sophie,” Colt said. “What brings you down—”
Sophie held the note card out in a shaking hand. “Your vows. Kady thought you might need them.
You”—her attention shifted to Logan and her eyes narrowed—“can consider your duty done. I hope
the time we spent together wasn’t too boring for you, but the good news is, you don’t need to waste
another second on me.”
With that, she spun and stalked off.
Duty done? What the hell was she talking about? His mind replayed the conversation he’d been
having with Colt before they noticed Sophie and his gut tightened. Oh shit…
“Sophie!” He sprinted after her, hooked her elbow, and pulled her around to face him.
She struggled out of his grasp and slapped at him. “Don’t even. Get your hands off me. Don’t ever
touch me again.”
In his peripheral vision he saw Colt rush up and then heard his best friend’s shocked, “Sophie,
what the fuck…?”
“That would be me,” she practically spat, and pulled away. “The duty fuck. Ask your friend.” She
raked Logan with a look that suggested he’d crawled out of a drainpipe. “You”—she pointed at Logan
—“Stay. Away. From. Me.”
He considered himself a strategic thinker, but right then and there, strategy went out the window,
and all he could think to do was tell her everything, immediately. “Sophie, wait. You’ve got the
wrong impression. Okay, yes, I originally sought you out as a favor to Colt, but it stopped being a
favor somewhere between racing through the sprinklers and waking up in your bed. And it’s a hell of
a lot more now. I know what you think you heard, but I need you to listen to me, and trust me, because
—”
“You’re a liar.” With that, she rushed off in a whirl of blue silk.
“Fuck it, Sophie, stay put for one second and let me explain. I screwed up and I’m sorry. I should
have told you everything days ago.” She didn’t so much as pause, so he started to chase after her, but
his best friend’s fist in the middle of his chest stopped him.
“I’ll repeat, what the fuck is going on?” Colt pushed him into the wall and then closed in until he
was right up in Logan’s face. “Talk fast because I’m about three seconds from inflicting serious
bodily harm here.”
“I love her. Sophie. I’m in love with Sophie.” Saying the words aloud to Colt lifted a weight he
hadn’t realized had become so heavy.
“Christ.” Colt stepped back, groaned, and rubbed his hand down his face. “She’s my sister, man.”
“I’m painfully aware. Look, kick my ass if you have to, but I didn’t plan this. God knows I never
intended to drop the news on you hours before your wedding, but it’s true.”
“Well, obviously she doesn’t feel the same way because…” Logan could practically hear his friend
replaying their interrupted conversation in his head. Colt scrubbed his face again and said, “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” he agreed and sank down the wall until he sat on the floor.
On the opposite wall Colt did the same. “Want me to talk to her? Explain that when I asked you to
look after her, that wasn’t code for—Jesus—being your pimp. Or hers—”
“No.” He shook his head and then thumped it against the wall behind him in an effort to kick-start
his brain. “What she overheard was bad. She pinned me down at Spago and asked me, point-blank, if
you’d bribed me to babysit her. I told her no, because I didn’t want to get you in trouble—or maybe
because I already sensed there was more to it, for me, than that—but I didn’t level with her. I thought
I’d made the right decision, at the time, but it turned out to be a huge mistake, not being honest. The
irony is, just last night I told my board of directors to find another CEO.” He laughed at the timing. “I
agreed to stay on as president, but I realized my role needed to change if I expected to find time for a
personal life. I wanted the freedom to relocate to Los Angeles—or wherever—to be with her…a
woman who now thinks I’m the kind of man who would toy with her for a week as some kind of favor
to her brother.”
Colt blew out a breath and then stared at the ceiling. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes,
then blinked. “Why didn’t you just tell Sophie how you feel about her?”
“I planned to talk with her after the wedding, but my feelings have been strongly implied. I assumed
she knew. She ought to know.”
“Dude, women are intuitive creatures, but when it comes to love, they need to hear the words.
‘Strongly implied’ does not cut it.”
“In case you missed it, I just begged her to trust me and listen to me—”
“I’m not taking her side,” Colt said, “and I’m not taking yours either. I’m just saying.” He pulled
himself to his feet and then kicked Logan’s heel. “If I’d relied on my assumptions, Kady would not be
about to become Mrs. Colton Brooks.”
Okay, message received. Good to know he and Colt were on the same page, because he hadn’t
planned on giving up. Logan forced a smile and stood as well. “That’s how you think she’s going to
refer to herself. Seriously?”
“That’s how the holiday cards will be signed. Mr. & Mrs. Colton Brooks. Mark my words.”
“Yeah right. I bet you a grand right here and now the holiday cards are signed, The Dresco-Brooks ,
and another grand says you’ll be the one signing them.”
“You’re gonna owe me two thousand bucks.”
“What’s a couple thousand between family?”
“Family? Jesus. Don’t get ahead of yourself, McCade. And don’t jack things up with my sister, or I
will have to kick your ass.”
…
Stupid. Stupid. How could you have been so stupid?
Sophie gave herself five minutes to hide in her room and bawl her eyes out. Now everything made
sense. The way he’d cajoled her into attending the Spago dinner that first night. The way he’d stuck by
her side the entire evening. The afternoon of the scavenger hunt. The climbing expedition. All that
time she’d been slowly but surely falling in love with him, he’d merely been keeping a promise to her
brother. She was nothing more than a favor.
New Sophie? What a joke. All the makeup and sexy underwear in the world didn’t change a thing.
She was still the same shy, awkward, uninteresting person she’d always been, just more pathetic for
actually believing Logan had found her fascinating. Lesson learned. Painfully and indelibly.
When she could inhale without her breath hitching on the cold, jagged shards of her shattered heart,
she washed the mascara tracks off her cheeks and did her best to hide the evidence of her meltdown.
No way could she return to the bridal suite looking like the walking wounded. Doing so would only
arouse concern and lead to questions. She didn’t feel anywhere near ready to discuss the humiliating
mistake she’d made, and Kady didn’t deserve that kind of drama on her wedding day.
She thought she did a decent job of hiding her emotional wreckage behind a smile, but when Julie
opened the door, she took one look and said, “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” A quick glance around the room assured her everyone else was occupied. “I might have
had an allergic reaction to the mascara. My eyes started to burn and water. I had to wash it off.”
“Ugh. I feel your pain. That happens to me, too. I know they’ve got the hypoallergenic kind around
here. Elise?”
The beautician led Sophie to the vanity and repaired her makeup in no time. The woman was a
magician. No one would guess she’d been crying her eyes out a few minutes ago.
A voice shouted, “Okay girls, here I come,” from the bedroom. The double doors opened and Kady
stepped out. All the chatter in the room stopped, and a collective gasp filled the silence.
Kady lifted her hand and touched her veil. “Somebody say something.”
Regan found her voice first. “Colton’s not going to believe his eyes.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Damn right it is, beotch.”
Christine and Julie burst out laughing. “You’re the most beautiful bride ever,” Julie managed
between giggles, “and I’m not just saying that ’cause you’re my friend.”
“Honest?” Kady turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror stationed by the window.
Christine crossed the room until she stood beside Kady. “Honest.”
Julie and Regan came over as well, and they all stood together like a human bouquet. After a
moment Kady said, “Sophie, get your butt over here.”
She took a breath, pasted a smile on her face, and joined the women standing in front of the mirror.
Kady wrapped her arms around Sophie’s shoulders and pulled her into the group. Then she sighed.
“Those poor boys aren’t going to know what hit them. Let’s take some pictures.”
From there the afternoon became a blur. Pictures. A toast. More pictures. Soon the wedding planner
herded them downstairs and ushered them into a waiting limousine for the short trip to the chapel. At
the chapel they posed for more pictures, and then someone handed her a bouquet, and before she knew
it, she was walking down the aisle on Brock’s arm. He smiled down at her and whispered, “You
clean up nice, Miss Sophie.” She managed to say, “Back at you,” without putting a crack in her mask
of tranquillity, and concentrated on not rushing the pace.
Colt gave her a loaded look when she reached the altar. She pushed her lips into an I’m fine smile
and then feigned interest in the stained-glass windows decorating the far wall of the chapel. She felt
the weight of Logan’s stare but refused to meet his eyes.
Just when the urge to give in to the pull of Logan’s gaze threatened to overwhelm her, the organist
transitioned into the familiar notes of “Here Comes the Bride,” and she gratefully focused on Kady’s
progress down the aisle. Thereafter, she blocked everything else out and locked her attention on Colt
and Kady. The ceremony itself flowed over her, until an awkward pause pulled her out of her zone.
Colt prompted Logan for the rings.
His startled, “Shit, sorry,” sent a ripple of laughter through the church, and told her she hadn’t been
the only one not paying attention to the ceremony. Her traitorous eyes drifted to his flushed face and
found him staring at her. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. She quickly looked away.
“I dos” were exchanged, followed by the big kiss, which Colt and Kady put their all into. Even
though she expected the moment and took joy in their happiness, she caught herself blinking back
tears. Earlier today, for a few stupid moments, she’d pictured standing in front of a church next to
Logan, exchanging vows and promises of forever. Now she flashed forward to a future as crazy old
Aunt Sophie, living alone in her tiny walk-up—just her and her ten pet cats.
The strains of “The Wedding March” reached her ears before she could fall too deeply into that
endless well of self-pity. Then it was back down the aisle and out the chapel door amid cheers and
tossed handfuls of flower petals.
Guests slowly dispersed, boarding shuttles to take them to the reception, and the photographer
directed the wedding party to various locations in and around the chapel for pictures. Sophie kept
herself lodged between Christine and Regan as much as possible, or Reed, Tyler, and Brock, but at
one point, the photographer arranged them so Logan stood behind her, with his arms looped around
her waist. He leaned in and whispered, “We need to talk.”
“That’s nice,” the photographer said. “Let’s get one more. Everybody scooch in a little closer.”
She did as instructed, trying to ignore the scent of his cologne. It invaded her senses, despite her
best efforts to shut him out completely.
“I want to explain—”
Her pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. How pathetic was she? “I don’t want your
explanations.”
The photographer finished the shot and requested that the groomsmen pose with the bride and
groom. She used the opportunity to make an escape. Talking to him now was out of the question. The
lock on the safe where she’d stuffed all her hurt and anger was much too brittle to withstand the
conversation. Besides, she’d overheard everything she needed to know. Any explanations he offered
would just make her want to deck him, and while a part of her got perverse satisfaction out of the
idea, this wasn’t the time or place for the shy girl to go crazy and throw her very first public scene.
What she needed to do was hold herself together until the reception wound down. Then she was out of
there.
A limo transported them to the reception, and she hoped the festive atmosphere in the car covered
any undercurrents of tension between her and Logan. His stare tugged at her, but she resisted the pull
and steadfastly concentrated on a conversation between Christine and Regan about the most atrocious
bridesmaid’s dresses they’d ever been obligated to wear.
Thankfully, the wedding party table at the reception was set up “last supper” style, with Kady and
Colt seated at the center, best man on Kady’s other side, maid of honor flanking Colt. The other
members of the wedding party sat boy-girl down either side, which put many, many bodies between
her and Logan. He wasn’t in her line of vision, but unfortunately, out of sight didn’t mean out of mind.
Especially not when he got up and headed her way. Regan walked toward him and the two stopped
behind the table to chat.
She ordered herself to ignore them, but couldn’t seem to stop sneaking a glimpse from beneath her
lashes. Regan leaned close as they spoke, resting her hand on his arm. She smiled, and must have said
something funny or flirtatious, because Logan blushed. The verbal foreplay continued but Sophie
decided she’d seen enough. Sitting there, docile and silent, while waves of jealousy and misery
battered her was too much to ask of herself.
She pushed her chair back and stood, searching the room for a safe place to lose what little dinner
she’d managed to choke down.
A sixty-something woman toting as many extra pounds and wearing a truly horrid brown dress
waddled into the reception room from a hallway and Sophie had two thoughts. That’s you in forty
years, and, more immediately relevant, that’s the way to the restroom. She hurried down the hall and
pushed through the door with the icon of a woman on the front.
Inside the ladies’ room she sank down into one of the lounge chairs and, because the sting of salt
became too strong to blink back, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to her knees. Keep it
together just a little longer. A couple toasts. Some dancing. A bouquet toss. You can do it.
Not like she had any choice. Staying in the ladies’ room wasn’t an option. Someone would come in
eventually, and see her curled into her protective ball, nursing her wounds. There was something
unbearably pitiful about a bridesmaid sitting alone in a restroom, crying. Nobody wanted to be that
girl, including her.
She got up, walked to the mirror, and used tissues to dry her tears. Then she drew in a deep,
stabilizing breath, released it slowly, and took stock. Surprisingly, the woman staring back at her
looked calm and self-possessed. Only her overbright eyes hinted at any distress, but they also
gleamed with determination. Maybe she wasn’t quite the “New Sophie” she’d set her sights on
becoming, but she wasn’t “Old Sophie,” either. Which brought up the question of exactly what she
was, but she could stand there all day and never figure out the answer, so she tossed her handful of
crumpled tissues into the wastebasket and headed to the door…and almost got knocked out when
Regan came barreling in.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the tall brunette said.
“That’s okay.” She retreated into the lounge again. “I really didn’t want to leave the restroom
anyway.”
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you out there with your guy?”
“Logan’s hardly mine.” Sophie shifted, toying with the edge of her dress. “He was only spending
time with me as a favor to Colton. The good news, for you, is he’s no longer stuck entertaining the
groom’s shy little sister. He’s all yours. Go for it.”
Regan blinked. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but a man doesn’t ask his best friend to sleep
with his baby sister.”
“But—”
“And, seriously, that scorching kiss I got an eyeful of this morning when I walked by your room
was nobody’s version of a favor. No one can fake chemistry like that.”
Sophie frowned. “I don’t know…”
“Yeah, you do. Deep down, a girl always knows.”
Did she? She knew what she’d overheard this morning. Had she misinterpreted? Was she
misjudging Logan’s motives because of her own insecurities?
“Look, sweetie,” Regan went on. “That man is crazy about you. Take off the underdog cape you
wear around like a security blanket, because it doesn’t fit at all. You caught Logan’s eye all on your
own, and now you need to decide if you want to keep it. But if you ask me, only an idiot would let
him get away just because the idea of being with him is scary. I don’t know you very well, but you
don’t strike me as an idiot. Don’t prove me wrong.” She stepped back and held open the door.
Sophie stared up at her, at a loss for words. If Regan was playing some kind of game with her, she
wasn’t smart enough to figure it out. She shook her head and started out the door, then paused and
looked at Regan. “You coming?”
“I’ll be along.”
For once in probably her entire life, Regan didn’t look too good. Her face was pale. She’d chewed
all her lipstick off and didn’t seem to care. “Are you okay?”
Regan raised her chin and smiled. “Always.”
Sophie wasn’t so sure, but she nodded and left the restroom. Dinner was winding down when she
walked back into the main room—just in time to see Logan take the microphone and call for quiet.
Perfect timing. Why not be standing in the middle of the room during the best man toast?
“Hi everyone,” he said when the room quieted. “My name is Logan McCade. I want to thank
everyone for coming to beautiful Beaver Creek to join Colton and Kady for their big day. I’ve…ah…
I’ve known Colt for a long time. Since freshman year of college. Over the years I’ve learned a couple
of things about him. First, if he ever turns to you and says, ‘Let’s go to Rosarito Beach for spring
break,’ tell him ‘No.’” He paused while the audience laughed. “Seriously, unless you want to see the
inside of a Mexican prison…but I digress. The second important thing I know about Colt is that, for a
long time, he was kind of cynical on the notion of love.”
Some people in the audience groaned their agreement.
“And why wouldn’t he be? We live in a cynical world. Lots of intelligent, good-hearted people
have tried for forever and fallen short. Too many people get together for all the wrong reasons. It can
feel like everybody’s got an angle or an ulterior motive. It’s easier not to risk your heart. Not to trust.
“But there’s something else I know about Colt. He’s not one to take the easy road. When you
tandem climb a rock tower with a guy, you get to know stuff like that. You realize he’s not afraid to
take risks when he values the reward. You learn he’s not the type to run scared…although I think he
jogged some, at first, when it came to Kady.”
The audience laughed again, and Sophie couldn’t help looking at her brother, who was grinning and
blushing and shaking his head.
“The first time I met Kady, I was floored, because she wasn’t at all like I pictured her based on
everything Colt had said. I mean, does this lovely woman look like a ‘ball-buster who would try the
patience of a saint’?”
A contingent of Kady’s sorority sisters hooted, “Hell yeah,” and the bride gave them an affronted
look. Laughter filled the room again.
“Anyway, she was completely out of his league, but when I saw them together, I knew my friend the
cynic didn’t stand a chance, because sometimes two people are so right for each other, so
intrinsically connected, all the doubts fade. Which isn’t to say things have always been smooth for
them. They’ve had some ups and downs, and some misunderstandings, but they’ve also got this
undeniable love. You can feel it if you spend any time around them.”
People murmured their agreement and Sophie found herself nodding.
“There are experts much wiser than I who would tell you love’s just the start. Love’s the easy part.
In this cynical world, to stand up in front of a church full of witnesses like Colt and Kady did today,
bare their souls to each other and say”—his eyes unerringly found hers—“‘I love you,’ takes courage
and trust. Trust in the other person, and trust in yourself.”
The audience clapped. He went on. “I think the trust is where a lot of us fall short.” He paused to
let the words resonate, but his gaze never wavered from her. Sophie felt heat rise in her cheeks. She
hadn’t trusted. She’d believed the voice in her head when it insisted Logan could never really fall for
her, and she’d let her lack of confidence, her lack of faith in herself, undermine her trust in him.
Logan raised his glass. “I’m proud of them, and honored to be a part of their celebration. Please
join me in a toast to Colt and Kady—to their love, their courage, and their trust. May it serve as a
lesson to the rest of us. Cheers.”
Chapter Fourteen
Logan tamped down his frustration and made small talk with yet another one of Kady’s well-wishing
relatives. He’d been trying for ten minutes to get free of the congratulators and find Sophie. But now
that he’d finally made his way to the spot where she’d been standing, she was gone. Fuck.
He turned and scanned the crowd. Behind him, someone picked up the microphone and a wave of
feedback bounced off the walls.
“Sorry.” A soft, hesitant voice filled the room. A familiar voice. He turned.
Sophie stood at the front of the room, pale as a sheet as she looked out at the crowd of guests. She
blinked a few times. Her lips parted, but no sound materialized. She sucked in some air and tried
again.
“H-hello. I’m Colt’s little sister, Sophie. Please forgive me. I’m not much of a public speaker…
but…” The words trailed off as her mic hand floated down. She swayed, almost imperceptibly, but
enough to have him cutting through the crowd, hoping he could make it to her side fast enough to catch
her if she passed out.
Even as he shouldered his way toward her, she gripped the edge of the table for balance and raised
the microphone again. “I owe someone an apology and a demonstration of my courage and trust, so I
figured coming up here and saying what I had to say in front of God and everyone might be the right
place to start. I…um…I overheard something this morning, and I jumped to a very”—she made a
seeking gesture with her free hand, as if searching for the right word—“unflattering conclusion about
what it meant, despite the fact that the person begged me to listen and trust him. This person deserved
better from me, but instead of giving him trust, or even the benefit of the doubt, I clung to my
conclusion. It was easier to trust a bunch of self-protective suspicions lurking in the back of my mind
than to trust my heart.”
He knew the minute she saw him making his way toward her, because her deer-in-headlights eyes
locked on his. She swallowed and continued speaking, straight to him. “When you tried to talk to me,
and explain, I did the cowardly thing and ran. Logan…I’m really, really sorry.”
The last bit came out in a breathless rush, but he heard every word. His heart swelled with a
combination of hope and relief. Then she swayed again, this time visibly enough to cause people to
gasp, and his relief gave way to alarm.
He sprinted the last few feet, stepping on a few toes and taking a few elbows in the process, but he
reached her and wrapped a supporting arm around her waist.
“I’m okay,” she said, but he kept his arm around her and pulled her close.
“I’m sorry, too, Sophie. I should have told you about the favor to Colt. The thing is, as soon as I
started spending time with you, it had nothing to do with Colt, or a sense of duty, or the damn favor. It
was all about you—and me wanting to be with you. The fact is, there’s nowhere I want to be except
with you.” He eased back and waited for her to look up at him. “Sophie, I—”
“I love you,” she blurted, right into the microphone, and the three words echoed around the room. “I
do,” she put her hand to her head, as if to try to keep it from floating off her shoulders. “I love you.
And I trust you. And I’m trying to find some courage…”
A collective awww came from the audience.
“I love you, too.”
That knocked the dazed look right off her face. “Are you sure?”
He smiled at her and watched the pulse at the base of her throat flutter. His heart rate kicked up a
notch in response.
“Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.” Then he tipped her chin up and cupped her jaw. For a moment he
simply stared into her eyes, watched her pupils expand so he could be sure she was all the way with
him. Then he kissed her, long, and slow, and deep, until she melted into him and kissed him back. The
room erupted into catcalls and applause.
He could have stood there forever, kissing her, but at some point a voice in the back of his head
reminded him they were making out in the middle of a wedding reception. Reluctantly, he drew away.
“So, I’ve got this wedding to attend, and I hear there’s going to be dancing, and I kind of hoped
you’d be my date.”
“Yes!” She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him again.
The DJ piped up from across the room. “Okay folks, I guess love is in the air, which means it’s
time to get this party started…”
The room responded with cheers.
Epilogue
T
WELVE
M ONTHS
LATER
The mountaintop restaurant offered dramatic views of Boulder at sunset, but Sophie barely noticed
the spectacular scenery outside the floor-to-ceiling windows because she couldn’t tear her gaze away
from the man sitting across the candlelit table from her. Logan wearing a dark suit and his favorite
necktie proved too difficult a sight to resist.
He caught her looking and smiled. The little groove beside his mouth appeared, but despite his
outward calm, she sensed an undercurrent of tension. It had been there all evening through dinner.
Rare, these days, because he’d slowly but surely revamped his role at Defy Gravity over the past
year, liberating himself from the day-to-day demands of running the business.
The business continued to thrive, which Sophie took as a testament to his carefully selected
management team, and she sent a silent thank-you to Regan for helping locate the right candidates for
several of the roles.
All of which meant work stress probably didn’t account for the way his eyes darted around the
restaurant or how his hand tapped out a restless rhythm on his knee.
“Is everything okay?”
“Hmm?” His gaze snapped back to her from somewhere over her shoulder. “Sorry, yes,
everything’s fine. I’m just looking for our waiter. Did you enjoy your dinner?”
She nudged her nearly empty plate and cocked a brow at him. “If I’d enjoyed it any more, it would
have been indecent.”
“Indecent is exactly how I like you.” She had his full attention now and the slow smile he unleashed
on her sent several indecent thoughts through her head. “This place is no Leo’s,” he went on,
mentioning their favorite local spot in Los Angeles, “but since we were here in Boulder, and this is
kind of our anniversary, I wanted to take you somewhere memorable.”
These days he split his time between his home in Boulder and her apartment in L.A. She did the
same. Work kept her busy, but she could do it from practically anywhere, so she found herself in
Boulder just as often as home.
Her work flexibility was especially convenient this week. When Colt had called her to say the
doctors planned to induce Kady’s labor tomorrow, she’d been happy to hop on a plane to Boulder.
Kady wanted her friends and family at her side during the delivery. Make it a party, she’d said.
Distract me. Everything looked good, baby-wise, so Sophie planned to be in a delivery room
tomorrow, welcoming her brand-new niece or nephew into the world.
Logan’s eyes shifted beyond her again and she sensed rather than saw their waiter approaching.
“Speaking of anniversaries—”
The chime of her phone interrupted him. From the ringtone she knew it was Colt. “I’m sorry.” She
dug into her handbag. “I’d better take this. Give me one second.” She sent the waiter a quick smile of
apology and engaged the call. “Hi, Colt.”
“Hey, Sophie. How soon can you get to the hospital?”
“I don’t know, why?”
“We’re on our way. Kady’s in labor.”
“But…but…they’re not inducing her until tomorrow!”
“Apparently Baby Brooks doesn’t care to be induced.” In the background she heard Kady groan,
and then shout, “Get your butt in gear, Sophie. It’s. About. To go. Down.” From the corner of her eye
she saw Logan sit up, shake his head at the waiter, and gesture for the check.
Sophie spent a few additional moments on the phone, getting details from Colt like which hospital
entrance to use, where to park, and which floor to come to. She jotted the information down while
Logan paid the bill and accepted his credit card and something else from the waiter. She barely
registered any of it because contractions were ten minutes apart and Kady was talking a mile a minute
in the background, asking Sophie to call Regan, Christine, Julie, and a handful of other people.
Meanwhile Colt kept saying, “Goddammit, why are there so many fucking red lights in this town?”
By the time she got off the phone Logan already had his keys from the valet. He ushered her out of
the restaurant and into his waiting car while she placed calls. Despite being one of the first people
notified, everyone else would make it to the hospital ahead of them, because they had to drive down
Flagstaff Mountain.
“I’m sorry to cut dinner short,” she said to Logan when she finished her last call and could sit back
and breathe again. “I hope you didn’t have your heart set on dessert.”
He sent her an odd smile. “I still do, but don’t worry, we’ll get to it.”
She only got a moment to ponder his response, because he pulled into the hospital parking lot.
Seconds later they were sprinting through the automatic glass doors, down a corridor, following signs
to the family birth center. A short elevator ride took them to their floor, and then down another
corridor. Logan slowed as they reached the sitting area by the reception desk, where Reed, Brock,
and Tyler already sat, watching TV and playing poker. He turned to her and pulled her in for a hug.
“Tell Kady good luck for me, and let her know I’m available to punch Colt any time. All she has to do
is say the word.”
She laughed and sent a wave to the guys. “If Kady feels like punching him, I’ll sure she’ll do it
herself.”
“She may be otherwise occupied.” He tightened his hold and lowered his head to kiss her. She’d
anticipated a quick brush of lips, but he surprised her with a slow, deep, bone-dissolving kiss. Reed,
Brock, and Tyler were groaning and calling “Get a room” by the time he raised his head. He ignored
the men, smiled down at her, and said, “Once we’re done here, I expect to have my dessert.”
Somehow she made it to the birthing suite despite the sudden lack of strength in her legs.
She approached the door at the same time Regan rushed out—or as near as a woman pregnant-out-
to-there with twins could rush. She called back, “Kady, you’re doing awesome, but…I’m sorry. I
can’t watch. Hey, Sophie,” she added as she scurried into the hallway. Once there, she called,
“Brock! I changed my mind. I want drugs. I want every freaking drug in the world.”
Julie grinned a greeting to Sophie, and then turned and spoke to Kady, who reclined on a stack of
pillows on the bed. “Hey girl, you just sent big bad Regan running at full speed in four-inch heels.
That’s a first.”
Christine laughed from the opposite side of the bed, where she stood next to Colt. Kady laughed,
too, but hers turned into a moan as another contraction hit. She sat up, bore down, and pushed, while
Colt, Christine, and Julie shouted encouragement. Without realizing she’d moved from the doorway,
Sophie found herself supporting Kady’s back and telling her to push. When the contraction subsided,
Kady flopped back down on the pillows, turned to Sophie, and said, “I…can’t…do…this.”
Colt took her hands and kissed them. “Honey, you’re doing great. You’re amazing. I know we can
do it, just breathe like we practiced.”
“We? We!” Kady pulled Colt’s face level with hers and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve got a
better idea. You do it!”
“Good news, you’re crowning,” the doctor interrupted from the foot of the bed. “I can see the
head.”
A head. Oh, God. Regan had the right idea. Gray spots danced in front of Sophie’s eyes and she
wondered if she’d pass out if she made a run for the door. Too late. Kady groaned again. “Here
comes another one.”
“Give it all you’ve got, Mommy,” the doctor said. “Let’s have this baby.”
Kady screwed her eyes shut, squeezed Colt’s hands until her knuckles turned white, and let loose a
high-pitched scream. Colt’s face took on an anguished look that had nothing to do with the crushing
grip Kady had on his hands and everything to do with the torture of seeing the woman he loved
suffering and being powerless to relieve her pain. Pain so overwhelming Kady’s whole body shook.
Every muscle inside Sophie stiffened in sympathy.
Then Kady’s scream subsided, and a tiny wail reached her ears.
“Good job, Mommy,” the doctor said, and then backed away to make a space for Colt.
Next thing she knew, Colt stood beside her, his expression awestruck, eyes brimming with pent-up
emotion. He placed a blanket-wrapped bundle in Kady’s arms, and then sat down on the bed and
snuggled his exhausted wife against his chest.
“Ladies,” he said, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, “meet Emily Wynn Brooks. She’s perfect and
beautiful. Just like her mom.”
A chorus of “Ooooh” broke out in the room, and she couldn’t help add her voice. The most riveting
blue eyes she’d ever seen stared out from a soft pink face. “Hi, Emily,” she crooned, brushing a finger
over the baby’s velvet-soft head. It took some doing, but she tore her attention away from her niece’s
face and looked at the group gathered around. Colt, Kady, Christine, and Julie smiled down at the
newest member of their group. Regan, Logan, Tyler, Brock, and Reed peeked in from the door.
“Good job, you two,” Christine murmured. “She’s absolutely beautiful.” Then the redhead looked
up and winked at her and Julie. “We should step out and let Mommy and Daddy get to know their
little girl.”
The suggestion set off unanimous agreement, a quick, dizzying round of kisses, and then she stood in
the bright hallway, tucked against Logan’s side, blinking back tears as the others headed toward the
waiting room.
He squeezed her. “You okay?”
“I’m good.” She pulled a tissue from her purse, swiped her eyes, and blew her nose. “Just happy.”
“I understand. Let’s sit down for a minute.” He gestured to a couple of linked guest chairs
positioned in the hall between two rooms. She poured her grateful body into one of the chairs,
expecting Logan to take the other, but, to her surprise, he knelt before her instead, and took her hands.
“We never got to dessert this evening.” He smiled at her, treating her to a flash of the groove beside
his mouth.
She smiled back. “No, I guess we didn’t. You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I had something very particular in mind—and I planned to kick things off with soft
lights and a romantic view—but your niece didn’t cooperate.”
“There’s always tomorrow night.”
“No. I’m ready now, and even though the setting isn’t ideal, I’m too anxious to wait a second
longer.” He released one of her hands and dug into his pocket.
Goodness, they were in the middle of a hospital. Slightly scandalized, and more than a little
excited, she tried to tug her hand back. He refused to let go.
“Logan.” She looked left. Looked right. “We should at least find an empty room.”
“Uh-uh. Right here, right now.” She felt him slip something on her finger. “Will you marry me?”
“What?” He released her hand. She looked down at the sparkling diamond gracing her ring finger.
“What?”
“I love you, Sophie Brooks. You’re my present, my future, my everything. I want to climb
mountains with you.” He looked around them and raised a brow. “And have babies with you. Mostly,
I want to spend my life with you. What do you say?”
For a full minute she couldn’t say anything. Eighteen months ago she’d set goals to change her dull,
empty life—fill it with challenge, passion, excitement, and love. Now here she sat, surrounded by
friends and family, secure in the arms of the man she loved, staring at a future so exciting she couldn’t
even have imagined it a year ago when she’d watched Logan stride across the Beaver Creek Resort
lobby, felt all those assessing eyes on her, and wished for one crazy moment he could be hers. She
was a walking, talking testament to the power of skinny jeans, a favor, and a little courage.
“Sophie,” he prompted, and she got a glimpse of some of the nerves she’d sensed earlier in the
evening. Realizing she could make Mr. Perfect suffer a moment of doubt unlocked her tongue.
“I say yes. Yes, yes, and more yes.” She went with impulse and threw herself into his arms. “I love
you, Logan. I can’t wait to get started on the rest of our lives.”
He laughed and caught her. “Love you too, Sophie.” Then he lowered his head for a kiss. She
closed her eyes and touched her lips to his, dimly aware of people gathering in the corridor. Someone
started clapping. Soon full-blown applause broke out. She looked up to find everyone standing there,
watching them. Regan and Brock, married and about to have twins. Christine and Tyler, fresh from
their honeymoon in Mexico. Julie and Reed engaged, while Julie put all those organization skills to
use for her own benefit, for once, and planned what promised to be the wedding of the century.
As the clapping subsided, Colt poked his head out the door of the birthing room, took stock, and
called to Kady, “Looks like we’re going back to Beaver Creek.”
Did you love this Brazen? Check out more of our steamy titles
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Five New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling authors. Long-carried torches, sizzling new
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Acknowledgments
Huge THANKS to my amazing continuity-mates, Diane Alberts, Tessa Bailey, Katee Robert, and our
kickoff author, Laura Kaye. You ladies inspire me with every story you write, every bit of generous
input you offered on Logan and Sophie, and every wicked-gorgeous, half-nekkid dude you post or
tweet.
To Heather Howland, for somehow keeping all these stories, and all these authors, straight, and
maintaining enthusiasm for this project even at 10:00 p.m. on Mother’s Day weekend, right before a
big conference. I am going to cheer you on big-time as you tackle the bigger and better at Entangled,
and I know you are going to rock it.
To my besties, Robin Bielman and Hayson Manning, for your guidance, pep talks, and occasional
bitch-slaps. You always give me just what I need, just when I need it…except pharmaceuticals. Legal
or otherwise. Honestly, Officer, I don’t know where those came from.
To Maggie Kelley, for being Maggie Kelley (even though I know you’re not really Maggie Kelley).
You know what I mean.
To the California crew and the Kentucky crew, for all your encouragement and support. Your
awesomeness knows no bounds.
To the lovely ladies of LARA, especially my writing mentor, Lynne Marshall, for showing me how
it’s done.
To the readers! Sophie and Logan were special to me, and I hope they rang true for you.
And, as always, to Charles and Hud, for making it all worthwhile.
About the Author
USA TODAY bestselling author Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her husband, their
son, Kitty the furry Ninja, and Bebe the trash talkin’ Chihuahua. When not writing fun and sexy
contemporary romance, or napping on her beach towel with her face snuggled to her Kindle, she
searches for the perfect ten dollar wine to pair with Lunchables.
Connect with Sam via
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