linger longer than horse. But wasn’t the mindfuck the most powerful kind?
Her own imagination lent Logan powers she knew he probably didn’t have. Even better bondage skills, for instance. She’d already mentally revised the barn scenario, tossing out the mismatched restraints to feature leather ties on both wrists, and halter ropes securing her ankles to . . . something. Didn’t matter. It was going in the spank bank, ranking right up there with the impersonal-Dominant-stranger-in-the-motel-room-with-the-businesssman-friend fantasy. She wasn’t proud of that, but she wasn’t going to apologize or lie to herself, either. That ten minutes or so in the barn with Logan Hill had been so hot she was still reeling from it.
Or maybe that was the hunger. Her stomach roared audibly, and Mindy growled back at it. There was no way she’d make it through the night. And she didn’t have so much as a granola bar in her purse.
“ Shit .”
In theory, guests were welcome in the main kitchen between meals—it had been part of the grand tour. There were chips and fruit to snack on, and cold cuts for sandwiches. A big cooler of soda and water bottles. All part of the down-home charm. Logan had never stated a closing time. Probably an oversight on his part, but still, it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. Picking up the flashlight, she stepped out the front door and glanced up the trail to the top of the hill. Lights were still on at the big house. They beckoned, whispering to her of warmth and food.
Deciding to chance it, she locked the door behind her and flicked the flashlight on. A few yards away, a startled armadillo scuffled off the path into the scrub. It was unusual to see a live one, and she wondered if it was a good or bad omen.
Bad , she decided retroactively as she hit the trailhead and scanned across the wide yard to the main house’s front porch. Even facing mostly away, obscured by the porch pillar and the back of the swing, Logan was clearly recognizable by his blue plaid shirt and his golden-blond hair. Ridiculous how it formed gentle waves wherever it was long enough, but didn’t seem to frizz. And his eyelashes, long and dark despite his blond coloring, while her own were so pale they were practically invisible without mascara. Unfair things. But life was full of those.
A ruthless landman would be standing there in the darkness, contemplating how to turn the whole situation into the ideal negotiation. Use the casual setting to disarm the other party. Find common ground. Learn what they needed, what they were lacking. But really, all Mindy could think about was the prospect of a sandwich. Probably the cutthroat businessperson should remember to pack emergency granola bars.
She was halfway across the yard when he spotted her, and a thick blanket of awkwardness fell over the scene as he watched her approach. She expected him to stand—good manners and all that—but apparently he was done with cordiality for the night. At the bottom step she stopped, feeling like she was petitioning for entrance to the inner sanctum. If she’d made it across the side yard unseen she could have detoured toward the side of the house and gone in through the kitchen door with nobody the wiser, but probably this encounter was inevitable. It had that feeling.
“Mindy. What do you need?”
So. Definitely done with cordiality .
“I wanted to know if I could still get a sandwich?” When he just lifted his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised, she reminded him, “I skipped dinner.”
“Right.” Reluctantly, he stood and opened the door for her, gesturing her through.
She couldn’t resist a sniff as she passed him, but only caught the faintest hint of the smell that had lingered so tantalizingly on her shirt earlier. It was all she could do to resist rubbing a hand across his chest, or leaning her forehead there the way she had earlier, when she’d cried like such an idiot.
Logan seemed quieter now, more aloof than angry, and
Her own imagination lent Logan powers she knew he probably didn’t have. Even better bondage skills, for instance. She’d already mentally revised the barn scenario, tossing out the mismatched restraints to feature leather ties on both wrists, and halter ropes securing her ankles to . . . something. Didn’t matter. It was going in the spank bank, ranking right up there with the impersonal-Dominant-stranger-in-the-motel-room-with-the-businesssman-friend fantasy. She wasn’t proud of that, but she wasn’t going to apologize or lie to herself, either. That ten minutes or so in the barn with Logan Hill had been so hot she was still reeling from it.
Or maybe that was the hunger. Her stomach roared audibly, and Mindy growled back at it. There was no way she’d make it through the night. And she didn’t have so much as a granola bar in her purse.
“ Shit .”
In theory, guests were welcome in the main kitchen between meals—it had been part of the grand tour. There were chips and fruit to snack on, and cold cuts for sandwiches. A big cooler of soda and water bottles. All part of the down-home charm. Logan had never stated a closing time. Probably an oversight on his part, but still, it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. Picking up the flashlight, she stepped out the front door and glanced up the trail to the top of the hill. Lights were still on at the big house. They beckoned, whispering to her of warmth and food.
Deciding to chance it, she locked the door behind her and flicked the flashlight on. A few yards away, a startled armadillo scuffled off the path into the scrub. It was unusual to see a live one, and she wondered if it was a good or bad omen.
Bad , she decided retroactively as she hit the trailhead and scanned across the wide yard to the main house’s front porch. Even facing mostly away, obscured by the porch pillar and the back of the swing, Logan was clearly recognizable by his blue plaid shirt and his golden-blond hair. Ridiculous how it formed gentle waves wherever it was long enough, but didn’t seem to frizz. And his eyelashes, long and dark despite his blond coloring, while her own were so pale they were practically invisible without mascara. Unfair things. But life was full of those.
A ruthless landman would be standing there in the darkness, contemplating how to turn the whole situation into the ideal negotiation. Use the casual setting to disarm the other party. Find common ground. Learn what they needed, what they were lacking. But really, all Mindy could think about was the prospect of a sandwich. Probably the cutthroat businessperson should remember to pack emergency granola bars.
She was halfway across the yard when he spotted her, and a thick blanket of awkwardness fell over the scene as he watched her approach. She expected him to stand—good manners and all that—but apparently he was done with cordiality for the night. At the bottom step she stopped, feeling like she was petitioning for entrance to the inner sanctum. If she’d made it across the side yard unseen she could have detoured toward the side of the house and gone in through the kitchen door with nobody the wiser, but probably this encounter was inevitable. It had that feeling.
“Mindy. What do you need?”
So. Definitely done with cordiality .
“I wanted to know if I could still get a sandwich?” When he just lifted his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised, she reminded him, “I skipped dinner.”
“Right.” Reluctantly, he stood and opened the door for her, gesturing her through.
She couldn’t resist a sniff as she passed him, but only caught the faintest hint of the smell that had lingered so tantalizingly on her shirt earlier. It was all she could do to resist rubbing a hand across his chest, or leaning her forehead there the way she had earlier, when she’d cried like such an idiot.
Logan seemed quieter now, more aloof than angry, and
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