Run the Risk by Lori Foster Page B

prevailed. She moved away and opened the
curtains again. “It’s getting late.”
    “It’s only half an hour later than it was before we got in
bed!”
    True. Unfortunately, prolonged foreplay wasn’t in the works for
them. Trying to ignore his irritation, she started out of the room. “I need a
shower.”
    He was off the bed in a heartbeat, stepping into her path,
blocking her retreat.
    Offended.
    Given her current frame of mind—sort of soft and distracted
and…susceptible—it was a good thing he’d pulled up his jeans. They were still
open, and now that she’d parted the drapes again, she could see his abdomen…and
lower. But at least she didn’t see all of him, everything that she’d touched,
stroked.
    The thick flesh that had filled her up.
    Her heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm. Resisting the urge to
touch him, Pepper put her hands behind her and backed up.
    Incredulous, he glared. “No fucking way are you afraid of
me.”
    After everything they’d just done? “No.” She was afraid of
herself, of her reactions to him. She couldn’t do this—but she had. And it had
been so wonderful…
    He tried a different tack. Taking her shoulders, caressing her,
he cajoled, “Let me stay the night.”
    “I can’t.” She took another quick step back—out of his
reach.
    His hands dropped. “I don’t fucking believe this.”
    His coarse language grated on her. They’d had sex—weird,
restrained sex, but still, that didn’t give him the right to treat her without
respect.
    “I don’t believe you’re cursing me.”
    “Not you. ” Working off what was
clearly a very short fuse, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s this
situation. I thought we were getting closer. I thought…”
    That it meant something? He sounded like a scorned woman, and
she felt like a jerk.
    It seemed a wise thing to get out of the bedroom. Pepper went
as far as the small sofa and paused. Don’t do it, Pepper.
Don’t do it— “We could share dinner again. Tomorrow I mean.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “If you’re not busy.”
    The sudden silence nearly choked her. Had the storm finally
quieted, too? She wasn’t in the habit of propositioning men. Even before her
life had changed so drastically, she hadn’t thrown out dinner invitations.
    She hadn’t needed to.
    Wondering what Logan thought, if he’d accept her offer, she
turned to him. He’d crossed his arms, but his nonchalant stance couldn’t hide
his antagonism.
    “Well?” She wished he’d say something.
    “I’m trying to figure out if you’re really inviting me for
dinner, or for sex.”
    Both. Feeling a little foolish, she
shook her head. “Never mind. It was a bad idea.”
    “Oh, no, you don’t.” In three long strides he reached her.
“Whatever we just did, I liked it.”
    Her knees went weak. “Me, too.”
    “Yeah?” He caressed her again. “It was unusual—”
    He meant odd. Weird. Bizarre.
    “—but I don’t think I’ve ever been that turned on.”
    “Really?” Sure, she’d loved it, but
then even a crumb was delicious to a starving woman. And that had been no more
than a crumb.
    Guys were always easy, but still, she couldn’t believe he’d be
that accepting of her restrictions.
    “Absolutely.” With two fingers, Logan touched her chin. “If
you’re asking me over for more of the same, I’m in.”
    Could she make the apartment dark enough? Would she have an
opportunity to buy blackout blinds? Did she dare have an encore of that unique
and somewhat torturous intimacy?
    “But,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “if it’s only dinner
you want, I’m in for that, too.”
    No way. If he accepted a “dinner
only” invite, it’d be because he figured he’d eventually get back in her bed.
“Okay.”
    Proving her right, he slid both hands around her neck. “You
know I’m rooting for the first option, right?”
    “Yes.” She was sort of rooting for it, too. “I understand that.
I just don’t know…”
    He kissed