Page 11 of Playing with Fire

Instead, I shot off a text letting her know I was home and she could go up to the guest room if she wanted, then retreated to my own room and shut the door. Cleaning up at the house before coming home was proving to be one of the best habits I’d gotten into. Because the last thing I needed was that image of her burned in my brain while I showered mere feet away from her.

And I wish I could say I successfully fell asleep without thoughts of her torturing me. But I'd be lying.

Chapter Eight

IZZY

I feltdisoriented as I stirred awake. Taking in my surroundings through blurry eyes, I shot up to sitting as it finally dawned on me I'd fallen asleep on Logan's couch. The great room was still fairly dark, so it wasn't time to wake the girls up yet. Grabbing my phone off the table in front of me, I clicked on the message from Logan.

Logan: I'm home. Didn't want to wake you. Feel free to go up to the guest room. We'll talk in the morning.

The smell of coffee had me leaning forward to peer into the kitchen. Logan, in one of those tight as hell gray T-shirts, moved quietly around the kitchen. I stood and straightened my clothes before heading that way.

“Good morning,” I croaked and then cleared the sleep from my voice.

He glanced over at me, his lips turning down in a frown, but quickly tore his gaze away, focusing back on adding creamer to his coffee. Well, this was going great already.

“You can use the guest room on nights I'm running late or when I have scheduled night shifts.”

“Okay.”

“If you wanted to leave a bag of stuff up there, that's fine.”

I nodded. Not that he could see me because he still refused to look my way. His coffee was more than well-stirred, but for some reason, he kept staring at his mug and stirring it around and around.

Whatever. I was getting tired of trying to figure out his fifty shades of grumpy.

I walked forward and opened the cabinet next to where he stood, reaching up on tiptoes to grab one of the mugs. At only five-two, not much was reachable. But also, who put coffee mugs on the second and third shelves? Apparently, some six-foot musclehead named Logan.

Something between a groan and a growl hit my ears, and every muscle stiffened, locking me in place, my fingertips just brushing the handle of one of the mugs. In my periphery, Logan was locked on the bare skin of my stomach. My skin heated as I slowly lowered to the balls of my feet, my hand curled around the easiest mug to reach, and spun to face him. We were a foot apart, and when his gaze finally locked on mine, everything—or rather, some things—clicked together.

Logan Murray was looking at me like a man dying to taste forbidden fruit. Could my sister Angie be right? Was this why he was always so cranky around me?

His jaw locked. Footsteps bounding down the stairs like a herd of elephants had him stepping back and focusing once more on his cup of coffee.

“Izzy,” Alice exclaimed excitedly as she and Nikki entered the kitchen. “Can we make pancakes again?”

“Of course.” I took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the need that coursed through my body at his heated gaze. “Nikki, you get the mixing bowl and spoons, and Alice, you can get the mix out of the pantry.”

The pair went their separate ways and I turned toward the coffee pot, desperately needing my fix. I tried to ignore Logan's eyes on me. I could feel it, branding into my skin, and I didn't know what to make of it. Was I reading too much into this?

Probably. Because there was no way the sexy single dad noticed me in a way that was anything but Jay's annoying little sister. Right?

Stirring cream and sugar into my coffee, I stole another sideways glance at where he stood. He was sipping his coffee and not paying me any mind. Exactly. I totally read into the way he was looking at me earlier.

His head bent as his brows pulled together. I followed his gaze to where the girls were pulling out the stuff we needed.

“Are you really going to make pancakes?” he asked, still watching them.

“Yeah.” I moved to the other side of the sink and opened the cabinet to grab a measuring cup. “We did it the last three mornings. It was fun.”

He finally looked over at me. “Sure. If you like big messes.”

I chuckled. “It's not that bad.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“Dad doesn't like messes.”

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