Page 32 of Strictly Yours

I can’t believe I was happy with that life. It feels so small now.

Logan has changed everything.

He’s color and heat andpossibility.

He’s excitement. He’s everything.

I send a congratulatory text back to Amir and right after I hit send, my phone buzzes again.

This time, it’s him.

I’ll be there in ten. Can’t wait to see you.

I smile as I reread the text about twenty times.

I’m buzzing around the condo until he walks in, looking like masculine perfection in a tailored suit.

Now,thisI can get used to.

My heart pounds as he walks up to me, all six-foot-something of broad-shouldered, alpha male sugary goodness in a dark navy suit. He’s loosened the tie—which always does it for me—and his top button is undone.

My eyes are unable to blink as he takes off his jacket, a move that looks so natural to him, but feels so erotic to me, and drapes it over a chair.

Those sexy dark eyes find me as he slowly rolls his sleeves up his thick muscular forearms.

Mama Mia.

“I missed you.” That deep voice slides straight between my thighs and makes my pussy tingle.

“I saw you this morning,” I say, biting back a smile.

“It wasn’t enough. I can’t ever get enough of you.”

I have to turn to the sink so he doesn’t see my cheeks burning worse than my sauce.

He walks up behind me, wraps his big possessive arms around my waist, and buries his face into my neck, breathing in my scent. I melt like a stick of butter on a hot pan.

“Mmmmm,” he hums before peeking into the pot. “What are you cooking?”

I laugh. “A mess.”

“I’m sure it will be delicious.”

He’s too sweet, but he’s a horrible liar.

“I blame Munchies,” I say, as I turn around in his arms and gaze up into those loving brown eyes. “It’s hard to focus on cooking when there’s a cat in the shadows plotting your murder.”

He laughs and then gives me what I’ve been dying for all day—a soft passionate kiss. I’m dripping wet by the time those delicious lips pull away.

I dump the soggy noodles into the compost and try again, but I barely get them into the pot before we start cooking up something entirely different.

Logan’s hand brushes my ass, I lean into him, and suddenly the stove is the least important thing in this room.

We lunge on each other, kissing and grabbing and knocking over spatulas and pasta boxes. Munchies flees out of the room with a screech when the metal tin hits the ground.

Logan has my shirt off before I remember to turn off the burner. I reach out and switch it off as he kisses my neck and massages my breasts with those big perfect hands.

The noodles will be soggy.

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