Page 20 of Switching Places

“Sounds good.”

They were seated at one of the small patio tables, a flickering candle in the center. The evening air was balmy and still. Gentle laughter, the murmur of voices and the Spanish music gave the setting a certain charm Emma had never seen.

“Margarita?” Logan asked.

“I’ll just have white wine,” Emma said, looking around with avid interest.

“The last time we were here you insisted there was nothing else to drink at a Mexican restaurant but margaritas,” he mentioned casually, leaning back in his chair, stretching his legs beneath the table. His calf brushed against hers.

“I did?” Emma said, swallowing hard, resisting the urge to shift her leg away. Suddenly she felt as if the two of them were alone in a soft Southern night. “I’d like wine tonight,” she said, stalling. “This is nice.”

She forced her gaze elsewhere.

“You said once it was your favorite restaurant. Going to have the usual when we order?”

She blinked.

“I don’t know. I’ll check out the menu first. Maybe I’ll try something new tonight.”

She cleared her throat nervously, unsettled by the watchful or was that a suspicious look in Logan’s gaze.

When the drinks arrived, he picked up his beer and touched the rim to her wineglass.

“To kisses on the beach,” he said softly.

Her gaze met his and held. Slowly she nodded and took a sip, unable to say a word. Her throat felt tight, butterflies of shyness filled her.

When Logan reached for her hand, she made no protest. He glanced down, as if intrigued by the contrast of his larger tanned hand holding her pale one. She liked his touch. She wanted to have him touch her all over, feel his fingers against her skin, his palms against her body. Discover if the tingling pleasure that shot up her arm would explode into even more powerful reactions if he explored her intimately.

Heat blossomed. She sipped the wine in an attempt to cool down.

“Let’s scoot our chairs closer, it’s hard to hold a conversation with so many people around,” he suggested.

She complied instantly, until her legs brushed against his, until her shoulder almost touched his. She’d never felt so desirable, so desired.

Or so nervous.

What was she doing playing games with this man?

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, tilting her head until her lips were perfectly aligned for his. Flirting with danger, recklessly daring to push the limits, she lightly touched the tip of her tongue along her top lip, her gaze locked with his. The blood pounding through her veins drowned out the noise from the other diners.

Leaning forward, he kissed her quickly, lightly, uttering a soft groan as his lips caressed hers.

Emma kept her eyes open, mesmerized by the gleam in his. When he leaned back, she released her breath, unaware she’d been holding it. A kiss couldn’t hurt. But it could short-circuit her senses. She wanted more. This wasn’t the first time she wished she were a more a darn-the-torpedoes kind of person.

“Do you remember that party you had a few months ago, when we ended up on your patio talking about family and friends and tropical settings we’d visited?”

“Party?”

His thoughts jumped around so much. She was still recovering from his kiss.

He frowned. “You couldn’t have forgotten, you gave it.”

“I...no, of course, I didn’t forget.” She cleared her throat. “It’s been a while, what about it?”

“If your memory is fading that fast, you’ll have a heck of a time when you’re eighty.”

Eighty? If she didn’t stop this masquerade soon, the stress would make sure she didn’t live through tomorrow, no need to worry about making eighty.

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