Page 47 of Switching Places

“I’ll fix brunch, okay?” Logan asked.

“Sure, whatever. Good night.”

She hung up, stripped off her top as she walked up the stairs. She shimmied out of her skirt in the dark and stumbled into the bed. In two seconds she was fast asleep.

The fragrant aroma of coffee wafted on the still air. Slowly Emma turned over and drew a deep breath. Nothing smelled better than freshly brewed coffee early in the morning.

Coffee? She opened her eyes. The sun was already high in the cloudless blue sky, the room warmed from its rays. Slowly she sat up and sniffed. Coffee.

Logan had told her he would prepare brunch. Had he meant in her own house? She threw off the covers and walked to her door, leaning against it to see if she could hear anything. The house seemed silent.

She reached for her robe and hesitated. Once before she’d gone downstairs in that terry-cloth robe, it was hardly her idea of glamour. Biting her lower lip in indecision, she considered the frothy nothings her sister had hanging in the closet. There was no way she could wear any of those if there was a man in the house.

Picking up her clothes from last night, she tossed them on the bed. Her best option was to get dressed for the day.

Logan heard the shower. Good, she was up and he hadn’t had to wake her. He glanced at the clock. How long did she take? A halfhour, longer? He planned omelettes and toast. He could wait until she came down, as long as all the ingredients were ready. If she hurried, they could get in some beach time before they left for Phil’s place.

“Now why did I think a brunch invitation meant going out to eat somewhere, not providing the food myself?” she asked from the doorway.

Logan spun around. The shorts revealed long slender legs much as that sexy skirt had last night. The hot pink top added color to her cheeks. Her eyes were sparkling and fresh. He thought she looked good enough to eat.

“I’m cooking, that’s something, right?”

“I guess.”

She stepped into the kitchen and looked around her with feigned surprise.

“And are you a master chef?”

“Good enough for an omelette that you won’t ever forget.”

“The smell of the coffee woke me up.”

“It’s piping hot and ready to go.”

He poured her a cup and carried it to her. When she reached out to take the cup, he held it out of reach and leaned over.

“Don’t I get something for my efforts?” he asked, his lips hovering inches from hers.

“A nice thank you?” she asked, flirting.

“How nice?” he said softly.

“How nice do you want?”

The throaty question pounded through his blood. She was an expert at this kind of thing, but he didn’t mind. For a while, at least, she was his.

Her breath fanned across his face, minty and sweet. He wanted to taste her, see if she tasted like toothpaste.

“I could have made it breakfast in bed,” he said, his eyes picking up the silvery shine in hers. Her lashes were long and curled, thick and dark.

“I’m already dressed.”

Her breath came a bit faster, her eyes never left his.

Logan felt the pull of desire build. The enticing game drove him on.

“You could have stayed in bed.”

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