Page 30 of The Rookie
“I was totally out of line, and I’m so—”
His large, calloused hand on my wrist stops me.
“Summer.” His voice is deep, low and raspy. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I came on to you, and—”
He shakes his head. “Believe me, I’m not upset about that. I’m more upset about my mom giving you her special tea.”
A crease forms between his brows, and I realize he’s telling the truth. He’s not mad at me.
A tidal wave of understanding washes over me. Here I spent the past twenty-four hours growing an ulcer and planning my escape, only to find out Logan doesn’t hate me. My relief is instantaneous.
“Oh, thank goodness, because I was terrified at how I behaved and I know it was unprofessional, and ...”
I’m still rambling when Logan touches my cheek and turns my face toward his.
“Summer,” he says softly.
My name on his lips is the most distracting sound, all rough and yet sweet like sandpaper and honey. It sends a tingle rushing through me.
“You had a strange reaction. That’s all it was. Breathe, okay?”
Suddenly mute, I nod. I grip the stem of my wineglass so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
That’s it?I was so scared to talk to him today, so his response is the last thing I expected.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Unless you want to talk about the fact you said you think I’m sexy.” He waits for me to reply, a smirk tugging at his lips.
A blush warms my cheeks. I did say that. And I meant it too.
I draw a slow breath, because Logan’s still waiting. Still trying to fight off a smirk. “Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter. I mean, attraction aside, we’re working together, right? Nothing can happen between—”
I don’t get to finish the rest of that sentence because Logan’s mouth is on mine, hot and insistent. Purely on instinct, I press closer, and when my lips part, he takes full advantage.
His tongue touches mine, and my knees go weak.
Secretly, I’ve wondered what it would be like to kiss Logan, and now I don’t have to wonder any longer. The man is extremely skilled. One of his big hands weaves into the hair at the back of my neck, tilting my head just so, and I almost dissolve into a puddle on the floor. He tastes like red wine and man, a combination my poor little neglected heart can hardly handle.
I move closer, urgently needing to erase all the distance between us.
His tongue moves against mine in deep, drugging kisses that make my toes curl in my socks. He makes a low, breathless sound, and for one glorious moment, all the noise in my head quiets, and it’s just me and him.
It feels so right to be here, doing this with him. But a second later, my brain switches back on and I pull away, putting an inch of space between us.
His forehead touches mine, and I let out a long, shaky exhale.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers.
“I know. We can’t.”
I need to put an end to this before I do something foolish, like drag him to my bedroom.
Before I can process what’s happening, Logan pulls us over to the couch, and then I’m sitting in his lap, happily grinding my hips against his.
The stubble on his face scratches pleasantly against my chin, the feeling both foreign and erotic. It’s been a very long time since I was with a man, but Logan doesn’t seem to notice or care about my lack of finesse. His hands roam from my shoulders down to my waist. I can feel a hard ridge beneath me—the press of his erection against me—and I groan into his kiss.
