Page 6 of Big Burly Foreman

“Someone could walk in,” I offer weakly, my eyes shifting from his arms to the half-open door.

“You don’t have to worry about that, princess,” he rasps, his voice so deep, it sends a tremor through my body.

“Why do you call me that?” I ask unevenly, avoiding his gaze.

“Because it’s what you are.”

“I’m not,” I say. I don’t hate the name, but I don’t particularly like it either. My friends used to call me princess when I was younger, and I hated the jealous undertone it carried. It almost felt like they were mocking me when they said it.

“You live in a castle . . .”

“It’s a mansion!”

“You have a fairy godmother that follows you everywhere.”

“What!” I splutter, turning to glare at him. “Magda is the housekeeper, and she doesn’t follow me everywhere.”

“You have a pet animal that you talk to . . .”

“It’s a goldfish, and I don’t talk to him,” I argue, only to bite my lip when he raises a single eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I talk to him, but that’s just because I read somewhere that they remember faces and voices, and I don’t want my goldfish to forget me. I never should have told you that.”

There is humor dancing in his eyes, and I realize too late that his intention all along was to get me to look at him. He must’ve realized how my resolve to push him away would weaken if our eyes met.

And it does.

I give up trying to hide my desire for him. My hard nipples are poking against the soft material of the cocktail dress, and not exactly being subtle about it either.

My eyes drop to his chiseled mouth, and I swallow hard with the need to lean in and let him have my first kiss, but I push back the need, still clinging to the little control I have left. My legs are trembling at the continuous tug between my thighs, and I hold back a wince at the slickness that forms. It’s unlike anything I have experienced before.

Everything I’ve learned about intimacy is from a textbook, and it was made so technical, it didn’t sound appealing. Any sexual experience I’ve had involved me experimenting on my own body with the image of a certain cowboy at the back of my mind. Even so, it never felt anything like this.

No one taught me about the achy intensity the slickness between my thighs would cause, or the warm shiver that would race through my body just from our eyes colliding. I was not prepared for the tingling feeling that spread across my body at the slightest touch.

It would be easier if I was only physically attracted to Logan and it didn’t go beyond that, but the warmth that spreads across my chest and the heavy hammering of my heart proves that is not the case.

“Princess,” he says gruffly, snaking an arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him. The feeling between my thighs increases tenfold; it’s fascinating how quickly that happened, but it’s terrifying too. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Way too long.

He has no idea how often I lie in bed thinking about him, fantasizing about his body, willing it into reality, but knowing I wouldn’t be able to do anything when presented with the opportunity, and now that he’s here . . .

“Logan, we shouldn’t,” I protest weakly, my breathing growing labored when he drops his lips to my neck, blowing hot breath against my sensitive skin.

“You’re trembling, princess,” he rasps against my ear, and I shake my head even as I tilt it back to allow him more access to my neck. “Tell me, are you wet? Aching?”

My eyes flutter to a close when he slides his fingers into my hair and tugs gently, sending a warm rush of liquid heat to my pulsing sex, my will to resist him slipping by the second.

How could I ever think that I would be able to fight the feelings this man brings out in me?

“Logan,” I whimper when he gently bites my earlobe before kissing a path down my chin, his kisses soft and teasing, but the heat they leave behind threatens to overwhelm me. His lips graze mine, and I lean into the kiss, but he pulls back, forcing a low, needy whine from my lips.

“Still think it’s a bad idea?”

Yes.

There is only one way this is going to end, but I can’t bring myself to think about that right now. Not when my sex is trembling with need. The hard press of his erection proves that he’s just as needy for me as I am for him.

He wants me just as badly.

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