Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CASSIE
The Dust Devils are in full swing by the time I weave through the crowd again, beer in hand, buzz just strong enough to soften the edges of the world and let me loosen up a little. The sun’s dipped low, streaking the sky with gold and violet. The air hums with their music and the sweat of summer.
Life is good.
I’m halfway to my spot near the speakers when I bump into someone—hard.
“Whoa—sorry,” I start, looking up.
I settle on his blue eyes and perfect jaw. And he’s tall enough to force my eyes to look up to meet his face.
Of course it’s him.
He tilts his head, smirking. “Okay. Seriously? Are you stalking me? This is getting weird.”
“I should ask you the same thing.”
“Yeah, I honestly didn’t mean to knock that guy out.”
His eyes drop to my legs. My frayed denim short shorts. The loose flannel tied around my waist. I watch his throat move as he swallows.
“So,” he says, his light drawl sliding over me like honey, “no men, huh?”
“No men,” I repeat firmly.
“Not even one dance?” His eyes flicker.
I hesitate. Everything in me wants to say no. Wants to keep the walls up. Wants to keep pretending I’m still healing and powerful and untouchable.
I made a promise to myself. No men for a year. I don’t want to be one of those people who rebound right into another failed relationship.
But his eyes glimmer at me with wisps of inviting kindness.
My body is making a strong argument. Would it really be so bad if we made one little exception?
And the band plays one of my favorites—slow, sultry, a little dirty. My hips sway before I give them permission.
“Just one?” he reiterates.
“Just one,” I murmur.
His grin could power the state of Texas.
We don’t even talk after that. He steps in behind me, close but not touching me. The bass pulses through my chest. My body starts moving, almost involuntarily—hips swaying, shoulders rolling.
His breath is at my neck, but he doesn’t touch.
The restraint is killing me.
“You always dance like this?” he asks, low in my ear.
“Only on special occasions,” I toss back. “Like running into smug cowboys who think they’re charming.”
“Think?” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes. Then—God help me—I grind back against him. Just once. Testing. My ass brushes against his jeans, and I feel it—him. Hard. Unapologetic.
His voice tightens, and he takes my hand.
I press harder into him.
His hands land on my hips, and I don’t fight that.
Oh…damn. This may go against my “no man” rule.
Too late, though, because his hands land there like they’ve always belonged. Big. Firm. Intentional. Caressing.
Just…right.
My heart thunders. My breath catches. And for a split second, the breakup, the move, and the ache of starting over vanish into the music and his touch.
Just one dance, I tell myself.
The song shifts into something slower now. Sultry. My hips move with the rhythm, pressed flush against his.
He matches me perfectly. Not pushy. Just there, present, like he knows how to lead without making it a power play.
Then his voice is low and gravel-coated.
“You sure you’re on a break? ‘Cause right now you’re dancing like a woman on fire.”
I let out a soft laugh, my breath hitching. I glance back over my shoulder, catching his eyes. God, those eyes.
“Maybe I just forgot what it’s like to feel good.”
His grip tightens slightly on my hips. It sends a bolt of heat straight through me, curling low in my belly. Everything fades away. The noise, the people, even the band. It’s just him and me, the throb of the bass, the haze of lights, and this ridiculous magnetic pull between us.
Then the thunder cracks in the darkened sky. Right on us.
A jagged flash of white cuts across the sky. A beat later, fat drops of rain smack against my shoulders.
All around us, the crowd groans. Boots scramble in the mud. Beer sloshes. Chaos erupts.
I yelp, tugging my flannel over my head. “Oh my God, it’s pouring!”
He grins at me, completely unbothered, then grabs my hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“There. Merch tent. Run!”
We take off across the field, dodging puddles and people. I’m half-laughing, half-gasping, still holding my beer like it’s sacred. His hand is warm in mine. Strong. I don’t let go.
We duck beneath the tent just in time, breathless and soaked. Rain drums hard above us, a frantic rhythm that makes my pulse trip.
I swipe wet hair from my face, still catching my breath. “Well. This is cinematic.”
He looks at me then, and his face spreads into an oh-so-slight grin.
“Ketchup on my face again?” I wonder out loud.
“No. You just have really beautiful eyes.”
My cheeks heat red.
And he adds, “This might sound stupid and silly, but hell. I admit it. I feel like the universe wants us to hang out tonight. I don’t really care what happens. But I’m glad I met you. You made my night.”
My heart flutters. Damn him.
I open my mouth. Then close it again.
Finally, I take a small step closer.
“I’m not really in the market for a new man,” I say quietly. “That hasn’t changed.”
He nods. “Hey, I get it. Been there.”
“Glad you understand. So don’t take it personally that we’ll never see each other again.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “I won’t.”
“Good.”
“But can I say one thing?”
“Of course. What?”
I admit his rain-soaked stubble looks good as he says, “Sometimes you find the damndest things when you’re not looking.”
I reach up and brush a drop of rain from his jaw. My fingers linger longer than they should.
“I can’t do emotional connections. I’m messed up right now, anyway. Anything serious would be…”
“Serious? Honey, we’re at a country concert, making out in the rain. You haven’t even asked my name yet,” he laughs. “And you’re talking about serious. You really have been out of the game, haven’t you?”
Something coils inside me. “Well, I always have wanted to spend the night with a sexy stranger.”
He bites his lower lip. “So, you’re saying you don’t even want to know my name?”
I arch a brow. “Fine. What is it?”
“Logan,” he says, voice low and warm. “You?”
“Cassie.”
He smiles like he’s going to pocket the name and keep it. “Well. Pleasure to meet you, Cassie. I certainly didn’t think this was where my night was going.”
“Me neither.”
“Guess we’re both surprised, then.”
I tilt my head. “How old are you?”
It comes out casual, but the truth is, since turning thirty, I’ve been noticing things—age, maturity, the way a man carries himself.
“Twenty-nine,” he says. “You?”
I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “Just turned thirty.”
He grins. “Cool.”
Before I can say anything else, his hand skims lower—fingertips grazing the curve of my backside before settling, right on top of the denim pocket. He pulls me in, slow and sure, until our bodies are flush.
Then he kisses me.
Not tentative. Not rushed.
His lips find mine as if he’s done it before in some parallel universe. He’s warm and sure, with just enough pressure to unravel something inside me. He deepens the kiss slowly, tasting me like I’m the first sip of something forbidden.
My knees threaten betrayal.
I fist the fabric of his shirt, trying to steady myself, inhaling leather, rain, and whatever cologne clings to his skin like a sin.
When we finally part, just barely, I’m breathless.
He leans in, his voice rough with restraint.
“Damn. I could do this all night. Too bad you’ve got that no-man rule.”
“Yeah.” I swallow a hard knot in my throat. “Too…bad.”
“Maybe you can make an exception. For one night.”
I clear my throat, the words coming out low and wrecked. “Never say never.”
He doesn’t grin. Doesn’t gloat. He just looks at me like I’m a song he’s been waiting to hear his whole life.
Then, slow and steady, he leans in again.
“Look,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, “I’m not trying to talk you into something you’ll regret.
But if you want to dance around this all night, that ain’t my style.
I don’t do halfway. Either you come home with me or you don’t.
If you’re on a no-man kick, I respect the hell out of that.
But I haven’t had a night like this in a long, long time. ”
“Me either.”
I don’t want to admit it’s been years since I’ve been with anyone else besides from Evan.
His hand slides up the curve of my hip. “And I can already think of a few very fun things I’d like to do with these curves.”
My heart’s pounding so hard, I’m sure he can feel it through my shirt.
But it doesn’t stop me, and I meet him halfway. Again.
The rain beats down as our mouths collide—thunder rolling, electricity everywhere, like the universe is daring me to say yes.
When I finally pull back, my breath’s ragged.
“Fine. But I’ve got rules.”
“She’s got rules,” he echoes, grinning.
“No last names. No numbers. One night, and then that’s it. We’re gone by the morning. And—you’re safe, right?”
He nods solemnly. “Darlin’, I haven’t had a night like this in forever. I wouldn’t mess it up. And I’m clean as hell if that’s what you’re asking. If you need some recent results, here you go. I can pull up a—”
“I trust you,” I whisper, interrupting him. “But just know…if you fuck this up somehow, I’ve got multiple very big brothers who will find you. And possibly kill you.”
His eyes stay locked on mine. “My intentions are pure.” A beat passes. “Well, pure-ish. I’ll call a Lyft.”
Speaking of pure…the Lyft is pure tension.
Not a word between us as we slide into the back seat, doors thudding shut like the closing of a pact we both know we’re about to honor.
The driver says something—maybe confirms our destination—but I don’t hear a word.
All I know is the heat of Logan’s thigh against mine and the way his hand finds my knee like it belongs there.
And then we’re on each other.
My back hits the door as his mouth claims mine, hungry and unhurried all at once. His hand tangles in my hair. My fingers find his shirt, pulling him closer, pulling him now. His kiss is thorough, commanding. The kind that makes you forget you ever told yourself you had rules.
I laugh against his mouth—breathless and half-drunk on adrenaline.
Three and a half years with a man, and not once did we make out in the back of a damn Lyft. Not like this. Not with this much heat and want, and the kind of recklessness that feels suspiciously like freedom.
This? This is telling.
Logan kisses down my jaw, his breath warm against my skin, his hand grazing my bare thigh just beneath the hem of my shorts.
“Let’s wait,” I whisper, voice hoarse. “Until the hotel.”
He pulls back instantly—his restraint almost more seductive than the kiss itself. Eyes dark, chest rising like he’s holding back a wave.
“Good idea,” he says, his voice gravelly and hot.
A song hums low through the car stereo. Something smoky and slow, a little bluesy, a little wild. I recognize it, but I can’t place it. Not with the chaos in my bloodstream.
He threads his fingers through mine, resting our hands on his thigh over his jeans.
I shift. His thigh twitches, and that’s when I feel it.
Hard. Hot. Pressed beneath denim that’s doing a terrible job hiding anything.
Oh, my.
My breath catches, and my whole body goes still for a second, like I’ve touched something sacred and dangerous at the same time.
Desire flares inside me, low and sharp, curling in my belly.
This man is about to wreck me in the best possible way.
And I think I want him to.
My eyes turn up to him, and he’s smirking.
“Eight inches and change, if you’re wondering.”
My mouth drops open. Then shuts again. Like my brain short-circuited and restarted with only enough power to blush.
I peek at him between my fingers, cheeks burning hotter than July asphalt. “You are ridiculous.”
“Just honest,” he drawls, with a cocky smirk.
I shake my head, but I’m smiling. And I hate how much I like that he said it. That I’m still thinking about it. That I’m now very, very aware of the problem tucked under those jeans.
My thumb grazes along the seam of his hand, just enough to say I feel it too. Just enough to say soon.
His fingers tighten around mine, possessive and rugged.
The ride goes on, and it feels like every second is a countdown.
When the car finally pulls up to Logan’s hotel, the rain has slowed to a lazy drizzle, just enough to gloss the pavement and make everything shimmer under the glow of streetlamps.
Logan thanks the driver with a quick nod, then opens the door and helps me out like a goddamn gentleman—which would be sweet if the way his fingers press into my hip didn’t make my knees go weak all over again.
I’m just about to follow him toward the hotel entrance when I glance to the right.
And freeze.
“No fucking way,” I murmur.
Because there, glowing like a neon invitation from the sex gods, is a 24-hour adult store. Tacky red signage. Mirrored windows. OPEN flashing like a dare.
Logan follows my gaze and grins. “Well, would you look at that.”
“Coincidence?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Fate,” he murmurs. “You ever been in one?”
I shake my head slowly. “Never.”
He takes my hand and tugs me gently in that direction. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s go shopping.”
The bell over the door jingles as we step inside, and suddenly we’re surrounded by shelves of toys, silky ropes, leather cuffs, and lubes with names I can’t even say with a straight face. It smells like latex and trouble.
My cheeks flame. Logan looks entirely too comfortable.
“Okay,” I whisper, scanning the wall of restraints. “This is a lot.”
“If we’re doing this, we may as well do it right,” he suggests.
“I like the way you think.”
We pick up a blindfold—black satin, smooth as sin—and then nipple clamps, the kind with little, dangling silver chains. I shiver just imagining it.
Then Logan plucks something else off the shelf and holds it up with a wicked smirk.
A remote-controlled vibe.
“Oh my God,” I say, laughing and half mortified. “That’s evil.”
“That’s hot,” he corrects. “And I promise to use my powers responsibly. Mostly.”
I shake my head, still grinning, when something catches my eye. Tucked just beneath a display of riding crops and cuffs is a black nylon, under-the-mattress restraint system—four soft cuffs connected to adjustable straps, designed to disappear under hotel sheets like they were never there.
I hold it up slowly. “What about these?”
Logan’s pupils dilate. “Fuck, yes.”
His voice is a low growl now.
“You ever been tied up, Cassie?” he murmurs.
I shake my head, lips parted. “Not yet.”
He leans in, breath brushing my ear. “Then tonight’s your lucky night.”