Lila
Hampton, Virginia
I’m curled up in the living room, in my favorite pj set—olive-green silk shorts and a matching long sleeve button up.
I’m snuggled under a fluffy throw blanket with my feet tucked beneath me on the couch.
The fireplace casts a soft glow across the room, flickering light against the warm wood accents I’d had installed when I first renovated the house.
My book sits in my lap, unopened and a hot chai latte is on the end table beside me, tendrils of smoke twirling into the air.
Logan and I are…okay. Better than okay. We’re back together, but it’s slow, tentative. We’re rebuilding piece by piece. And although I want to believe we can be whole again, trust doesn’t come back all at once.
A knock at the door startles me. I glance at the clock—it’s just past eight. He didn’t say he was coming tonight, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting him anyway.
I slip off the couch, my bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. When I open the door, Logan is standing there, hands in the pockets of his leather flight jacket, framed by the soft glow of the porch light. The night air swirls around him, his breath visible in the chill.
“Hey,” I say, my voice softer than I meant it to be.
He immediately leans in, gently pressing his lips to mine. “Hi,” he says.
His gray-blue eyes meet mine, searching, almost hesitant.
I tilt my head, studying him. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming by tonight.”
His lips quirk into something that isn’t quite a smirk, but close. “Couldn’t stay away.”
Warmth spreads through me, pooling low in my stomach. I step back, opening the door wider. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well come in.”
Logan doesn’t hesitate, stepping inside, the scent of cold air and leather clinging to him. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on one of the brass hooks in my entryway wall before his gaze flicks to the untouched book on the ottoman.
“Good read?” he asks, nodding toward it.
I roll my eyes, moving back to the couch. “I wouldn’t know. Someone interrupted me.”
He follows, sinking onto the cushion beside me. “Guess I should make it worth it, then.” His voice dips lower, teasing.
He reaches for my chai latte, taking a sip before I can protest. I swat at him, but he just grins, completely unrepentant. “Figures you drink something sweet.”
I arch a brow. “And what does that mean?”
“Just that it suits you.” His gaze drops briefly to my lips before meeting my eyes again, full of something both soft and intent.
I swallow, my pulse kicking up. “You’re being extra cute tonight.”
“It’s easy with you,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against my knee. My breath catches. It’s such a simple touch, but charged in a way that has my skin heating beneath his fingertips.
We’re still learning each other again, navigating the spaces between what we were and what we are now. But sitting here, curled up against him, his body warm and solid beside mine, I realize maybe we don’t have to be what we were.
Logan’s hand slides up, tracing a gentle path along my thigh, and I shiver. His lips hover near my temple, breath warm against my skin. “I missed you,” he says, voice rough, quiet.
I turn my head, our noses brushing, our lips inches apart. “You saw me five hours ago,” I whisper, smirking. Then, closing the last bit of space between us, I kiss him. Slow and deep, feeling everything we’re rebuilding settle into place.
Logan groans softly against my lips, his hand tightening on my thigh as he deepens the kiss. It’s unhurried, lingering, the kind of kiss you give when you promise to stay. My fingers thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer until there’s barely any space between us.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breath is steady but heavier than before, and there’s a heat in his gaze that makes my stomach flip.
“Lila,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing absentminded circles just above my knee. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens next.”
I bite my lip, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. And what exactly do you think is going to happen, Captain James?”
His low chuckle sends a thrill through me. “Oh, sweetheart, you know exactly what.”
I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know, you might have to spell it out for me.”
Logan smirks. “I’m happy to give you a demonstration.” Then he steals another sip of my chai like it’s his now, his eyes not leaving mine. “Apparently I’m good at those.” He leans in closer to me, and whispers, “I can even give you my autograph.”
I laugh, swatting at his chest, and Logan grins like he’s proud of himself for getting that reaction out of me. He shifts, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I tuck myself against his side, my fingers toying with the buttons of his henley. “Are you planning on staying a while?”
Logan stretches his arm along the back of the couch, effectively caging me in. “That depends. Are you planning on kicking me out?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Never.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.” He shifts, pulling me so I’m straddling his lap like I belong there. The heat of him seeps into me. I can feel his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my palm.
I let my fingers trail over his collarbone, smoothing the fabric of his shirt before tugging it down just enough to press my lips to the pulse at his throat.
Logan exhales sharply, his grip on my hips tightening. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.” He warns, voice gravelly. “But you’re making it really difficult.”
I smirk against his skin. “Maybe I don’t want you to be a gentleman.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, low and rough, and before I can react, I’m pressed back against the couch—his weight settling over me in a way that steals the breath from my lungs and sets my pulse racing.
My gaze drags down the length of him, slow and greedy, taking in every hard line and angle of the man who’s haunted my waking thoughts and claimed my dreams for far too long.
Every inch of him is familiar and yet entirely overwhelming.
The heat in his eyes tells me exactly what he wants, but it’s the flicker of hesitation—the way his gray-blue gaze scans my face, like he’s searching for permission, for something unspoken—that undoes me.
“I meant it then,” he grits out, his nose brushing against mine. “And I really mean it now. Please, Lila, you have to stop torturing me.”
I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt, and for a long, charged moment, we just exist like this—wrapped up in each other, caught in the push and pull that has always been us.
For all our lust-filled banter, I know that’s all it is.
Because as much as I want him, I know I’m not ready to fall back into his bed.
Sex has never been something I’ve taken lightly, contrary to how we met, and while I do trust him, and while I do enjoy our flirting—the teasing touches and lingering looks—I need more than just want.
I need the certainty that when I give myself to him again, it’s not just physical.
That it’s unshakable love. Because Logan isn’t someone you love halfway.
And when I finally let myself fall, I want to know we’re both ready to catch each other.
Then Logan grins and tugs the throw blanket over both of us like he has nowhere else to be. “Guess I’m staying the night,” he says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction, like he already knows he won the game neither of us were really playing.