Chapter 17 - Sierra
Seventeen
Sierra
We ride back to the house in silence. Logan holds my hand the entire way back. His thumb skims gently across the back of my hand, and every once in a while, he shoots me a tender—dare I say it, loving—glance.
God, what have I done?
I am going to break this beautiful man’s heart again because I can’t keep it in my pants.
Nope. This is fine. Completely, one-hundred percent fine. I warned him. He’s an adult; he knows what he’s getting into.
He shoots me another one of his lovesick glances, and nausea swells up my throat. Even still, shame fills me. I once again knew what I was doing. I was teasing, poking, pushing, pushing, pushing until he predictably snapped.
Oops, I did it again. I should invest in a flirty plaid skirt and change my name to Britney.
I sag deep into my seat, feeling cold and shaky.
I twist the air vents away from me, but it doesn’t seem to help.
Between the mind-blowing orgasm and the hours of climbing, I probably have low blood sugar.
That’s another thing, I just had to show off for him, didn’t I?
I really pushed myself during that climb, getting off on every awed and shocked expression, every gruff warning to be careful.
Girl, what’s wrong with you? Shameless, vain, provocative, wanton. Seducing the Golden Boy of Sagebrush. Some people never change, and I’m one of them.
Oh, but it was such good sex, though.
He seems to sense my mood change. He lifts my hand to his lips and brushes a soft kiss against my skin.
It’s so sweet and sexy, I nearly swoon, like some sappy Regency novel heroine.
I stare at the curve of his mouth, how the lower one is so much plumper than the upper.
It would look like a pout on anyone else less masculine.
How good did it feel to have those lips on me?
To have his hands on me, those gentle touches winding me higher and higher.
Just the memory of it makes my knees feel weak again.
I want to tell him to just pull over somewhere—anywhere—so he can make love to me again.
Make love? I groan. Sierra Marie Howard. You are in so much trouble.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks.
“Just hungry,” I mumble. True in all senses of the word.
“Let’s pick up some food,” he says, hitting the blinker. “How does gas-station Subway sound to you?”
I snort. “Delicious.”
We purchase a couple of subs, and I treat myself to a real-sugar soda.
A few gulps and I’m already feeling renewed energy pump through my veins.
We sit at an outside table with a great view of the semis pumping gas, and I scarf down my foot-long like a python snake while Logan takes his time to chew his meatball sub, like the well-raised boy that he is.
After swallowing my last bite, I pat my rounded stomach and lean back with a sigh. “All I need now is a hot shower and a nap, and I’ll be human again.”
“Ready for another shower, huh? For business or pleasure this time?”
That fucking shower. “Logan, I know that was really unprofessional of me—”
“I’m teasing,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “The next one had better be for pleasure.”
Heat pools between my thighs. Ah, temptation. My old friend. You weren’t gone long, were you?
I take another sip of my soda. The straw makes a loud sucking noise, which helps. Hard to be horny with goofy sound effects. “How will it work with Seth? I assume you guys have had girls over before, but this needs to be more discreet.”
“We have.” He watches my face intently, the tips of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.
“What was your last girlfriend like?”
His smile widens. “My last girlfriend?”
I blush. “Not that we’re calling me your current one. Because we’re not. Secret, no-strings-attached affair, remember?”
“Sure,” he says.
“Or…were your last rendezvous—rendezvouses?—one-night stands?” It suddenly occurred to me that we were so young the last time we were together. Who knew what his sexual inclinations were over the past seven years? Perhaps his habit is to have a different girl over every night.
The slight smile is back. “I’m not a one-night stand guy. I’ve had one girlfriend besides you. And yes, we had sleepovers at my house.”
I simultaneously wanted him to stop talking and tell me everything. What was this other girl like? Was she like me? Why did they break up?
“Seth has had girls stay over too. We’re both discreet. It was a little different with Charlotte, since she came over, not just for sex, but to hang out. Girlfriend privileges.”
Charlotte. I had a sudden vision of some knockout with fantastic hair and a nose not slightly too big for her face, like mine was.
“How did you meet?” Slurp goes my straw. Silly sound effects make it difficult to feel jealousy too. Or so I tell myself.
“Do you want a refill?” he asks.
Nope. I want him to torture me with information about the girl he dated after and before me. Not that we are officially together.
“Why did you break up?” I ask. And because I can’t seem to stop poking him, I add, “Sex was bad?”
He chokes a little on his sandwich. He coughs for a minute before he recovers, cheeks red. “I’m not telling you that.”
“So it was.”
“You really want to hear about our sex life?”
He got me. “Nope,” I mumble. Slurp.
He grins. “Didn’t think so. We were long-distance. I was an asshole and never visited her in Phoenix, and she got tired of driving up here to see me.”
“Why did you never visit her?”
He shrugs. “I feel better here,” he says.
He takes a bite of his sandwich and takes his time chewing before continuing.
“Here, I have my family and their support, my business to run, and the community I’ve built up.
I feel the most comfortable here, the most in control.
Charlotte had a hard time understanding that. ”
I have a hard time understanding that. It sounds like he built himself a fortified animal habitat.
“What about you? I imagine you’ve had at least a boyfriend or two over the years.”
I stiffen. “At least?”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t. You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, and I can feel my hackles lower. “And you’re fun, sexy, adventurous. I’m sure guys fall all over you wherever you go.” His face darkens. “Or try to make you fall.”
“Oh, yeah. Dave.” My laugh feels a little strained to my ears. “Not a boyfriend, just a guy I thought would be a good climbing partner and friend, but I was wrong.” I swallow. “It happens.”
“It happens?” He looks horrified at that. “This has happened a few times?”
“Not in the way it sounds. I told you before, I attract the wrong kind of guys. But, yes, to answer your question, I have had a few boyfriends.”
“What happened?” He lowers his voice. “Bad at sex?”
I huff out a surprised laugh at him, turning my nosiness against me. “Exactly,” I say, and decide to turn it into a joke I know will get a rise out of him. “You would think choking a girl during sex would be intuitive, but you’d be surprised how wrong that can go.”
He covers his face with his hands. “Sierra. Please don’t tell me that.”
The giggles burst out of me. “You should see your face. I’m joking.”
He touches my wrist. All of my nerves seem to rush to that spot, congregating at one small point of connection. “Come here,” he says, his voice low and a tad gravelly.
“But…” I look around, but it’s all for show. My eyes can’t absorb anything I’m seeing except for him.
“Unless you know any truckers who may recognize us. Come here, baby.”
I should tell him to stop calling me baby. We need to keep the boundaries clear and defined. I’m not his.
“Okay,” I say instead.
He tugs me toward him, and then I’m in his lap.
His thighs are hard underneath me, his chest solid against my back.
I’m transported back for a second to when we cuddled in the cave.
I felt so safe, so cherished, as he held me securely but gently, as if I were something precious.
He holds me the same way now, nuzzling against my hair, sighing softly.
Then he gives my backside a hearty swat.
I squeak. “Hey!”
I can feel him smiling against my temple. His hand strokes over my butt cheek, relieving the sting. I find myself relaxing against him again.
“You sounded so sad when you said you had had boyfriends,” he says quietly.
I don’t want to get into it. He doesn’t need to know about the men who hurt me over the years, their casual cruelty and emotional abuse. “Men suck,” I say with a sigh.
“We do,” Logan confirms. “We’re the worst. Tell me about them.”
“It seems generous to call them boyfriends now,” I say finally.
“One cheated on me.” And stole all my cash when he left.
“Another was convinced I was cheating, and he broke into my phone and went through all my stuff.” And stalked my workplace and frequently followed me home.
A Toyota Corolla driving behind me still gives me chills.
“The third was plain mean.” My memory stutters at that one.
It’s hard to remember all the gaslighting that I knew was going on there, but the details are hazy now. As he intended.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“Their names are not worth repeating or remembering,” I say. “They’re not here with me now.”
Logan is. And that thought alone makes me so unexpectedly happy and a little delirious, like the aftereffects of taking a shot of whiskey. A warm, burning sensation rushes down to the tips of my fingers and toes, and then I am awash with euphoria.
I take his hand and weave our fingers together. “I wish I could say I’m sorry for our respective failed dating history, but I’m not.”
“Me either.”
We smile at each other for so long that my face starts to hurt.
Then my lips are falling toward his. It’s like a pull of gravity, strong, inevitable, impossible to fight.
And I don’t want to fight it anymore. We keep it chaste—we don’t need to give the truckers that much of a show—but even still, my breath sounds shallow to my ears when it’s over.
Good god, I’ve got it bad for him.