Page 64 of Kilt Trip

“Is it always like that for you?” she whispered, her voice muffled against his skin.

Logan slid onto one elbow, that sweep of hair falling over his eye, the pad of his thumb trailing across her cheekbone. “Never.”

Addie was so shaken, she could only curl into him, needing the reassurance of his hard body and heartbeat, heavy under her hand.

23

They woke in the darkness, Logan’s body curling around Addie’s, his hands tucked against her heart. When she turned to face him, she buried her face against his neck and slipped her leg between his. His pulse started buzzing.

He expected her to roll her hips, to push the tempo, to force them back to something physical after the intensity of last night. Instead, she wound her fingers in his hair and held him.

The embrace—with seemingly no underlying motives—felt more intimate than what they’d shared earlier.

His hand stroked down her back, committing to memory the rhythm of her breathing, the softness of her skin, the flower-petal smell of her hair. He basked in the way her tidal restlessness, those unseen currents, stilled like glassy waters in the circle of his arms.

His alarm blared on the nightstand, shattering the quiet. As he rolled to shut it off, Addie asked, “What time is it?”

“Seven,” he said, reaching for her, but she was already halfway out of bed, hunting for her clothes.

“Shit.” She grabbed her shirt and yanked it on. “People will be up by now.”

His chest tightened at the guarded look in her eyes. She was leaving.

If she walked out right now, there was a very real chance she would only come back in the dark. Or worse, pretend it never happened at all.

He wasn’t oblivious to Addie’s aversion to vulnerability. Light and casual seemed to be her motto, and he’d upended it before they’d even made it to bed. He’d known what he was doing. He wanted more of her. Always.

He wanted more of the stories she shared in the night about the cities that held a piece of her heart. Cenotes in Mexico, Japanese cherry blossoms, Saint Petersburg, sailing down the Ganges. He wanted to peel back the layers and understand what made her curious and adventurous.

But he may have made a grave tactical error. Logan knew how precarious his position was. She wanted a physical relationship. She’d made that clear. From what he gathered, she had a lot of practice running from the wounds of her past. If he pushed too hard, too fast, she might run from him, too.

All he could do was wait for her, find ways to give her all the love and connection she deserved.

Logan put on his briefs and moved to her, trying to soothe her skittish energy. “It’s okay,” he said, but she brushed off his touch, yanking her jeans on.

“No one can know.”

The chill of the morning settled in his bones. He knew it shouldn’t hurt. Just because he wanted to shout it across the bus’s loudspeaker didn’t mean it was smart. Of course they weren’t walking into breakfast holding hands.

But he was so afraid the magic between them would burn off like the mists, leaving an emptiness he could never fill.

Maybe it was juvenile—certainly desperate—but sometimes the only way to get Addie out of her head was to poke at her. Ignoring the quivering in his stomach, he touched the pale skin on the curve of her neck with his thumb. “It might be a wee bit late, with this hickey.”

Her eyes flared, and she grabbed her neck. She spun to the gilded mirror to examine the column of her throat. Finding nothing, she dropped her palms to the dresser and heaved out a breath. Before she could turn and fight him, he wrapped his arms around her waist and met her eyes in the mirror.

She shook her head and muttered, “Bawbag,” but a grin tugged at her lips.

This was better. He could keep it light for now if that’s what she needed. Hell, he’d tell her every bad joke from every Christmas cracker he’d ever opened so long as she didn’t shut him out. “I’ll be your lookout, alright?”

The hall was empty as Addie made for her door, but watching her walk away from him sent icicles through his heart. He whistled the same tune he and his brothers used and she stiffened, glancing discreetly over her shoulder. When the only person she saw was him, she turned to walk backward and flipped him off with both hands. Her smile lit up the stone hallway, and all the warmth and connection he’d felt the night before stole through him.

After Addie had made it safely to her room, Logan packed his bag and made his way downstairs. Out at the bus, he helped the guests load suitcases and climb aboard while Birdie and Gertie giggled behind their hands, shooting him suggestive glances. His tsking only drew out their laughter, and he failed to hide his smile. It was a good day.

Addie came down the stairs in her yellow mac and his breath caught. She dragged Frank over the bumpy cobblestones—a surefire way to break a wheel—and Logan reached for the handle. “Let me take care of it.” Of you.

She held his gaze for a long moment, like she understood what he meant. Like she might argue.

“Okay.”

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