Page 21 of Stepping Up

Logan's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. I wasn’t used to this huge, painfully masculine man being adorable, but that came pretty damn close.

"Anyway, you’ll be paid for your time, like I said,” Logan said, clearing his throat and becoming all business once more. He took a couple of steps closer to me in the room, and automatically, I wanted to meet him in the middle. Instead, I stayed by my camera, pretending to be doing something very important even though I was pretty much all set.

“But as a personal thank you, since we’re family and all, how about I also make us dinner when this is over?" Logan suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation.

I arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Dinner? Shouldn't we leave the cooking to the professionals? I hear Nate's quite the chef."

Logan actually chuckled, the sound low and husky. Another zing of satisfaction that I’d gotten him to laugh, and I couldn’t deny that it shot straight between my legs. "I’m no professional, but I chose to go into the restaurant business for a reason. I can hold my own in the kitchen. Let me prove it to you."

That confident competence was like an aphrodisiac for me, and I could have sworn his words held some hidden promise, too—like he’d prove his skills in more than just cooking if I let him. The air between us seemed to crackle with tension in the aftermath of his invitation, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time alone with him. Keep it in your pants, Carly, I scolded myself even as I felt a rush of heat and moisture downstairs.

"Well, I suppose I can't turn down a home-cooked meal."

Logan's grin widened, and I hoped to God he couldn’t tell how my breath caught at that sight.

I needed to control myself. The problem, though, was that for the first time since that night I’d met Bennett at a college frat party, I was starting to feel a deep desire to let loose and stop maintaining my self-control so diligently. Maybe it was seeing Bennett again—the stress of it, which made me want to de-stress in the most destructive way I knew how, and the physical reminder of him, just as handsome now but with an added level of maturity that made him truly mouthwatering. I didn’t have any active plans to indulge my long-dormant reckless side, especially because I was so sure cool, controlled Logan would never let things go that far even if he was attracted to me.

But one thing was for damn sure. If I did end up letting loose with someone, preferably not one of my new stepbrothers, and I got laid again for the first time in way too long, I’d make sure to use protection this time. On top of the IUD I’d gotten a while back. Extra insurance couldn’t hurt.

Focus, Carly, I mentally chided myself. I was here for work, not for some stupid self-sabotaging seduction plan. I embraced the control of being in photographer mode, starting to work with Logan to find the right pose and the right location for his photo.

I took a few candids as Logan tried out different vibes—sitting, standing, arms crossed or by his side, looking pensively out the window or straight at the camera. But nothing felt quite right for Logan, or for a profile of him as a businessman. He wasn’t not photogenic as he claimed. He was gorgeous as usual in every photo I took. But there was an air of stiffness to him as he tried so hard to pose the way he thought he should, and none of it captured his powerful business mogul energy.

“You know what?” I spoke up, stopping the quiet moment in its tracks. Logan looked at me, his heavy brow raised on one side. I didn’t let that faze me. “I’m not sure posing like this is working.”

“I told you I’m not a model,” Logan grumbled.

“It’s not about being a model. That’s not what we’re looking for. This profile is supposed to be about you, right?” As my creative brain started to buzz to life, my inner artist took over, talking for me. I felt energized all of a sudden, especially when I could see my logic was getting through to Logan. “So I think the photo should capture you as you really are. You need to look like yourself, not like you’re posing for a picture.”

Logan mulled this over, then gave a slow nod. “That… makes sense, I suppose. What should I do, then?”

Oh, it was dangerous, getting to give Logan McDonald orders. I shoved away the immediate thought I had, which was to tell him to take off his clothes.

“What would you normally do in your apartment at this time of day?” I asked instead. “If I weren’t here, and you weren’t at work?”

Logan let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I wouldn't be here during the day. I’m always working.”

Typical. I sighed. “Okay, but let’s pretend you’re a normal person who knows how to relax.”

“So now I’m an actor, too?” Logan joked, and my giggle caught me off guard. It seemed to have the same effect on him, because he looked at me with wide eyes, almost fascinated. I turned beet red and stared down at my camera as I flipped through the photos we’d taken so far.

“Just…what do you like to do, if you have free time?”

“I used to read a fair bit,” Logan admitted.

“Okay, then… do that.” I shrugged. “Read something. Pretend I’m not even here. Maybe it’ll help you relax. Get you out of your head, and… your body.” Don’t you dare blush at the mention of his body, Carly Sanders.

I watched him consider that, give a short nod of determination, and then turn on his heel. He walked briskly toward the large bookshelves in his living room, choosing a book from the shelf and flipping through its pages.

“What kind of things do you like to read?” I asked him as I watched him try to settle into some kind of comfort. He was clearly still aware of being watched, but having something to do with his hands helped already. I snapped a couple of shots as I watched him think about his answer.

“History, mostly,” he admitted as he thumbed through the front pages of the book he’d picked. “I’m not one for the imaginative side of life, most of the time. But it’s interesting to see the perspectives of historians, and especially of people who were present for important historical events.”

“Sounds interesting,” I said honestly, watching him through my camera lens.

“Really?” he mused aloud. He looked up, searching for eye contact, but I was behind the camera. I took a quick shot of his head-on gaze, marveling at its intensity. “I thought it would sound boring to someone like you.”

“My daughter is a five-year-old aspiring entomologist,” I explained easily. “I’m not sure boring exists to me anymore.”

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