Page 98 of Snared Rider

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ten years earlier…

Fingers trail up my spine,bringing me out of my hazy sleep. I turn my head on the pillow and open my eyes to see Logan staring at me. He gives me a dimpled smile as I push through the fog and I can’t help but stare at him. God, he is gorgeous, and he’s mine. How in the hell did I get so lucky?

“I’ve never known a person take so long to wake up,” he murmurs, continuing to ghost his fingers up the bare skin of my back. “I’ve been trying to get you to come around for a while now.”

This doesn’t surprise me because I am a heavy sleeper. A pack of wild dogs could have bounced on the bed and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.

“I don’t do mornings.”

My garbled muttering elicits a chuckle from him.

“Yeah, love, I’m getting that.”

I squint at him through one eye. I might be coming out of my sleep haze but I’m not immune to him and I can certainly appreciate the contours of his pectorals beneath the artwork covering him. Of its own volition, my hand moves to run over the hard planes of his abdomen and I feel his muscles tighten under my touch.

I smile. It’s a powerful, heady feeling knowing he wants me as much as I want him.

He leans over me and presses a kiss to my mouth. He’s brushed his teeth already, so I can taste the mint on his tongue. If he’s bothered by my just-woke-up breath, he doesn’t show it.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Oh.

With everything he planned for me last night (which included a home cooked meal followed by a lot of really good sex) it slipped my mind today is my birthday.

“I’m twenty,” I say slowly, sounding this out.

Twenty.

How did that happen?

I must be wearing my emotions clearly on my face because he laughs at me.

“You’re twenty, not a hundred. Your life isn’t over, darlin’.”

Easy for him to say, looking like he was hewn from stone and walked out of a Norse saga (minus the Viking hair).

“I’m old,” I complain. This gets me another laugh and I narrow my eyes at him. He’s far too amused by my plight.

“Age is just a number, Beth. It’s about how you feel.”

Inwardly, I try to discern how I do feel. Definitely not older nor wiser. I don’t feel physically different either.

I frown. “Should I feel different?”

He pulls me against his chest and his fingers go into my hair, sifting gently through it in a way that is making me sleepy again.

“I guess not,” he says. “I didn’t.”

“Can you remember that far back?” I tease.

“Oh! That was nasty.” It was. He’s only twenty-two—although he’ll turn twenty-three in two months’ time. Still, I like to tease him about his age, even though it makes no difference if he is three or thirty-three years older than me.

“Well, can you?” I demand with a grin. He scowls at me, but there is no heat in it.

“Yeah, babe, I remember turning twenty.”

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