Page 57 of Snared Rider

“Uh, Logan, what’re you doing?” My voice is pitched higher than usual as he reaches above my shoulder, brushing against me as he does.

“Belting you in.”

He grabs the seatbelt and pulls it across my body before I can protest. This gesture is oddly intimate in a way I would not have imagined it could be and I sit solidly, my back pressed as hard into the seat as I can manage without putting too much pressure on my chest. He fumbles with the mechanism for a couple of very painful minutes before he secures it into the catch. When he’s done, he doesn’t move out of my space but instead shifts so his mouth is inches from mine. He’s so close I can feel his breath against my lips.

His dark eyes meet mine and I want to melt into him.

“Logan,” I breathe his name.

His eyes drop to my mouth and he mutters, “Fuck.”

Then he pulls back and I see the strain in his face before he closes the door. Alone in the silence of the car, my lungs working overtime, I take a shaky breath. I can’t do this. How am I supposed to survive this? Less than half an hour I’ve been in his presence and already the urge to be with him again is overpowering.

The driver’s door is tugged open and I freeze as Logan climbs inside. He doesn’t look at me as he belts himself in and shoves the key into the ignition.

“I know you’re pissed at me, Beth, and you have every right to be, but I just want you to know I am sorry about what happened. Truly and sincerely sorry. And if you hadn’t been avoiding me for as long as you have been I would have told you that already.”

And with that he turns back to the windscreen and puts the car into gear, leaving me—for once—speechless.

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