Page 8 of The Wanderer

It didn't take her long to find what she needed: the picture of Logan on his company's website.

The photo didn't do him justice. Neither did the suit. She preferred how he'd looked today: a little rough around the edges with his too-long dark-blond hair skimming his collar, his shirt sleeves rolled up, denim hugging his ass, and those eyes so penetratingly blue she could've sworn he could see right through her.

She leaned against the hand basin and stared into those eyes, remembering how he'd looked at her the moment before he kissed her.

Like he wanted to ravage her.

She'd enjoyed taunting him, had liked how he stood up to her and gave as good as he got.

Her gaze drifted to his mouth as her hand drifted lower, her fingers seeking her clit. She was so wet, thanks to him.

She stared at his lips and remembered the feel of his tongue in her mouth, skilled and sure, and imagined what it could do where her middle finger zeroed in on now.

Her pulse raced, the lightness in her chest making her feel like she was floating as she circled her clit over and over, her excitement escalating too quickly. She didn't care. She needed a release and with the man who'd wound her up into this state gone, she needed it now.

Breathless, she started panting a little. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as she imagined Logan's fingers touching her, Logan's tongue licking her, Logan's dick inside her…she tensed and came on a soft moan, sagging against the basin.

When she opened her eyes, he was still there, staring at her from that photo, looking way too smug and self controlled.

He'd got her so wound up that she'd masturbated away from home for the first time.

Time to ruffle him as much as he'd ruffled her.

Chapter Five

Logan had double-checked the quote twice before firing it off to Hope an hour ago.

Considering he'd already fucked up by kissing her, he didn't want there to be any potential problems with this job. Not that he expected any, as she'd been as into that unexpected make-out session as he had, but it still didn't sit right that he'd crossed the line with a client.

"Hey bozo, what's happening?" Rick, his foreman, slapped him on the back as he slid onto a bar stool opposite. "You know I can't drink when I'm on pain meds so why the hell did you ask me to meet you at a pub?"

"To torture you, of course." Logan raised his schooner in a cheer. "What are you having? Lemonade? Cola? Soda water?"

"Fuck you." Rick flipped him the bird. "Get me a light beer. That way I'll only get half pissed when it mixes with the meds."

"Dickhead." Logan headed for the bar and ordered Rick a lemon, lime, and bitters, glad he'd invited his mate here tonight. He needed the distraction. Mentally rehashing what he'd done with Hope wouldn't help anybody, least of all him.

When he placed the drink in front of Rick on the small round table between them, his friend groaned. "You're not my mother. Get me a real drink."

"No can do, mate. You're the best foreman in the country and I need you on deck sooner rather than later, so let the meds do their work and that means sticking to soda for you."

Rick grunted, took a sip, and wrinkled his nose. "Fucking sugar water."

"Bottoms up." Logan took a gulp of his beer and ignored Rick's woebegone expression.

"So what do you think of the new job I emailed you?"

Rick gave a thumbs up. "Looks good. We've done a few of those recording studios now. You must be getting a reputation."

A bad one, if Hope ever blabbed to anyone about that kiss.

"They're lucrative, that's for sure." Rick took another sip and made a gagging sound. "Though the quote seemed high. Is there a problem?"

Logan shook his head. "The owner was being a bit of a smart-ass, so I upped the ante expecting she'd cave. She didn't, so now we're going to make a healthy profit."

"Uh-oh." Rick's eyes narrowed. "You've got the hots for her."

"Don't be a dumbass," Logan said, unable to meet his mate's eyes and opted for looking into his beer glass instead.

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