Page 59 of Sin Bin

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t do relationships.”

Meadow frowned. “Ever?”

“Nope. Not my thing.”

“Why not?”

He raised one dark, sexy eyebrow. “You asking for Ana’s sister or yourself?”

“Her sister, of course.”

“Of course.” Logan’s eyes gleamed. He didn’t believe her.

She wasn’t so sure she believed herself.

He startled her when he suddenly pushed away from the tree to step close to her.

Her stomach fluttered wildly and her breath quickened.

When he brushed a tendril of hair away from her face and stared down at her, her heart thumped a few extra heavy beats. He was so close that only a sliver of air came between them.

She stared up at him. God, she could drown in those endless dark eyes.

When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she realized that he was thinking about kissing her. The realization should have sent her running for the hills—or at least made her back away from him.

She didn’t back away. She didn’t run.

She stood there, breathless, watching as his hands came up to cradle her face.

Staring into her eyes, he slowly lowered his head toward hers. When their mouths were just inches apart, he paused as if he were waiting for her to pull back. When she didn’t, his lips came down over hers.

She clutched at his rock-hard arms, her knees almost buckling as her heart rate went ballistic and her body lit up like all the stars in the galaxy. Logan made a rough sound, a primitive growl that radiated from his body to ricochet through hers.

His lips were even softer than they looked, addictively plush and firm. They moved possessively over hers, parting them, filling her with his breath, with his heat. She could smell the worn leather of his jacket, the lingering spice of his aftershave and the heady scent that was all him.

She rose on tiptoe to absorb more of his mouth as a fierce yearning mushroomed inside her, obliterating everything but the searing pleasure of his kiss.

Without releasing her lips, he shifted to back her up against the tree. The bark was rough behind her, Logan hot and hard in front of her.

She shivered and quaked, her temperature escalating as he deepened the mind-blowing kiss. She could feel the hard jut of his erection against her belly. Holy asteroid. He was massive.

Her bones dissolved as he swept his tongue into her mouth and explored her in hot, thigh-spreading strokes. God, the man knew how to kiss.

She tasted his need, the fierceness of it, the focused intensity. It matched the crazy urgency she felt for him.

He licked her bottom lip and she sucked his tongue, tasting chocolate and a smoky hint of whiskey. She felt positively intoxicated as his hands slid under her jacket and gripped her hips, pulling her tighter against his huge body.

Her breasts swelled in throbbing response, nipples pebbling against the powerful slab of his chest. She whimpered and reached up to cup his face, her fingers rasping across the rough-soft stubble on his jaw.

He shivered and kissed her even more feverishly, like he was drowning and she was his only source of oxygen.

When he whispered her name—Meadow, not Jupiter—she felt that quivery heart-stopping thing that not even rom-coms got right.

But this was no movie, and there could be no happily ever after with a man like Logan Francisco Matías Brassard.

So she broke the kiss, gasping into his wide chest.

He shuddered and pressed his forehead against the top of her head, their ragged breaths dueling in the night.

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