Page 56 of Perfect Playbook

“Do you think Phileas Fogg would havehad a better chance getting around the world in eighty days if he went through Europe and Asia instead of by sea?”

“Hmmm.” Logan nods next to me, considering the premise. “I guess it was the most direct route, if you draw a line on a map?”

“Exactly. Plus when he took trains, those days were shorter trips.”

“We could try the math out later.” Logan indulges Nino’s theory.

“It’s a lot of countries to go through. France, Germany, Austria, Slovakia… um… Ukraine…”

I’d rather talk about geography forever than face this kiss, but there’s no more delaying the inevitable. I park my modest car in a team space amongst the Audis and Porsches and Mercedes.

I’m going to kiss Logan.

Sure, we had the one on the porch, and Lord did it take my breath away. But it was also rushed and the shock element makes it seem like a dream. This kiss? It has me shaking in my boots.

We all tumble out of the car, and Logan opens an inconspicuous side door leading into the facility. We enter a very long, stark hallway. Having been on a tour and in the car all day, Nino sees the hallway as a tarmac and races ahead pretending to be an airplane.

His voice echoes behind him. “Neeeeaaaawwww…”

Soon he’s off in the distance.

Logan takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. We’re about to be rink side where we discussed him having his arm around me. Holding my hand. And… sharing this kiss. I’m sure the kiss won’t be anything too dramatic. That would be weird. Too much PDA. Right?

I slide my hand out of his grasp. “Nobody’s here so the no-touching rule is in effect.”

He’s exasperated. “Seriously, Shay?”

I take one more step, faster, in front of him, when he grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him. I didn’t expect it so I nearly bump right into his rock-hard frame. He wears that crooked, dimpled smile of his, and I’m close enough to smell him now. Logan’s cologne isn’t like a lot of men. It’s not sharp and fresh. It’s a sensual trail of sandalwood and jasmine laced with spicy black pepper. It’s comforting, alluring and edible. His scent is hypnotic, and the only explanation for why I haven’t pulled my wrist back.

But I find my tongue. “Seriously what? Those are the rules.”

He tilts his head to the side, so adorable. “If you can’t even hold my hand leading up to our performance, we might have problems.”

“I can hold your hand, I just don’t want to.” It’s a lie. This morning I would have held his hand and every other bit of naked skin hanging out from the covers. Happily. I add, “It’s just better if we don’t.”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, considers me with his boyish amber eyes. His thumb circles over the thin tender skin on the underside of my wrist. The space between us grows heavy and humid.

Mischief dances on his features. “Do we need to practice, Wife?”

His words caress me like foreplay. I yank my hand away, but his touch still lives there. I tug my sleeve down over the spot in hopes of being able to ignore the electric warmth still tangible on my skin.

“Practice holding hands? I think I can manage holding your hand later, Logan.”

His manly hands grip my waist and he walks me back as if we’re dancing. One step. Two steps. Three… my back is against the wall, and my hips are owned by his firm grasp.

There’s a twinkle in his eye, and his lips quirk with amusement. He taunts me. “If you can’t even hold my hand down the hallway, you might have trouble pulling off a convincing kiss.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Get over yourself.”

With him so close my knees nearly buckle, and I’ll never admit it, but he’s right. I’m nervous about this kiss. But out there, in public, it will be… quick.

I remind him. “We agreed on a low-level lingering peck with no tongue. It’s not that big of a deal.”

His gaze becomes more weighty, just staring, waiting, but not for words. He listens to my body, and she betrays me by buzzing in high frequency. He can probably hear my heart throb against my rib cage. He probably smells that my perfume has become more fragrant as my temperature rises. Cool as I think I am, Logan’s dimpled smirk tells me he read me as perfectly as a predator reads its prey.

He smirks. “You are so transparent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”I know exactly what he means.

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