Page 41 of The Holiday Clause
“What about the next clue?”
His mouth formed a flat line. “This was a dumb idea.”
Unease tightened her shoulders. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. “Logan, you know I love you. I’d do almost anything for you and your brothers. But what you’re asking?—“
“Forget it. I get it.” He twirled the stem of the wine glass and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
She hated leaving like this. The night had started so pleasantly, and now he was upset with her. “Do you want to take me home?”
“That’s probably best.”
She stood from the milk crate and pulled on her mittens, a lump of regret tightening her throat. He dumped the last of the cheap wine on the pavement, blew out the candle, and gathered up the blanket. He didn’t say a word as he stashed everything in the back of the truck.
They couldn’t leave things like this. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool.”
None of this was cool.
A gold-edged paper blew from the pallets through a hole in the chain link fence. That was her clue, and now it was gone. Game over.
She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. “Look at me, Logan.”
When he did, it wasn’t with the eager inquisitiveness she was used to from him. His eyes darkened, and there was an intensity about him that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it was, but she continued to see him through layers of memories, unable to wash away the recollections of the sweet young boy who was one of her best friends.
“Can I have a hug?”
He hesitated, but then he saw her regret and sighed. “Yeah.”
His arms closed around her and a sense of safety enveloped her. She rested her cheek on the cold wool of his coat.
“You aren’t allowed to get mad at me. Ever.”
His arms tightened. “I can’t stay mad at you anyway.”
She smiled and looked up at him. “One day, you’re going to make an amazing husband for a very lucky woman.”
He studied her, their faces only an inch apart, and his arms still hooked snugly around her back. When he leaned in, she drew back but could only go so far. “Logan?—”
His hold tightened. “Just let me try something.” His lips pressed to hers, and her eyes went wide.
His kiss was soft and sensual, the slow kind that begged to go deeper. But she couldn’t go deeper with him.
Turning her cheek, she looked away. “I can’t.”
Neither of them moved for several long seconds as they died in the awkwardness and had to wait to be reborn.
His arms loosened, and she pulled away as soon as he unhooked his hands from her back. Wind whipped at her face, but she was too embarrassed to feel the cold.
“Just tell me one thing, Wren.”
She nodded, her voice having disappeared.
“Would it be any different with Soren or Grey?”
She thought back to the shed and the weight of Greyson’s mouth on her. She recalled how her body responded to his touch, shivering at the memory of him pressing her into the wall. Her cheeks burned when she remembered the way he’d forced her hand over the bulge in his pants. No one had ever been so aggressive with her before. Even now, her body clenched at the intense memory.
But Greyson didn’t want intensity. He regretted touching her at all.
