Page 23 of Anything but Mine

“Then no.”

She huffed out a half laugh. “So this is just an honest to God music room?” She dragged her fingers over the trio of guitars in a spinning stand, then across the glossy finish of the baby grand in the corner.

“We do the heavy lifting in the studio, but Zeke and I have been known to write in here.” Logan swiped his thumb over the strings of a Wicked Witch of the West green guitar. But it wasn’t a strum. Instead, he went up the fret board, leaving no sound behind. He picked up his wine glass and took two large swallows before refilling.

She walked over to him, teased the edge of her nail over his knuckles where a bloom of freckles lay. She looked up at him and couldn’t quite get over just how many freckles dotted his face. She took his glass and sipped his wine.

Good Isabella was shrieking in her head, but she took a longer swallow. The Riesling was sweet and cold, leaving a slightly dry flavor in its wake. She wrinkled her nose. “Mine’s better.” She handed it back to him. “It’s a shame.”

“That comment covers so many things.”

Bold with enough wine swimming in her veins to allow for a bit of reckless behavior, she brushed the pad of her finger over the shallow dent in his chin. The ginger bristles weren’t quite as soft as she’d been expecting.

His Adam’s apple bounced with a swallow. Every part of her wanted to trace her way down his neck to the little notch that showed in the V of his Henley t-shirt. She wanted to see what was at the end of the silver chain that peeked from his collar. She wanted to see if his skin was really as smooth as it looked.

So she went up instead.

Because down was such an incredibly dangerous idea. At least his lips were the gateway drug to Logan King. His neck was a surefire path to overdose. Because once she started peeling off layers, she simply wouldn’t stop unless he said no.

And the wild heat living in his eyes said nothing but naked. The kind of naked that left inhibitions behind with the clothes that landed on the floor.

All she had to do was give the go ahead. Whether it was smart or not, there was enough between them right now to end up with her skirt up and at least one solid orgasm in her future.

She traced the patch of hair just under the center of his lower lip. A trio of faint freckles burned through the tempting flesh. “It’s a shame they Photoshop these out.”

He rolled his lower lip behind his teeth. In the process her finger went too. He put just enough pressure on the pad of her finger to make her gasp. He grasped her wrist and dragged it down so it was trapped between them. He leaned into her until their lips were barely a breath apart. “Don’t play with me tonight, Izzy.”

If she just rose up onto her toes—or if she hadn’t flipped her heels off—she’d be able to reach him. She dug her fingertips into his belly. “I thought you didn’t play in the Winchester Falls sandbox.”

“Exceptions can be made.” God, his breath was hot against her lips. She tilted her head, lining them up. He lightly brushed his lower lip against hers. Just a tiny taste. “You sure you want to travel down this road?”

She swallowed. Yes. A thousand times yes. Even if it was just a kiss, but she heard herself say, “No.”

“So you came here with the express purpose of playing with me?” He didn’t sound pissed. He just seemed resigned.

She dragged her gaze away from his mouth and searched his eyes. There was a flash of pain there, but it was gone so fast she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. “No.”

“Then why did you come?” She tried to break free of him, but he held her hand tight to his belly, slowly sliding it lower. “All signs point to here.”

The snap of his khaki shorts dug into the back of her hand. She closed her eyes at the obvious curve of the head of his cock under the material.

Granny panties.

No sex.

Be strong.

She dragged her knuckle down the length of him. Fuck the granny panties. She could slide them off and toss them under the piano before he saw what they looked like. And all of that would be inside her. She opened her eyes and absorbed the flex of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils as he sucked in a deep breath, and the ever changing green of his eyes. A face that had graced hundreds of magazines, dozens of billboards, and ten album covers. All of it was too much.

Too much wine, too much want, too much stupidity.

She dropped her chin to her chest, resting the top of her head against his muscular pecs. She brought her hand back up to his rock hard belly. “You have no idea how much I want to say yes. I don’t know if it’s the wine or the fact that you’re you, or if it’s more than that—and I can’t afford to figure it out.”

He laid his palm over the back of her neck, then slowly sifted his fingers through the shorter hairs layered there. After a moment, he took a step back and his touch was gone.

She kept her gaze on the carpet until the pattern blurred with the intensity of her stare. When she finally looked up he was across the room, his palms flat on the piano and the last of the bottle of his wine in his glass.

“Gotta admit, this is the first time I’d rather be used.”

---