Page 22 of Undoing His Innocent Enemy (Hot Winter Escapes)

She let out a shriek of shock and delight as she found herself being carried up the wide stairs leading to the house’s top level. She knew she wasn’t particularly heavy, but it was as if she weighed nothing at all.

Her laughter died as they entered an enormous room at the far end of the house.

Three walls were made of glass with a wide bed in the centre of it.

The breathtaking vista of forest and mountains beyond the glass stretched to the horizon, as the dying sunlight poured into the expertly appointed room giving it an eerily beautiful glow.

She’d made a point of not exploring the upstairs when she’d been checking out the house yesterday. But as he set her on her feet, she wished she had seen this room before. Because it might have helped to control the lump of emotion burning in her throat as he stripped off in front of her.

Moments later he stood before her naked—his strong body so much harder and firmer than hers.

‘Your house is stunning,’ she whispered, to cover what she suspected was her awestruck expression.

‘Not as stunning as you,’ he murmured.

She clasped her arms over her naked breasts, suddenly self-conscious at how she’d fallen apart so spectacularly at his touch. How was she going to return the favour when she knew nothing at all about pleasuring a guy?

He was magnificent. In every way. Not just the rough-hewn features, the muscular torso and long legs dusted with hair, but also the thick erection thrusting proudly from the nest of dark hair at his groin.

For a moment she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off it. She swallowed past the rawness in her throat.

Oh... My...

‘That’s... It’s... You’re very...large,’ she stammered, finally managing to finish the sentence while feeling both turned on and ridiculously gauche.

Sheesh, Cara, awkward much?

She’d promised him a temptress but was actually an untried virgin. What little sexual experience she’d had as a teenager had not been the best. And had certainly never been worth risking her father’s wrath. She could still remember the awful fallout from her Debs—the Irish prom—when she’d returned home with her date an hour after curfew. Her father had branded her a whore and her mother had given her a lecture on where babies came from—as if she didn’t already know that. But after that grubby, rushed and unsatisfying make-out session in the back of Barry O’Connell’s mother’s Skoda, and the names her father had screamed at her afterwards, she’d never had any desire to go further. Until now.

Logan tucked a knuckle under her chin and lifted her face to his.

‘Is it too large?’

For a moment, she thought the blunt enquiry might be a boast, but then she registered the concern on his face.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly, feeling more awkward by the second, but no less turned on, weirdly. ‘I don’t think so.’

Surely in the grand scheme of things he wasn’t so big she couldn’t accommodate him. After all, his size was as big a turn-on as the rest of him. She pursed her lips, then spewed out the truth.

‘It’s just, I’ve never actually gone all the way before—which probably seems mad for a woman past twenty, but it’s just...’ She trailed off. Was this too much information again? Probably. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even flickered an eyelash at her confession. Was he put off by her lack of experience? Irritated? Annoyed? It was impossible to tell. ‘So you’ll be needing to take it slowly. Sorry,’ she finished.

His brows lowered, but then his gorgeous mouth tilted in a breathtaking—and endearingly self-deprecating—grin. ‘I am nearly thirty,’ he said. ‘And this is my first time, too, with a woman instead of my hand.’

For a moment she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. ‘You’re not serious?’ she blurted out. ‘You’re a virgin?’

How could he have given her the best sexual experience of her life already—be so hot and gorgeous—and be as inexperienced as she was?

The information just wouldn’t compute.

The smile on his lips died, his gaze becoming flat and direct. ‘This is a problem?’

‘No... No. Not at all.’

Wow, way to shove your foot down your own throat, Cara.

The concern had left his eyes, to be replaced by... Well, nothing. The shutters that had been lifted while he’d stroked her to orgasm—and she’d gone completely to bits under his instinctive and assured caresses—had slammed right back down again.

He turned away, lifting his sweatpants off the bed where he’d thrown them.

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