When he again reached for her breast—dying to see her, to touch her—she stalled. “Wait.”

Of course he did. Balanced over her, edgy with need, their breaths mingling, he…waited.

Her body beneath his was an indistinct form, but he felt her urgency, the way she stared at him, and her indecision.

Her hands kneaded his chest. “If we’re going to do this—”

“I hope we are.”

“—then I need the curtains closed.”

Even though it was black as pitch outside? He looked toward the window. Was she afraid a flash of lightning would show him something? Like what? Thinking to encourage her, he said, “You don’t need to—”

“And you have to keep your hands to yourself.”

Thoughts, ugly suspicions, bounded this way and that. He gave her a gentle kiss. “I don’t understand.” Any of it, including the driving need to discover her hang-ups. “I’ve got my hands on you now.” He emphasized that by tucking her hair back, smoothing her cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t want you…feeling around on me.”

Moving his body over hers, he growled, “I can feel you. All of you.” He closed his eyes at the giving softness of her curves, the open cradle of her thighs. “You’re soft and hot and—”

A little panicked—or else very close to the edge of release—she said in a high voice, “Promise me right now, or we’re done.”

Unease warred with conviction. He couldn’t keep from brushing gentle kisses on the bridge of her nose, her brow, and he wanted to go on kissing her. Everywhere. “Whatever it is, honey, I swear to you, it’s okay.”

“It’s me.” Stroking her hands around to his back, fraught with uncertainty, she clutched at him. “I need my clothes on. I need the lights out. I need you to keep your hands mostly to yourself.”

Jesus. “When I mentioned high school, I wasn’t looking for a reenactment.”

She sucked in a breath. “Fine.” Shaking, she pushed against him while trying to turn away from him. “Then let’s forget about—”

“No way.” He brought her face back around to his and again kissed her, softer, deeper. “You can trust me, Sue.” Like  hell. “I won’t hurt you.” Damn it.

In the near darkness, they watched each other. Her eyes glimmered, but he couldn’t see her well enough to decipher her thoughts.

She touched his jaw. “Let me up.”

Damn, damn, damn. Flopping over to his back with a groan, Logan stared toward the ceiling, hot, frustrated, but mostly troubled. From the knees down, his legs hung over the end of the bed.

The part the rain had soaked.

The wind howled eerily, suiting his mood. Thunder crashed, and he felt it in his chest.

He didn’t want things to end like this.

He rose up on one arm. “Sue?” It amazed him that he kept the forethought to continue using her alias. There remained just enough light filtering in for him to see her shadowy form as she lifted her skirt.

Lust tied him in knots. He drew in necessary oxygen. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my panties.” She dropped them on the floor and crossed to the window to close the heavy curtains. “Only my panties.”

His heart thundered. “Yeah, all right.” Lust cut into him. When he felt her approach, he dropped back to the bed in an agony of suspense, breath held, erection straining.

Her hands went to the fastening of his jeans. With a small tug, she opened the snap. “I shouldn’t do this,” she said.

He heartily disagreed.

She pushed his jeans down to his knees. “I’ll probably regret it.”

He wouldn’t let her feel regret. Somehow he’d make it okay—

Her hand curled around him, and his thoughts shattered on a rough groan.

Keeping his c**k held tight in her small, hot hand, she climbed onto the bed to straddle his hips. She’d lifted her skirt; her panties were indeed gone. “Please don’t ruin this for me, Logan.”

“No.” Hell, no. “I won’t.”

Sitting back a little, she stroked him once, then released him. “Can you put on this condom?”

Where the hell had she gotten it?

Screw it, he didn’t care. He found her hand in the darkness and took the rubber from her. “Yeah, no problem.” Amazing that he felt so close; it hadn’t been that long for him. He shouldn’t be so wired, so f**king desperate to get inside her.

She was plain, timid, with a nondescript build and more secrets than he could count.

She was a pawn in his scheme to corral the murderous Morton Andrews.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this.

CHAPTER FOUR

LOGAN LOVED SEX, always had, always would. No two ways about that. Somehow, with Pepper Yates and all her coy rules and seductive timidity, it felt different. Scorching. Salacious.

Like a kinky fantasy come to life.

Her soft bare thighs opened over his hips. Not touching her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He fisted his hands in the damp sheets of her bed.

Again she wrapped her small hand around him. “I can feel you pulsing,” she whispered.

God. “Tell me what you need, honey.”

“You,” she said. “Inside me.” And with that, she moved over him, positioning him, moving the head of his c**k against her hot, slick flesh.