Rashly, I headed straight for my dresser. I discarded my black nightgown because I didn’t want to risk the chance that it might remind him of the night we’d narrowly escaped the soldiers and, by extension, Dr. Grey’s death. My sewn up pink nightgown was my favorite but, well, there were strong memories attached to it, too. I had lots of flannel pajama pants but they weren’t exactly sexy. My fingers brushed satin. That was more like it.
The satin nightgown was white and formfitting, like a dress. It glided over my head easily, light as air, not quite reaching my knees. It was completely see-through, which explained why I’d never worn it before. That also explained why I’d bought it. I slipped on a good pair of white cotton underwear – they were the best I could do – and then moved to hover near my closed bedroom door. The butterflies were swarming again, this time with a flurry of excitement. What would happen if I just showed up at his door wearing nothing but this?
The same nagging doubt that stopped me from kissing him earlier stopped me from going out into the hallway. He might slam the door in my face. Even if he did want me a little bit, it might not be enough. Or, worse, I might’ve been misreading the signals all this time. Seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was there. Wouldn’t be the first time. If I tried something and he wasn’t receptive, it might ruin what we had. On the other hand, maybe he was waiting for me to make the move. Or else the idea just hadn’t occurred to him, but he’d be okay with it if I brought it up…
Ugh. Stupid.
Throwing on a robe but not bothering to put on gloves because the sleeves were so long, I went out into the dimly lit hallway and went straight across into the elevator. What was I thinking? This was forever, I reminded myself. I didn’t need to rush things just because my panties were all in a bunch. I had to get my mind off of it.
Jones, a bowl of ice cream, and some educational programming were just what I needed. Tonight was the conclusion of the History Channel’s mini-series about Richard the Lionheart’s very torrid affair and angsty falling out with Philip Augustus of France. Didn’t want to miss that.
Ice cream was the priority, though. When I wandered the school at night, ice cream was always the priority. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one.
Dressed in a pair of wonderfully tight-fitting blue jeans and a white beater, Logan was scooping out some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream into a bowl. My favorite, and a definite gesture of welcome. A mostly-eaten sandwich and bottle of Dr. Pepper lie on the bar. That meant that, in the middle of eating, he’d heard me coming, anticipated that I wanted ice cream, gotten up, and fixed me a bowl. I didn’t care what anyone said, that man obviously loved me.
“Thanks, Logan,” I said when he handed me my bowl.
He did his typical shrug and grunt for, “You’re welcome.”
I followed him around the bar to and took the seat directly next to his. I happened to glance up at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was only a little after twelve. “Usually the kitchen’s pretty crowded right about now,” I acknowledged. Midnight snacks were a common occurrence at the school. No one really minded as long as the students were quiet.
“It was crowded,” Logan replied, eyebrow raised and lip quirked.
I grinned back, shaking my head fondly at him. “You would be proud of scaring the children.”
The other side of his mouth lifted up in what passed for a full-fledged grin in Logan’s book. Not a smirk or a sneer, a genuine smile that turned the color of his eyes into a soft, liquid green. And it was just for me. My heart skipped.
I’m in love with you, I thought distinctly, wishing I could just say it out loud and be done with it. I was a twenty year-old woman. I should’ve been able to say it. I only had courage enough for one thing, though, so, instead, I reached over and brushed my fingers on the back of his hand, which was resting on the blue-tiled counter. His fist clenched unexpectedly.
I jerked my hand back, blurting, “I’m sorry.”
He sniffed and rolled his neck, Logan for, “Forget about it.”
Picking up my spoon again, I ate my ice cream without enjoyment. I was used to apologizing to Logan for touching him, but this was the only time I’d done so without having hurt him first. With my free hand, I used one fingernail to poke at the grout between the tiles.
I watched with fascination as Logan took my hand in his. Gently, he rubbed his thumb across my knuckles, down along my veins. I opened my palm as he turned my hand, his thumb now tracing my lifelines. He lingered on my wrist. The jump of his pulse was perfectly in time with mine.
Apparently satisfied with that, Logan let go of my hand to reach for his Dr. Pepper. Grateful but still disappointed, I went back to eating my ice cream in silence, shoulders hunched.
“Sorry it was me,” he said quietly, almost under his breath.
“There isn’t anyone else.”
“Sorry for that, too.”
I didn’t say anything. It was kind of his fault that there wasn’t anyone else, in a roundabout sort of way, but it was nothing he needed to apologize for. Though, possibly, he wasn’t apologizing so much as expressing his regret and pity all at the same time.
I glanced up at him to check, and was stunned to find open lust on his face. I followed his gaze down. My robe had fallen open, giving him a practically unhindered view of my chest.
“You don’t look very sorry,” I observed. His eyes flicked up to mine. I mimicked his eyebrow raise as best as I could, throwing in a knowing smirk for good measure. When it came right down to it, Logan wasn’t that different than any of the teenage boys who’d attempted to look down my shirt.
That thought gave me an odd sort of daring, and, coupled with the definite knowledge that Logan did, in fact, want me, I was feeling pretty damned cocky. Eyeing him coyly, I licked the ice cream off my spoon, then off the corner of my mouth.
After a moment, he looked away. “You don’t know what you’re doing, kid.”
My spoon clanked on my bowl. “Oh.” Less insulted than mortified, I adopted an overly bland demeanor, saying, “I was just…It was good ice cream.” I reached over and poured the melted stuff in the sink, setting the bowl down along with it. Unable to even glance at him, I got up and headed for the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” he said.
Stopping, I turned around with an unsuccessful smile on my face. “Yes?”
Logan sighed, kneading the back of his neck. He lifted his arm in a helpless motion. “Goodnight.”
“’Night,” I responded perkily, exiting quickly.
I considered carrying out my earlier plan of watching the History Channel with Jones, but I wasn’t in the mood anymore. Poor Philip Augustus. Richard had been totally in the wrong. If some bastard had seduced me at sixteen and then turned around years later and selfishly renounced it as a mortal sin, I would’ve had him castrated.
Not wanting to wait for the elevator, I took the stairs two at a time. The further away I got from Logan, the more pissed off I became. How could he say that I didn’t know what I was doing? I was a damn good tease. He could just ask Bobby. I rolled my eyes. Oh, sure, being a tease was certainly something to be proud of. Idiot.
I ate up the distance to my door and shut it behind me. Shucking off my robe, I shoved myself under the covers. Nerves shot, face uncomfortably flushed, I stared hard at the ceiling, willing myself to calm down. I was not comforted by the knowledge that my little display down in the kitchen would never be brought up again. Logan and I were too good at faking normalcy. It was a big part of our problem.
My eyes had drifted shut by the time I heard my doorknob turn. I knew it was Logan but didn’t move. I waited to see what he would do.
“Rogue,” he murmured, coming further into my room. He lightly closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place. Working to steady my breathing, I feigned sleep so that he was forced to come closer until he was sitting on the edge of my bed. “Rogue,” he repeated, lightly brushing the hair away from my mouth.
I lifted myself into a sitting position and flicked on the small lamp beside my bed. “Yeah?”
His hand stayed on my cheek, rubbing it soothingly. The expression on his face was almost of pain.
“Logan, what’s wrong?” I asked anxiously, skin tingling.
“I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”
Shrugging it off I said, “I’m not a little girl. I can handle some hurt feelings.”
“You shouldn’t have to. Not from me. So, I’m sorry.”
I smiled a little. “I didn’t expect an apology. I figured you’d drop it.”
“This is too important to you. Touch. You should be able to touch me whenever you want.”
I bit down hard on my tongue to stop myself from saying something implicit about invitations. Clearing my throat, I agreed. My breathing was shallow as I placed my bare hands on the warm skin stretched tight over his biceps.
Hastily, I slid my hands across his shoulders and up his neck. Before I lost my nerve, I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Light as it was, he kissed me back. For a long moment, our lips hovered mere inches apart.
Just as I was about to go in for another kiss, Logan’s hand moved to cup the back of my head. I yielded willingly as he slowly drew my face closer to his. My eyes darted from his lips to his eyes, trying to commit every second of this to long-lasting memory. Our lips brushed again. Logan shifted closer to me, putting his other arm around my back so that my upper body was pressed against his. Opening my mouth for him, I lifted one hand to the nape of his neck and wrapped my other arm around his firm waist. He pulled his head back just as I was getting used to mimicking the movements of his tongue. Stroking my hair, he rested his bristly cheek on mine.
“Damn it, I should go,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my temple.
“Don’t,” I replied, knowing full well what would happen if he stayed and, worse, what would happen if I allowed him to leave.
Logan loosened his hold and leaned back, still caressing my neck. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I looked at him levelly. “Then why’d you lock the door?”
He turned his head and grimaced, no answer for that. At least, no answer he wished to give. He didn’t want to take advantage of me, and I respected him for that. I just had to convince him he wasn’t.
Raising my hands, I placed them under is chin and gently urged his face back toward mine. When he relented and opened his eyes, I said, “Logan, I want you to stay.” For my benefit as much as his, I added, “It’s okay. I’m in love with you.” Despite my overwhelming nervousness, I managed to pull off a reassuring smile.
His expression wavered before settling on one of determination. Untangling himself from my grasp, he stood up and flipped the covers off of me in one fluid motion. I stared up at him wide-eyed, utterly aware that my nightgown hid nothing. Logan moved his eyes up my body. I could feel myself flush everywhere his gaze touched.
He watched my face intently while his hands moved down to unbuckle his belt. My muscles tensed and my stomach quivered. Tossing the belt aside, he slipped off his boots. Enthralled, I barely blinked as he undressed further, until he was standing before me clad in nothing but a pair of black briefs that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Kneeling on the bed, he bent over to clamp his mouth onto mine. I was lost to sensation after that. I hadn’t touched or been touched in so long, and never like this. Logan caressed me everywhere, and my hands roamed his body just as freely. I was trembling violently, almost spastically. It wasn’t particularly elegant, but that’s what Logan did to me. At once passionately demanding and heartbreakingly tender, he sent me spiraling through waves of agonized yearning and pure ecstasy.
I let go of a lot – inhibition, reticence, fantasy, expectation – and everything left I gave to Logan. In return, I got the opportunity to feel like the only person of consequence in his whole life.
And afterward, he gathered me into his muscular arms as he collapsed on his side. Lazily, he ran his fingers through my tousled hair and dropped kisses on any part of me that he could reach. Utterly content, I nestled in closer, his chest pushing against mine with each deep breath he took. The steady rhythm was incredibly soothing. I gave myself over to the comfort of his arms and my own fatigue as I let myself fall slowly into sleep.