Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic (19 page)

Right now, he didn’t want to share her with anyone, not with his phantom brother, not even with memories of their pasts. Right at this moment, he wanted her all to himself, wanted her attention focused exclusively on the here and now. He wanted
her.

She did laugh. “I can see where girls could dominate a young boy’s thoughts.”

“What about you?” he asked, smiling despite the increasing desire clawing at his insides.

“Think about girls?” she tossed back with mock sincerity. “Nah. I mean, I was sort of butch, but—”

Logan’s laughter rang full and deep. It felt wonderful. He hugged her. “In your case I was talking about boys. Didn’t you fall in and out of love on a regular basis when you were twelve or thirteen?”

“Nope. I’ve been a one-man woman from the start.” She sighed dramatically and patted her heart. “Matt Liganotti. We fell in love in science class. We shared the same frog. You should have seen his dissecting skills.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Thick glasses and red hair. What a babe.” She giggled. “I’d forgotten all about him.”

The innocent sound, coming from someone whose childhood sounded as if it had been anything but, charmed him. He loved that he could give pieces of the good times back to her.

“He probably never got over you.”

“Oh, I never actually let him know. Heaven forbid.” She rolled her eyes. “My father was rather clear from the time I was like, seven, that there would be no dating until I was at least twenty, and then only with a chaperon, meaning him.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine? That was the downside of being a cop’s daughter. Every boy, no matter his background, was a potential drug dealer or rapist.”

He knew she was exaggerating, but probably not as much as she should have been. “It wasn’t much easier being the son of a cop,” he said. “God help my hide if I ever got caught necking in my car.”

She grinned. “Did you?”

“Necking?” He cleared his throat. “Uh, no.”

She laughed out loud and smacked his chest. “You didn’t?”

He nodded, trying to cover a grin with a sober, penitent look. She clearly didn’t buy it for a second. “Mary Louise Redenbacher.”

She eyed him with a disapproving frown. “Well, I only have one thing to say about that.”

“Which is?” he asked warily.

She beamed a devilish grin of her own. “Was she worth it?”

He choked on a surprise laugh but quickly recovered. “Oh yeah.” He added a heartfelt sigh. “Both times.”

She thumped his chest again in mock effrontery, and
he laughed. She tried not to join him, but he kept it up until she collapsed against him, giggling until she was gasping for air.

He tipped her chin up until she looked at him. Her eyes were alive with delight, her wide smile invited him to smile along with her. Simply put, she knocked his socks off.

Kissing her seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. Her eyelids slid half closed as his mouth neared hers, her smile changed to parted lips that invited something else entirely. It was an invitation he couldn’t have refused even if it had meant imminent death.

“You’re one of a kind, Scottie Giardi,” he whispered.

A slight smile curved her lips. “Better than Mary Louise Redenbacher?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

She was laughing as he took her mouth. It quickly changed to a deep-throated moan.

“I want you, Scottie. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone this way.”

She pushed back enough to look in his eyes. Sarah, again, he thought, somewhat disappointed. He didn’t want her to dwell on the past any longer. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was looking forward to the future. Hoping he wasn’t letting his irritation show, he said, “Listen—”

She spoke at the same time. “Yeah, but how are you at dissecting frogs?”

It took a second for the question to register. Delight filled him. “Have no idea,” he said. “I let Marcia Johnson slice mine open. She wielded a pretty mean scalpel.”

“I’ll just bet she did.”

He buried his face in her neck. “There’s only one thing I want to examine up close and personal.” He nibbled along the edge of her jaw.

“Oh?” The word was more like a soft gasp.

He loved watching her sharp eyes grow a little misty and unfocused. “Yes, oh.” He drew his tongue along her lower lip, then pulled it gently with his teeth. “Mmmm … mine,” he said, then covered the rest of her mouth with his.

Scottie sank willingly as waves of sensations rolled over and through her. It wasn’t just physical desire that held her in thrall. Oddly, that was almost a side benefit. In his arms, she had an inescapable sense of homecoming. With Logan she felt an inner relaxation, a loosening up of an integral part of her that she’d held in steely check for as long as she could remember. Logan understood her.

Somehow, she’d known he would. Was that why she’d decided to open up and tell him about a past she hadn’t discussed with anyone in ten years? Because he made her feel safe? She almost laughed at the idea. The very last thing she felt around Logan Blackstone was safe.

And yet, she was.

His lips drew a soft, warm line down her throat, nuzzling aside her turtleneck to explore even farther. She felt a sudden, desperate need to rip every scrap of clothing from her body … and from his. She wanted to drown in the exquisite sensations that would surely saturate her every pore if she could only feel his skin against hers.

“Logan, I need—” She broke off on a gasp as he found her ear.

“Need, yes,” he rumbled.

“Clothes,” she managed.

“No clothes,” he said, breathing as heavily as she.

“No. I mean yes.” She gasped as he levered off her enough to yank both his shirts off with one violent tug. “Yes, definitely no clothes.”

She clawed at her own shirt, scrambling to peel the long, snug sleeves from her arms, her eyes riveted to the broad expanse of chest hovering above her, wanting with a need akin to desperation, to feel that tightly wrapped skin pressed against her own. She thought she would explode from frustration when she couldn’t get the thing off over her head.

“Let me.” With a tug it was gone and he was back, his chest filling her entire range of vision. He was already working on her pants, shimmying them down her hips. Somewhere along the line, probably when she was wrestling with her shirt, his pants had managed to disappear. Then he was on top of her and they were both blissfully naked. It was even more incredibly wonderful than she’d imagined. She wanted to take time, hours to explore his body, enjoying every inch of her travels, but other needs dominated.

She sunk her fingers into all that dark, thick hair and pulled his face down to hers. Later. She’d investigate to her heart’s content later. “Now,” she demanded. His grin was past wicked even as he raised a questioning brow. “Logan,” she warned.

“Your command is my wish,” he said, making her smile even as the ache between her legs threatened to paralyze her. He nudged her legs apart. Broad hands
pulled her thighs up over his hips as he angled himself above her.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was nothing short of magnificent and, for right now, he was all hers. He slowly slid inside her, filling her so perfectly, so completely. This went deeper than satisfaction, this meant more than simply finding release. At that crystalline moment, her life was perfectly balanced, her soul was in complete harmony. She struggled to grasp the meaning of it all, but then he began to move deep inside her and all thoughts of inner peace and homecoming slid into the netherworld of her mind as more primal directives took over.

“Hold me tight.” He cupped her hips and rolled them both onto their sides, pressing her back into the couch, her leg high on his hip.

She was surrounded by him, yet she surrounded him as well, gripping him oh so tightly.

“Open your eyes, Scottie. Look at me,” he commanded.

She did. His face was carved into a harsh relief of sharp angles and smooth planes, his expression was fierce, his eyes flashing blacker than midnight, wild and primeval. She felt no fear. Her ferocity of need, her depth of emotion matched what she found there.

“There’s no one else here, nothing between us, do you understand that?” he said roughly.

She nodded.

“This is—” He broke off on a groan as she shifted, still holding him tightly, deep within her. His voice hardly more than a raspy whisper. She felt him tighten up, as if exercising incredible restraint.

“This is what, Logan?” She knew what it was rapidly
becoming to her and held her shallow breath in check.

“This is … a defining moment.” He pulled her closer, shifted a bit, slid more deeply inside her. She sensed his control unraveling. “Do you understand?” He held her gaze in total lockdown. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even nod. “Dear God, I’m not even sure I do,” he managed. “All I know is that I want you—us—to remember this exact moment. Always.”

He gave her no time to respond. A loud growl erupted from deep in his throat as his control broke. His head reared back as he gripped her hips tightly to his and buried himself fully inside her. The guttural half-groan, half-moan continued as he moved into her again and again.

“Come with me.” It was a hoarse plea. It was all she needed.

As if a rip cord had been yanked deep inside her, with one final thrust she was whipped up and over the edge, convulsing around him as he rocked and shuddered.

He rolled to his back and would have fallen off the couch if she hadn’t reached out and pulled him back against her.

He pressed his cheek to her temple. “I’ll crush you.”

“I’m made of pretty strong stuff,” she whispered. When he tried to move again, she tightened her hold. “Don’t, not yet.”

He didn’t pause, didn’t question, he pulled her more tightly to him, then shifted until she was sprawled on top of him.

He smiled up at her surprised expression. “Compromise.”

Now it was her turn to try and lift: her weight off him. “I’m no lightweight.”

She thudded back down against him, steel bands masquerading as arms strapping her down.

He grinned at her and kissed her nose. “You’re perfect. Put your head right here.” He gently pressed her cheek to his chest. “Let me do this.” His fingers began an almost hypnotic, slow massage through her hair.

“I feel like purring,” she murmured, languor creeping into her muscles, melting them one at a time under his touch.

“You like to be stroked,” he said approvingly.

“Actually, no.” She wanted to lift her head, look at him, but her head felt like a lead weight. His fingertips raked against her scalp, and she gave up without trying. She settled more heavily against him. He didn’t seem to mind. He sighed and let his fingers trail down her back. She had to work to remember her train of thought. Stroking. “I—I’ve always been irritated by light touches. Always wanted to smack it away, like an annoying fly. I—ah, oh does that feel good.” She groaned in pleasure. “Are those hands licensed?”

“Not for this.”

Her smiling moan hummed against the steady beat of his heart. “They should be registered weapons. Lethal.”

“I’m glad you enjoy my touch,” he said intently. “I enjoy stroking you very much. I could spend hours doing this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Good.”

“I promise I’ll return the favor.” She sighed deeply
as he trailed his fingers along her neck and down her arms. “Someday.”

“I just might hold you to that.”

“Hold me, yes.” She sighed. She fell silent, allowing herself to sink into his touch. Her thoughts drifted, lazed about in no real coherent pattern. Pure escape. “Decadent,” she murmured. “I’ve never felt so decadent and pampered.”

“You haven’t been living right.”

“I haven’t been living,” she said, half dazed with pleasure. “I know I should feel guilty for enjoying this,” she murmured against his chest, “but it feels too damn good to be responsible.”

He tilted his chin down, and she felt the gentle pressure of his lips on her hair. “You’re much too hard on yourself,” he said softly. “If it will make you feel better, consider this your belated Christmas present.”

The lassitude ebbed. Christmas. She looked up, scraping her hair from her face, not realizing she was searching for the reassurance of his eyes, his smile, until she locked onto it.

“I guess Christmas doesn’t hold real fond memories for you, does it?” He lifted a hand and carefully stroked away the hair that still clung to her cheeks.

“Never has. Growing up it was a time of tension. For the last ten years it’s just been an anniversary to get through.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. I’m used to it.”

“No, I’m sorry I reminded you of it. I find that I very much enjoy bringing you pleasure. You gave me a gift, letting me stroke you, enjoying my touch. Only my touch. Amazing how good that makes me feel.” He
pressed a kiss to his finger and brushed it across her lips. “I’m also finding that I hate being responsible for you suffering any kind of pain.”

She stared into his eyes as his sincere words penetrated the final wall around her heart. All the tension drained out of her. “I’ve never met a man like you, Logan Blackstone.”

“Just one that looks exactly like me,” he teased.

She returned his grin. “How do you do that?”

He looped his arms comfortably across her back. “Which wonderful thing would you be referring to?”

“You say the most amazing things to me, you make my throat all tight and achy, then you make me smile and laugh and—” She broke off knowing she couldn’t begin to explain what he made her feel. Instead she kissed him hard on the lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And please, thank me again anytime.”

She smiled, but her eyes were glassy. “Really, you’ve made me—You’ve made this—I can’t explain how you—”

He silenced her with a heartbreakingly sweet kiss.

She would seize this perfect moment in time. Nothing had been jeopardized by what she’d done, nor would it be. She could carve out this little niche of happiness for herself and enjoy it without hurting anyone. She could and she would. For right now. She would doubt her actions and worry over possible repercussions later.