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But there is nothing neutral when it comes to Logan. The man could touch my heels, calloused from years of being in skates, and even those deadened nerves would start singing an opera.
One of Logan’s hands slips back down my spine, spreading his fingers wide when he reaches my lower back. With gentle pressure, he shifts me forward until there is no space between us. He glides his other hand up my neck and his fingers move into my hair.
If I hadn’t seen Logan on the ice, I’d never believe this big man could possess so much grace and control.
I can’t help but let out a little sound when his fingertips press into my scalp, massaging. Stroking. Logan tilts his head, the tip of his nose brushing my jaw just below my ear.
“I would make sure you felt safe,” he says then. “Safe andwanted.”
The wordssafeandwantedseem to float through the air before wrapping around me like a warm cloak. I want to tell Logan that he’s always made me feel safe. But my brain snags onwanted.
Because … despite the soft caress of his fingertips on my scalp and the way his nose is gently tracing the line of my jaw, I don’t know if I’mwanted. Not really. Not by Logan.
I mean, yes—right now, he’s making mefeelwanted. But does Logan want me?Or is this all part of the dangerous game of make-believe we’ve been playing all night?
I was the one who made the rules. I was the one who called this fake, who lied to my dad about Logan being my date and then my boyfriend. I did that. But now I’ve trapped myself in a place where I don’t know what’s really real. Not for sure.
Logan is definitely making mefeelwanted.
Logan’s mouth replaces his nose on my jaw. It’s not a kiss, exactly, but more of a caress with his slightly parted lips.
While I do feel completely safe with Logan, I have never felt more like I’ve just been thrown out of a plane. Because whatever protective harness I’d kept strapped tight around my heart to keep it in place is gone, and I am flying or maybe falling, suspended over something unknown.
This man has my heart. It’s his. I think it always has been. And there is nothing more dangerous than that.
I could step away. I could fake a smile and tell Logan, “Wow, thanks for a very informative and educational kissing tutorial. Sleep well!”
I could run.
I could protect myself.
I don’t. I stand there, eyes closed and breaths coming fast and shallow, as Logan moves his mouth along my jaw, then trails his lips down my neck.
“I would explore,” this man holding my heart says then. “I would savor you.”
He drags his nose over the spot where my neck and shoulder meet, and goose bumps shoot across my skin.Savor, indeed.
I’ve read a few romance novels. Okay, fine—more than a few. My fair share, if I’m being honest. The best ones make me hope for love, but also for meaningful friendships and relationships.
As much as I love reading romance, there are a few phrases authors use that I simply cannot handle. The one that makes me immediately roll my eyes is a character saying they felt their ovaries explode.
Yeah, right. Ovaries. Exploding.
First—ew.
Second—what woman is aware enough to feel their ovaries?Or maybe I’m just NOT aware of mine.
Third—out of all the anatomical parts of the body to feel desire, why ovaries? I mean, sure, I get the whole thing about a man being so amazing, a woman might think about marriage and babies.
But to feel your ovaries explode? Hard pass.
Only … I think I get it now. I do.
It’s still a stupid phrase. I will still roll my eyes every time I read it. But I am one hundred percent sure that for the first time in my life, Ifeelmy ovaries. And they are doing something that feels a whole lot like a whole carton of fireworks on the fourth of July.
I am in so much trouble.
“Before I ever got to your mouth,” Logan whispers against my skin, “I would kiss you here.”
