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Logan presses an open-mouthed kiss to my throat, right over my pulse. His lips are perfect. The pressure is perfect. Everything isperfect.
A straight line of desire shoots directly from that spot on my neck to my mouth. I am actively fighting the desire to tug Logan right up to where I want his lips the most—on mine.
Forget what I said about no kissing. That one brief brush of his lips is enough to make me want to toss all good sense and all self-preservation out the window of a hundred-story building.
Almost.
But not quite. Because Idon’tgrab Logan’s face and drag his mouth to mine. I keep standing. Keep breathing. Keep fisting my hands so tight in his dress shirt I’m gonna leave permanent wrinkles not even dry cleaners will be able to remove.
Logan chuckles then, like he knows exactly what’s happening in my head. I’m sure he does. It’s not like I am in any condition to hide my reactions to him and what he’s doing. I can’t even be mad about his amusement at my expense.
Laugh away, buddy. So long as you don’t stop.
“Are you still with me, Pete?”
“Mm-hm,” I manage.
“I’m glad. Because we’re about to get to the good part.”
Thegoodpart? Hasn’t all of this already been more than good? These tiny touches, Logan’s words—all of it has been makinggoodobsolete.
Speaking of hands, the one on my lower back shifts, and one finger traces a path up my spine. Logan moves his other hand too, cupping the back of my head as those soft lips kiss me again in the same spot on my neck. Then a little higher, following the exact path I so badly want him to take.
The path leading to my mouth.
“You smell so good,” he murmurs, his mouth cresting over my jaw to press a kiss between my cheek and my chin. “I could spend the whole night just kissing you. Just this.”
So many words to unpack.Could, notwould—does that distinction matter? It feels somehow like it very much does.
But …a whole night just kissing. That sounds … like a dream I’d like to pull straight from sleep into the waking world.
I mean, I can see spending an entire night kissing Logan. Especially if it’s anything at all like this buildup. Most people seem to treat kissing as a means to an end, like it’s just the starter’s pistol. But Logan is talking about kissing for kissing’s sake, and I am here for that.
I would respond, but it’s taking all my brain function not to melt into a puddle of Parker right here outside my apartment door.
Logan’s lips travel up to the apple of my cheek, his nose brushing lightly against my eyelashes and causing a cascade of heat to blaze through every part of my body. He kisses the tip of my nose then, a playful little kiss that makes me smile.
That’s when his lips find the very corner of my mouth, kissing the edge of my smile.
I draw in a breath—one very close to a gasp. So close. He’s SO CLOSE.
It’s not just my ovaries threatening to explode. My entire body is a fuse, burned down to its end.
And maybe it’s thinking about what’s at the end of the fuse, maybe it’s sensing Logan’s hesitation as his mouth hovers near mine, maybe it’s the tiniest scrap of self-preservation I have left that starts to drag me back to myself.
“I want to break the rules,” Logan murmurs then. “All of them.”
It’s like I’ve been thrown straight from a sauna into an ice bath.
His words remind me that we have rules. The rules forfakedating.
Which is what we are doing: faking.
Maybe Logan wants to break all the rules, but that doesn’t mean he wants somethingrealwith me. He’s probably just caught up in the moment because I was dumb enough to ask him to describe kissing me.
Yep—I walked myself right into this.
I amnotfaking. And if I don’t want to die from wanting someone I don’t and can’t have, I need to end this.Now.
