Run the Risk

Slipping in her own question, she asked, “Why didn’t you marry?”

“Haven’t met the right woman, I guess. I want to someday.” He gestured. “You know, home, hearth, holidays with two kids, a cat and a dog. All that.”

“You were engaged?” she prompted.

“Yeah, for over a year.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was all good until she decided I had to take a job with her daddy, and her daddy was a grade-A prick, so…” He shrugged. “Couldn’t work it out.”

That sounded like the absolute truth, but could that really be the whole story? “You don’t sound particularly heartbroken over it.”

His expression warmed. Belatedly, she decided that prim and proper Sue Meeks should have reacted some to his language. But, oh, well. Too late now.

“Funny thing, that. I never was.” Done eating, he slouched back in his chair and cradled his beer on his midsection. “I mean, I was pissed. Maybe even a little…” He searched for a word and settled on, “Disappointed. But I guess I never really loved her, not the way you should love someone if you’re going to spend a lifetime together.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Few years.” He gave her a searching look. “What about you? Ever been serious about anyone?”

“No.”

Because she’d answered so quickly, he laughed. “Okay.” He nodded at her empty plate. “All done?”

Thrown by the change in topic, she looked at her plate and was surprised that she’d eaten so much. “Yes, thank you.”

“So.” He stood and carried the dishes to the sink. “What now?”

Bemused, she watched as he rinsed each plate, loaded them in the dishwasher and did a general cleaning of their dinner mess.

By the time he finished, no sign of dinner remained. “You’re a lot tidier than I am.”

“No offense, but I’m thinking a lot of people are probably tidier than you.”

“It’s true.” She didn’t really get into the whole domestic routine. She let out a sigh. “My place isn’t really dirty or anything, but it is cluttered.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like to fuss.”

“Good. Fussy women are annoying.”

Distant thunder rumbled, and they both looked toward the balcony. The bright evening sunshine had faded beneath thick gray clouds that darkened the sky. A troubled breeze carried in cooler air.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Logan said, “but this is the weirdest date I’ve ever had.”

That brought her back around to face him. “It wasn’t a date!”

“Sure it was.” Mood teasing, he came closer. “A little necking, dinner and conversation, getting to know each other.”

Oh, God. Maybe it was a date.

“Usually doesn’t happen in that order, and I can’t recall ever talking marriage on a first date.”

“You brought it up!”

“To appease your curiosity.” A light patter of rain danced over the patio doors. “But it wasn’t bad for our first. Was it?”

Not bad at all. In fact, it was the first time in ages that she’d forgotten, for just a little while, how much her life had changed. “No, I suppose it—”

Bright lightning splintered the sky, chased by a deafening crack of thunder that reverberated in the floor beneath their feet.

She said, “Wow.” And the electricity died.

It needed only this.

The combination of no lights and black sky left the apartment cast in deep mysterious shadows.

Logan walked to the patio doors just as the storm hit in earnest, pounding the earth with a deluge of rain. It blew in against his bare chest, dampening his skin, his hair and the front of those well-worn jeans.

He shut his doors and, after swiping off his face, crossed the floor to get the kitchen window, too.

Because she stood there in a lustful daze, he prompted her. “What about your windows? They open?”

How had she forgotten that? “Damn it,” she said, and bolted back to her own apartment. She didn’t want Logan to follow her, but she didn’t take the time to tell him not to. The way the rain blew in, everything she owned would be soaked in under a minute.

She got the balcony doors closed while he shut the kitchen window for her. She darted into the bathroom to get that small window, and Logan…went into her bedroom.

No, no, no.

Face soaked, shirt and shoes wet, she waited, but he didn’t come back out. Knowing proximity could get the best of her, she nonetheless stepped into the bedroom behind him. He had his back to her, eyeing her treadmill.

“Logan?”

When he turned, she saw his jeans clinging to his body, his chest hair darker with the rain, his nipples tight from the chill.

Her mouth went dry.

“Sorry.” He ran a hand over his face and pushed back his hair. “It was coming in pretty good. Your floor’s wet, and so is the bottom of your bed.”

She stayed by the door, her thoughts rioting with explicit images of him naked, the things he’d do, the things she wanted to do to him.

A sudden shift in the air, in his mood, sent a thread of excited alarm up her spine.

He took a step toward her. “What about you, Sue?”

Not knowing what he asked, she shook her head in confusion.

“It’s too damn dark for me to tell,” he whispered, coming closer. In a husky, suggestive tone, he said, “I’m betting you’re wet, too.”

So many ways she wanted to reply—all of them dangerous.

She couldn’t think when she looked at him, so she turned her back and tried to order herself to caution.

“Thank you for the help.” It was an obvious hint for him to go, but at the same time, she had that image of him standing there, at the foot of her unmade bed. Tall, bare-chested, sexy as sin…