One Night With Her Ex: The One That Got Away / The Man From her Wayward Past / The Ex Who Hired Her. Kate Hardy
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nearness, the subtle scent of sandalwood on his skin. The strong, sensual shape of his lips or the ripe red colour of them. He was so very kissable.
And clearly he felt completely out of place.
Two minutes she lasted. Two minutes before her hands were roaming his chest and Logan’s hands were in her hair as he laid silent, lazy siege to her mouth.
Evie knew she was coming apart under Logan’s touch but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Did he know how closely attuned to each other they were in their lovemaking? How rare that was? Rare for her, at any rate. Maybe for Logan it was perfectly normal. Maybe he made every woman he bedded feel as if she were the only thing that mattered to him in this world.
Maybe that was just his way.
Vocal—that was new. The husky oaths that fell from his lips like endearments. The groans that sounded like prayer.
On her back now, because that was where he wanted her, with her legs drawn up on either side of him and his mouth not leaving hers. Sinuous, his movements as he rubbed up against her. Sensuality his weapon of choice.
And he used it with devastating effect.
Kissing was easy, thought Logan. Kissing was a hell of a lot easier than talking or trying to fit into a life that was not his.
His shirt came off, and Evie’s would have too, but she slid out from beneath him and pushed him back against the sofa with a palm to his chest as she straddled his hips.
‘My house,’ she murmured. ‘My rules.’
She pushed his arms back until they rested outstretched along the back of the sofa and set her lips to his triceps and he shuddered beneath her touch and closed his eyes and let her play. Pure pleasure, no pain, and he craved this just as much as he’d ever craved the other. Such a slow and easy slide into sensation. The wet lick of tongue against sensitive skin. The brush of soft hair over hardened nipples. The slow creep of moisture and heat and the tightening of his balls when finally she freed him from his clothes and loosened her own and he slid slowly into her.
Not always rough and fighting for control. Sometimes—when the mood was upon him—he could be exquisitely, unthinkingly …
Gentle.
Evie woke the next morning in her bed. She’d lured Logan there eventually and the slight shift of her head confirmed that he hadn’t yet left. He lay sleeping instead, and in the quiet half-light of dawn Evie studied the man she’d tangled with so exquisitely last night. More beautiful asleep than awake—and always had been. Less guarded when he was asleep and far more innocent-looking. Slept on his tummy with his hands beneath the pillow and his head and one knee crooked towards her. As if he’d watched her slide into slumber before surrendering to it himself.
Fanciful notion, and she knew it. The man had been sated towards the end. He would have closed his eyes and been asleep within moments, just as she had. No time for analysis of the lovemaking that had taken place. The frightening, soul-stealing beauty of it.
That was what morning-afters were for.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, Evie slid silently from the bed, slipped a robe from its hanger and headed for the stairs, no need to put it on now. She’d shower downstairs where the noise would not wake him. No need to wake him for, once she did that, Logan might go.
She had a feeling he’d want to go.
‘I’d kill for coffee,’ he said as her toes touched the first step.
Evie turned and found herself in receipt of a sleepy gaze that swept her from head to toe. Not the full-wattage smile; he wasn’t even trying and still he warmed her through.
‘In house or out?’ she asked lightly. ‘Because if you’re fussy, there’s a place on the corner that does fancy coffee.’
‘Not fussy,’ he rumbled as his eyes closed once more. Not quite awake either. ‘Just need something to wake me up. Evie?’ he murmured.
‘What?’
‘Morning.’
Logan gave himself over to a few more minutes of shut-eye before rolling onto his back and setting the heels of his hands to his face in an attempt to make his eyes stay open. He shouldn’t be jet-lagged; he’d only flown in from PNG. No, the tiredness came from not being able to leave Evie alone last night. Of reaching for her one last time, and then another. Of going slow and savouring every caress.
Last night he’d been given a gift. A chance to make amends for all that had gone before, and he’d done it, replaced old memories with new. Better memories that he could examine without shame. Memories he could hold on to without feeling the stain on his soul.
He looked around the room, looking for clues as to the type of person Evie was at home and finding it in the rough concrete finish of the walls and the exposed plumbing and air-con. No hiding of mechanics behind pretty painted walls for Evie. She seemed to want to strip life back to basics so she could keep an eye on it—everything exposed, even the clothes cupboard, or what there was of it, for her clothes hung on hangers over a long stretch of metal bar, not a cupboard wall in sight. The clothes were colour co-ordinated—sort of—and clearly some thought had gone into the mix and matchability of them. Lots of black and grey, and what colours there were had a vividness about them. No pretty pastels for Evie. Clearly that wasn’t her style.
He was contemplating getting out of bed but hadn’t quite got there yet when Evie returned with the coffee, robe on and hair gathered casually atop her head. The robe slid off one shoulder as she set the tray down on the bed and she raised her arm to slide the robe back into place with the absent-mindedness of someone who repeated that particular action often.
‘Lot of space up here,’ he said as she settled down carefully on the other side of the tray.
‘I know,’ said Evie. ‘It bothers some people. They’d rather sleep in a cave with the ceiling and walls tucked in close.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Does it bother you?’
‘No.’ But parts of her statement did. ‘What people?’
‘The one or two people who’ve been invited up here over the past half a dozen years,’ she said evenly, lifting her coffee to her lips and taking a tiny sip. ‘Are you asking me how many men I’ve had in this bed?’
‘No.’ None of his business.
She looked at him and her eyebrow rose just a fraction.
‘Maybe,’ he admitted gruffly.
‘How many would you think?’
‘Not going near that one, Evie.’
‘Six,’ she said sweetly. ‘Though not all at once.’
Six was okay. Given Evangeline’s charm and enjoyment when it came to the pleasures of the flesh, six lovers in as many years was downright picky.
‘Anything else you’d like to know?’ she offered.
‘Really don’t want to know,’ he said quickly. Only a madman would ask her for details and he had no intention of doing so, and besides … he’d wanted her to explore her sexuality after he’d left her, hadn’t he? Wanted her to be sure of her preferences and to know her own mind.
Still did.
He looked around the room again and thought of the woman-child he’d once known and the woman Evie was now. ‘Tough profession, engineering,’ he said mildly.
Evie nodded, letting him change the subject.
‘Why’d you choose it?’
‘I wanted in on a highly paid and flexible profession that had the potential to take me anywhere. No relying on anyone else for my financial well-being or my status in society.’
That need hadn’t started with him. At least, Logan didn’t think it had. ‘Why the overwhelming need for independence?’