Page 22 of Defensive Desire

"No, no, NO! That's not a proper formation! You've got to keep the spacing even, or the whole thing falls apart!"

I look over to see Blake gesturing dramatically at the high school marching band, who are looking increasingly confused. Beside him, Eli Thompson marches in place, trying to play a kazoo with more enthusiasm than skill. The result is an off-key sound that could wake the dead.

A giggle escapes me. Logan glances down, and I catch the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"And that's our captain," he says dryly. "Always thinking he knows best."

"Someone should remind him this isn't the Stanley Cup," I laugh, watching Blake demonstrate proper marching technique to kids who aren't listening while Eli continues his kazoo assault.

Logan just shakes his head, but I can see the affection in his eyes. These guys really are family.

We reach the ring toss game, where the bored teenager running it looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. Logan reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled dollar bill.

"Three rings," he says, sliding the money across the counter.

I watch as Logan lines up his first shot. His focus is intense, those blue eyes narrowing as he aim at the glass bottles.The movement of his shoulders under that black shirt is... distracting. Very distracting.

He releases the ring. It sails perfectly toward the target… and bounces right off the bottle.

Logan's grunt of annoyance makes me bite back a smile.

For someone who probably earns more in a month than most people do in a year, he's surprisingly invested in a two-dollar carnival game.

"Want some tips from a professional?" I tease, leaning against the booth with exaggerated expertise. "I mean, I did win the county fair ring toss championship back in sixth grade. Had a little plastic trophy and everything."

I'm expecting Logan to roll his eyes or brush off my teasing, but instead, he turns to face me fully, those ocean-blue eyes lighting up with interest.

"A championship ring tosser, huh?" His voice drops lower as he hands me one of his remaining rings. "Show me what you got, Coffee Witch."

I step forward, but before I can take aim, Logan shifts in behind me, his broad chest pressing against my back. One of his hands slides around to rest low on my waist, his fingers grazing just above my hip. His other hand curls around mine, guiding my grip on the ring.

"Like this."

I can feel his breath against my neck and my entire body tingles from the contact.

My pulse thunders, and I can barely think with his front plastered against my back. His fingers tighten around mine, controlling the way I move my wrist as he coaches me with slow movements.

"The trick," he says, voice rough and deep. "Is not just in the wrist. It's in the way you focus. Block out everything else. Feel it."

His hand squeezes my hip gently, almost possessively, and I swallow hard. Shit. I'm fighting to keep my breathing steady.

"You know how to do that, right?" he rasps. "Focus?"

My mouth goes dry. "I—yeah."

I feel his thighs pressed to the backs of mine, his whole body caging me in as he guides my hand, his fingertips brushing mine.

I flick my wrist, and the ring sails through the air—missing entirely.

"Ah! Nevermind. These carnival games are usually rigged anyway."

I twist just enough to glance back at him, and his eyes are already on me. Hungry, dark, intense.

"So you're saying your championship might've been fixed?"

I feel myself inching ever closer to him, unable to look away from the trance he's got locked on me. But before either of us can do anything else, a loud shriek behind us makes me jump, breaking the tension like a splash of cold water.

"Emma! I thought that was you!"