Page 28 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)
Chapter Twenty
TIA
There’s no way to ignore the ever-growing tension hovering over our heads like a storm cloud, ready to strike us down where we stand unless we do something about it.
The faint sounds from the television and Logan’s muffled laughter are a reminder that the only thing standing between me marching out of this bathroom and kissing him stupid is this door.
Behind this door is a possibility I never saw coming. He made his intentions clear with me as soon as our eyes locked on the curb outside of the Vegas Airport.
“I’ll try. No regrets.”
Every ounce of courage I’ve tried to muster from the minute we reunited is leaving me like a sneaky leak of air from a tire. Now that the adrenaline from seeing each other is wearing off, I’m a coiled bundle of nerves.
As soon as we walked into the suite, my eyes immediately found the bed, pressed neat with white sheets and a fluffy duvet.
My mind couldn’t help but warp the image of those crisp sheets suddenly twisted and rumpled.
Illicit visions of my legs wrapped around Logan’s chiseled waist infiltrate every sordid crevice of my mind.
What would it feel like to have him inside of me? To share sweat, breaths, and unfiltered moans? These questions flood me, ramping up my pulse with every dirty thought I have of my best friend.
And by the flirtatious looks, quips, and energy brewing between us like a low fire, it’s only a matter of time before one of us pours kerosene over it, burning us for good.
I’ve been ready for ten minutes. I’ve applied and reapplied the mauve colored lipstick ten times over, zhushing my hair in the vanity mirror fifty different ways. Each time, it falls the same exact way it did before.
Before I went to get ready in the bathroom, I stood in front of him, sexually annoyed and frustrated in the hotel robe.
I shoved two little black dresses in his face that I bought last minute from Isabel’s store, Lavender Lane.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the way the muscles of his chest peeked out at the top of his shirt or how his sinewy forearms bulged out of his rolled-up sleeves, highlighted by a silver vintage Omega watch—a gift from his grandfather, he told me once.
He looks too damn good in a black dress shirt with the top button undone and tailored black suit pants to match.
I practically drooled at the sight of him relaxed on the couch, arms splayed across the back with his muscular thighs spread wide, as if he were inviting me to sit down right there between his legs.
That—that scared the shit out of me. The way my body instantly reacted to his.
It was like this past weekend back in Oakwood Valley dialed up to a thousand.
No matter how many pep talks I gave myself earlier, uncertainty edged out my confidence.
Make a move, Tia. Do something. Do anything.
I’ve never been one to play with fire. And with my best friend?
I’m practically begging to get burned. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe around him, because I did.
I do . I always have. But I can’t deny the warmth that settles in my core every time he looks at me.
Or the unadulterated lust coursing through my veins, wreaking havoc on my heart.
So, forty minutes later, I’m still in this bathroom, nervous as shit to walk out the other side.
“I’ll try. No regrets,” I confidently chant in the mirror, angling my body just enough to appreciate the hard work pilates and jiu jitsu have done for my ass over the years.
Time to make him sweat.
I finally step into the expansive suite, my gaze instantly drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the entire wall. The sun is sinking just beyond the horizon, casting a golden glow over the glittering sprawl of the Las Vegas Strip.
Fortunately for me, this hotel suite is equipped with a full mini bar—and I plan to take full advantage. My nerves could use a sip of something hard. With Logan’s full attention, I saunter across the room, tantalizingly slow. Each step I take, locked in his heady gaze, fuels my confidence.
So he wants a show.
I add some hips to the mix, slinking toward the bar with a sway that screams seductive temptress.
Whatever show he was chuckling at earlier is now completely forgotten. With a quick glance over my shoulder, we make eye contact. It’s brief, but lingers long enough for me to notice his hand gripping his erection over his pants.
I can feel his gaze scorching my skin, the heat of his stare almost too hot to handle. I purposefully bend down, hinging at my waist nice and slow as I open the alcohol-stocked mini fridge.
The cool air fans my face, chest, and the tops of my breasts as soon as I open it, instantly hardening my nipples against the silk fabric of my dress, giving me a quick reprieve from the white-hot tension growing.
A low groan escapes Logan’s lips, and the smile stretching across my face proves I’m a glutton for being a cock tease for him.
All these years, I’ve watched countless women with Logan. It doesn’t stop the pang in my chest at the thought, but knowing his eyes are burning into my backside as he strokes his hard-on because of me? Fuck, the power I feel because of it.
After perusing my options, I decide on a tiny bottle of Pinot Grigio to ease the tension. I know other ways to find relief from that, but like a cunning kitty, I like to play with my food before I eat it.
“Want a drink?” I drawl, twisting the cap off the tiny bottle of wine.
Logan has no shame as my eyes lock onto his prominent bulge, tenting his pants. His eyes flit between his erection and me, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“I told you so. You look fucking gorgeous, T.”
I’m positive I’ve stopped breathing. When he palms his cock, his eyes stay fixed on me, licking his lips like I’m about to be his drink of choice.
When the oxygen returns to my lungs, I take a heavy swig of wine.
The alcohol instantly hits my tongue, and I ignore the burn from it as I let it warm my body.
As if it weren’t already on fire by the way Logan’s eye fucking me right now.
“The drink can wait. I just wanna look at you.” Shivers trail along my skin at the deep, lustful timbre of his voice. Putting the wine down on the bar above the fridge, I lose all sense of self-control, strutting toward him like a woman on a mission.
What that mission is? I don’t fucking know. But I’m amped up on hotel mini-bar wine and an almost year-long dry spell. Bonus points that the man in front of me is someone I trust with my life, making it surprisingly easy to be so brazen with him.
Why was I so afraid before? This is Logan . My Logan.
He doesn’t move from his position on the couch, arms still resting comfortably over the back with his power stance, legs spread wide. I stop just as I’m between them, slightly pushing my chest forward and lifting my chin in confidence.
He leisurely looks me over, taking in every inch as he undresses me with his gaze. I see the fire in his eyes, sparking a delicious ache within my core with every agonizing second that passes between us.
When he leans forward and softly lays his palms on the backs of my thighs, I gasp, holding back a moan that wants to erupt from my chest. His touch burns so good that my eyes close, my head tilts toward the ceiling, and I’m clenching between my legs to ease the throb in my center.
His fingertips coast along the back of my legs, his eyes level to my stomach.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do as he says in an instant, hypnotized by his touch, thoroughly seduced by the sound of his gravelly voice.
He looks up at me like I’m the second coming of Christ. Like I’m the goddess of his dreams. It’s a look I commit to memory, believing with every fiber of my soul he’s never given this look to any woman—only me.
“What are you doing here, Lo?” I whisper so softly, like the thought was meant to be kept in my head.
The look he’s giving me is full of desperation—longing.
It’s enough to prompt my question before my impending arousal takes over completely, clouding my judgement and the reality of the situation.
I can be strong enough for the both of us to put the truth out there, once and for all.
“You needed me,” he answers, continuing his lazy strokes against my skin.
“Not good enough. Why are you here?” Without an ounce of malice in my voice, I let my eyes seep into his, coaxing him to give me an honest answer.
His hands come to a halt, but don’t leave the backs of my thighs.
The warmth from his palms is more comforting than I’d expect, hoping he doesn’t take his hands off me as my heart hits full throttle at an alarming speed, waiting for his response.
“Fine. I needed you,” he breathes, squeezing me as the tips of his fingers brush the crease where my ass and thighs meet.
“I needed this. Us. All of you. I need you in a way I haven’t before. A way that scares the shit out of me, but I’m willing to lay it all down and take the risk if it means I get to have you like no one else does.”
“And how is it you want me, exactly?” I whisper breathlessly, knowing the answer, but needing him to say it out loud.
I want to hear him admit to me I’m enough.
I need to hear him admit what no other woman in his life could ever get out of him.
Call it indulgent—and a bit competitive—but I don’t give a damn.
I want Logan Harper on his knees, desperate as fuck for no one else but me.
As if he can read my mind, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before me like I’m his queen.
“I can think of a lot of ways I want you, Tia. In my bed, on my mouth, my cock …” He nuzzles his nose against my center through my dress, and the whimper that escapes me is so needy I bite my lip to tamper down my desperate whine.
How is it I have this man on his knees, yet I’m the one mentally there, soft and malleable like putty in his hands?