“I hadn’t noticed,” she said softly.
He rubbed her arms, sending shivers of pleasure through her. “Is everything all right?”
She smiled up at him. “Yes. It just got to be a bit too much, and I drank more than I should have. I thought this would help clear my head.”
Logan pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and she felt her ni**les harden in response. “Would you like to go home? I’d love to peel this dress off of you.”
She pressed back against him, molding her body to his. “That sounds good to me.”
“If there weren’t two hundred people in the other room, I’d bend you over the balcony and make you mine right now.”
She shivered at the intensity of the mental image. A wave of heat pulsed through her, centering on her sex. A whimper escaped her throat. “Logan.”
“You’re lovely in that dress, Brontë, but I can’t wait to see you out of it. Every man here is jealous that you’re going home with me tonight. Your smile and your laugh are so charming that half the room turned around every time they heard you.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I think that’s your imagination.”
“It’s true. Why do you think I asked Cade to keep you company?”
Her smile faltered. They’re keeping you well guarded, aren’t they? “I suppose. Let’s go home. I’m tired.”
They extracted themselves from the party and soon enough were in the limo, the driver steering them through the streets of New York. She grew sleepy, laying her head on Logan’s shoulder, and made a soft sound of pleasure when he pulled her close, his hand around her waist.
“Did you enjoy the party?” he asked in a soft voice, his mouth a breath away from her ear.
She thought about her response for a moment, then said, “I met Danica.”
He stiffened against her. “Oh?”
“She wanted to warn me about you. And how you treat everything like business.”
He cursed under his breath.
Brontë glanced up at him. “When were you going to tell me you had been engaged?”
“I didn’t think it was important. We were only engaged for a day or two. Never set a date. It was over two years ago.” He laughed, the sound mirthless. “Apparently she’s still quite upset over it.”
“She tried to warn me off of you. Said you’d dump me like so much trash the moment you got tired of me.”
He pulled her closer against him, then tugged her leg over his lap and turned her until she was straddling him in the backseat of the limo, her hips riding his. “You know that’s not true, Brontë.”
“I suspect she told me a lot of things that weren’t true,” she admitted. Danica didn’t have a motive other than to f**k with Brontë. Still, there was nothing that hurt like the truth, so she suspected she’d been told just enough truth mixed with the lies to make her mind work in circles. “Why did you two break up?”
“I had my suspicions that Danica was with me for my money and not for me. I asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. She refused, and that told me everything I needed to know.”
Brontë thought for a moment, then leaned in and wrapped her arms around Logan’s neck, her mouth a breath away from his. “She told me that she was trying to be independent and you didn’t like that.”
He gave her another humorless grin. “Danica’s version of independent was going on vacation with her friends without me. Repeatedly, and on my dime. When I suggested we take a trip together, she accused me of trying to smother her.”
“Boy, she sounds like a real winner,” she muttered.
Logan leaned in and kissed her softly. “She’s nothing like you, if that’s what you’re worried about. And our relationship is nothing like the one I had with her. Don’t let her lies get to you.”
“I won’t,” she said, and moved her hips on top of him, pressing against his erection as she straddled him. “But you should have told me.”
He groaned and reached over to the door to push a button. Behind her, the barrier between the driver’s seat and the backseat went up, shielding them from the driver’s eyes. “Trust me when I say she is not in my life anymore. Hasn’t been for some time. There’s only you.” His hand slid up to her hair, grasped the loose knot that threatened to fall apart. “Only you.”
Warmth curled through her, and she leaned in to brush her mouth over his skin, to run her tongue across his parted lips. “I want you, Logan.”
He groaned low against her mouth. “As soon as we get home, I’m making you mine, Brontë.”
That seemed like forever to wait. She flexed her thighs, clenching over the seat of his pants and feeling his erection press up against her. Her slinky dress had ridden up high on her thighs, and an inch or two more and she’d be exposed to him. She hadn’t been lying about her lack of undergarments, either, and right now she was feeling rather thankful for it.
Her hand slid between them, and she rubbed against his cock. “I don’t want to wait until we get home, Logan. I want you now.” Maybe it was the wine talking, or Danica’s bitter words that had dug into her skin . . . or her own desperate need for this man, but she needed him like a drowning woman needed air. “I don’t want to wait.”
Logan thrust up against her hand, his mouth sliding over hers desperately. “I don’t have a condom, Brontë.”
“I’m on the pill,” she said between frantic kisses, and then rubbed her hand over his c**k again, stroking his length. “Please, Logan. Take me now.”
His hand slid between them, and she stilled, expecting him to unbutton his pants. Instead, she felt his hand slide over her sex, already wet with need. “Ah, Brontë,” he murmured. “Your skin feels like silk. Wet and ready for me already?”
She bit her lip and nodded, pressing her forehead to his, lost in sensation as his fingers danced over her needy flesh.
When his fingers grazed her clit, she cried out, but the sound was swallowed by his mouth. He kissed her, his tongue thrusting slow and deep into her mouth in a steady, maddening motion. Her hips rose and fell, echoing the stroke of his tongue, and his fingers continued to work her clit. She spiraled higher, reaching for her orgasm, only to whimper when he slid his hand away and began to undo his pants. Her fingers moved to help, frantically working to free him from his clothing and get him inside her.