He pulled out to thrust in again, and then again, and again…and there it was, that synchronicity of movement they’d shared that day in the park, the fluid matching of bodies, the unthinking fulfilment of need, their hearts racing at the same tempo, their breathing as one. She softened for him as he grew harder, opened herself when he thrust in, tightened around his shaft when unsheathed, squeezing to urge him to thrust harder, deeper, faster—
--then she cried out as her mind reeled through a brightness of light just as he groaned and thrust so hard he lifted her hips in his own pleasure.
All was blinding white light behind her eyes for a long time. Slowly, she drifted like thistledown across the field of her mind until she became aware of the patter of rain on the windows, the coolness of the air, Logan’s body slipping off to lie beside her. Their bodies were damp with rain and sex. His breathing was still labored, but she felt drowsy and sated in ways she didn’t quite yet want to think about.
He murmured, “Jenny?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t want to talk, not yet, not now. But neither could she feign sleep. So with her eyes closed, she ran a lazy hand up his side so he would know she’d heard him. He shifted his weight, pulled a cool sheet over their joined bodies. The fibers clung to her legs. She burrowed her head against his chest, pleased that he understood, content to lie here in swimming insensibility a little longer. Curled close like this, she could believe that this feeling of warmth and contentedness could last.
At least for the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Logan rose up from sleep to a distant, crunching sound that faded the moment he became alert enough to think. He blinked his eyes open, curious about the noise, only to see nothing but a mass of red hair that assailed his senses with the aroma of strawberries. He breathed it in deep, and then saw, upon the shell of a woman’s ear, the bright light of morning streaming through the narrow slats of the bedroom blinds.
Jenny.
In one heady rush he remembered the evening before. Out of reflex, he slid his hand over her naked ribs and nudged her body closer to his. Lazily, she rolled into the circle of his embrace, her breasts brushing his chest as she made a soft woman-sound that sent his blood surging.
Jenny. Was she haunting his dreams or actually lying beside him, naked with him under these sheets? He couldn’t quite believe this was her, purring warm against his nudity, her hair tangled across the pillow, tresses clinging to his throat, his cheek, his lips. This couldn’t be his cantankerous Jenny, sleepily blinking open her eyes. This couldn’t be his Jenny, whose mouth didn’t push him away with words now, but instead curled into an inviting smile. How could this alluring bundle of gorgeous, pliant woman be the same stick of dynamite he’d lit in the darkness of last night’s storm?
Then he heard another sound, coming from outside the window. The unmistakable sound of a car door slamming.
Logan shot up, tossed the sheet aside, and bolted to the window. He thrust his hand between the blinds to peer toward the driveway to glimpse the gleam of a third car. With a jolt, he realized that the sound that had woken him out of a contented slumber was the crunching sound of tires against gravel. Behind his truck and Jenny’s Saab was parked a four-wheel sports utility vehicle that looked vaguely familiar.
“Jenny,” he barked in a low voice. “Get dressed.”
“Hmm?”
He snapped the blinds closed and glanced at the bed. Jenny eased herself up to a sitting position, heavy lids closed, stretched her arms high as she yawned. The loose sheet slipped down her curvy body, exposing breathtaking breasts and perfectly formed pale pink nipples, puckering for him.
He slapped a hand against the wall as blood rushed out of his head. How long it would take to crawl back onto that bed, ease Jenny down, and make her scream his name again? His head crackled in anticipation of fireworks, for he knew how easily her fuse was lit and how to stoke that gorgeous fire, so to hell with this visitor—but then he heard footsteps pounding on the deck and the kitchen door squealing open.
Damn. They’d left the door open last night.
“Logan?” called a familiar voice from the kitchen. “Are you here?”
Jenny’s eyes flew open. Her mouth froze in mid-yawn as she stared through the open bedroom door down the hall Logan searched the floor for his underwear, dropped halfway under the bed. He swept it up and thrust in a leg, then the other, and then groped for his rain-damp shorts.
“Logan,” she whispered, seizing the sheet, “Who is it—”
“Find something to wear. Quick.”
“Dr. Vance? Logan?” came the male voice, again, from the living room this time. “I know you’re around here somewhere, both your cars are in the driveway.”
Jenny made a muffled squeal and rolled off the opposite side of the bed. She hit the floor with a thump. Logan managed to yank on his khaki shorts just as John reached the far end of the hallway.
“There you are,” John said, pausing for a moment in the hall as Logan fumbled with the zipper of his shorts. “You left the front door open.”
“Power outage,” he said, as Jenny’s rustling ceased. “I had other things on my mind.”
Still do.
John approached though the dim hallway, shaking his head as he whistled through his teeth. “It’s nearly noon, are you just getting up?”
“Yeah,” he said, buttoning his shorts and looking John straight in the eye so John wouldn’t look elsewhere in the room. “You got a problem with that?”
“Hell no,” John said, stopping in the open portal. “I’d like to trade places for a week or two. Since this baby came, all I can think about
