Page 81 of Hearts Storm

Reyna sets her sandwich down carefully, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Logan, I⁠—”

“No, let me finish.” I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “I was hurt when you left without so much as leaving a note. I thought the time we spent together was special.”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“But I get it now,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “You got freaked out when you saw those texts.”

She looks down at her plate. “I was hurt. Which was stupid because, it’s not like we promised each other anything.”

“I know.” Reaching over, I graze my fingers over hers. “I just want you to know I’m not mad anymore. Not really.”

Her gaze meets mine, searching my face. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because I’ve been a dick.” The admission comes easier than I thought it would when I played this out in my head. “And because I care about you. More than I should.”

She nods.

“I’m not saying this to pressure you.” I pull my hand back, giving her space. “I just needed you to know.”

“Thanks.” She gives me a small smile and takes a sip of her coffee.

My next words stumble out of my mouth.

“I’ve been thinking. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal if I took you to the gala? Introduced you to some people. You’re new in town and⁠—”

“I thought you said we couldn’t be anything but professional.”

“I know what I said.”

“But—”

I can’t do this. I can’t sit across from her and pretend I don’t want to touch her. Pretend the sight of her in that tiny T-shirt isn’t making me lose my goddamn mind.

My stool screeches against the floor as I stand. Gripping the seat of hers, I push her—chair and all—away from the island.

Shoving her plate out of the way, I grab her by the waist, pick her up and plunk her down on top of the counter, my dick instantly going hard at the sound of her startled gasp when I shove her legs apart and step between them.

Then I look down.

It’s in this moment I know for sure there is no way she’s wearing a bra. Not with how her nipples are practically cutting through her T-shirt right now.

Jesus.

How the hell am I supposed to keep my shit together, much less keep my dick in my pants, when she keeps staring at my mouth like that?

“Let me get this out, damn it.” I don’t mean it to come out as growly as it does, but it’s too late to take it back. Her reaction has sparked something in me that is nowhere near ready to be snuffed out. If ever.

The motion of her breaths getting heavier presses her tits against the fabric of her T-shirt, and I lose all train of thought.

Goddamn it.

Closing the distance, I crash my mouth against hers with a need that’s been building in my chest since the moment she opened her front door.

She freezes—just long enough for my stomach to drop—before she melts, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me close as she wraps her legs around my waist.

The sound she makes—a soft, desperate whimper against my lips—sends a jolt of electricity straight to my dick as I cup the back of her neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She opens for me without hesitation. Her tongue, hot and sweet, tastes like coffee and cinnamon as it tangles with mine.

I kiss her like I’ve been starving for it. Because I have. Weeks of struggling to keep my heart and my hands to myself when every instinct in my body was screaming at me to grab her and never let her go.