One Night With Her Ex: The One That Got Away / The Man From her Wayward Past / The Ex Who Hired Her. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
Evie whimpered as passion caught a lick of pain and burned all the brighter for it.
She returned the favour when finally he let her put her mouth to him.
And then they got to the bedroom and slowly, surely, he stripped her down until the only thing that mattered was Logan’s next touch and what it would bring, and she never knew what, only that it was always exactly right.
No thought of anything but the ride as he worked her, enslaved her.
No need to ever ask for more because she already had everything she’d ever wanted and his name was
Logan and when her sky turned black he was the only thing she could see.
This, she thought when she was a mindless mess of sensation and yearning and he finally sheathed himself inside her. This man and the razor-sharp edge he brought to things.
This was what she’d been waiting for.
Evie woke in the dark, twenty minutes before Logan had set the alarm on his phone to ring. He had to get to the airport by six. By the end of the day he’d be on the other side of the world. She didn’t want to dwell on how empty that made her feel.
Instead, Evie stretched her arms above her head gingerly, and straightened her legs, testing for tenderness and finding echoes of it in unexpected places. Inner thigh muscles, upper arms, her mouth … overstretched and puffy, and she sucked at her lower lip, checking for splits and finding one. She turned towards the man sleeping beside her, only he wasn’t asleep. Sleepy-eyed, yes, but not asleep, his gaze roved over the parts of her not covered by the sheet, and then he rolled over onto his elbow, flicked on the lamp by the bed before sliding the sheet down her body and studying the rest of her in the soft glow cast by the lamp’s light.
‘Roll over,’ he ordered and Evie did as she was told and let him continue his examination. ‘Bruise here,’ he said, and ran the pad of his thumb over the curve of her hip. ‘Red here.’ A touch on her buttocks; the soft underside of her upper arms.
‘Feels fine,’ she said and slid her hands beneath the pillow and stretched again, working out the kinks, one by one.
His fingers touched the split in the middle of her lower lip and his eyes darkened. He’d used her hard and they both knew it.
‘Sorry,’ he rumbled gruffly.
She prodded at the split with her tongue. Decided that within half a day it’d be gone. ‘Don’t be.’
Logan moved his attention to her hair next, gentle fingers sliding through it, pushing it back off her face, out of her eyes. She let him find the scar he was looking for. Let him run his fingers over it.
‘Angie—’
He hadn’t called her that all week. She knew exactly why that name had slipped from his lips now, but it wasn’t one she wanted to hear.
‘Evie,’ she corrected gently and drew his hand to the curve of her cheek instead. ‘Angie didn’t know how to pull all the scattered pieces of herself back together after a night like last night. Evie does.’
‘Who taught you?’ Possessiveness in his voice and in his eyes, and Evie thrilled to it, even as she rolled away from his touch and out of the crazily mussed-up bed.
‘No one person. You more than anyone. Experience.’ She sat on the side of the bed with her back to him and her fingers curled around the edge of the bed. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and stretched her back out. ‘You were right about me needing more experience all those years ago. Hindsight’s a wonderful thing.’ She turned her head to look at him, expecting turmoil in his eyes and finding it. ‘I like the person I am now. I value every single experience that went into the making of her. Good and bad.’
‘Evie—’
Her name bled from his lips, apology shot through with regret. ‘Logan,’ she replied steadily. ‘If that’s regret on your lips for what we did last night I’d rather not hear it. You brought a lick of pain and a lot of intense pleasure along with your lovemaking last night and you like wielding both—don’t tell me you don’t—and I love it when you do. No analysis required. Can’t we just leave it at that?’
So he choked on whatever he’d been about to say and asked her if she wanted coffee instead.
She said yes, and watched as he stepped into sweats that rode low on his hips and disappeared down the stairs, a picture of rumpled, extremely biddable masculinity. She didn’t want coffee but Logan wanted to get away from her, or do something for her, or both, and who was Evie to argue?
She waited another moment and then rose and headed for the bathroom, somewhat tender in places, walking a little stiffly, to be sure, but nothing a shower and being up and about wouldn’t fix.
A quick shower this morning, anticipating that Logan too would want to clean up and be on his way. Go back to bed after he left, she could do that, but Evie knew she wouldn’t.
Strip the bed, put some washing on, get out of the apartment, maybe even go for a swim and let the waves wash away her tears. Keep moving, stay busy.
He came back with coffee just as she stepped from the shower and she towelled off fast and slipped into her dressing robe. Leave him with a picture of morning domesticity. A counterpoint to the memories they’d created last night.
Tossing the towel atop the clothes basket, Evie offered up a wry smile, took the coffee from his outstretched hand and headed back towards the bed, sitting cross-legged on it but pulling a sheet up around her legs to keep her honest before taking her first sip.
He’d made the coffee exactly the way she liked it.
Bastard.
She watched him pack in silence, wondering whether he still needed to collect things from the serviced apartment he’d rented for the week or whether over the course of the week he’d managed to bring everything here. He’d worked here—she knew that much. Using her home office to stay in contact with his London office and his Perth office. Getting up in the early hours of the morning when his phone rang and heading downstairs while an urgent voice on the other end of the phone demanded his attention. Rich man, but definitely still a working man with responsibilities she barely understood.
But they’d done well together this past week, nonetheless. He could be proud of that. They both could.
No need to do anything but smile once he was fully packed and his attention returned to her once more. He knelt down beside her bed and took her coffee from unprotesting hands and set it aside. He pressed butterfly kisses to the wing of her eyebrow, the curve of her cheek and finally her lips. Tender, this goodbye, and she reached up to trace his lips with her fingers, still obsessed with the shape and sensuality of them.
‘Got everything?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes. The rest is downstairs in your office.’
She leaned forward and kissed him lightly and then once more to savour him. ‘Safe journey, Mr Black. Be happy.’ Then she pulled him into a fierce hug and closed her eyes and memorised the feel of being in his arms. ‘I’m happy. You need to know that I wouldn’t have missed one moment of this past week. With you.’
His arms tightened around her, but he didn’t speak, just buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing in deep before slowly letting go.
And then he picked up his bag and Evie closed her eyes so that she didn’t have to see the set of his shoulders or the shape of his resolve as he headed for the stairs.
She’d done all she could. It was up to him now.
Evangeline Jones knew exactly how to love hard and with no regrets.
She needed a man bold enough to do the same.