"I guess."
They sat in awkward silence for a minute. The fire crackled and popped in the fireplace. Bubbles crossed the floor and went to her doggie bed, circling around in it three times before flopping down.
"I trust you, Logan," she said softly. She offered him a little grin. "It'll be fine."
His eyes warmed at that. "I'm glad. You can trust me, Tess." He set the mug down on the glass coffee table, then turned to face her. He reached out his hand, open palm up, and she slipped her hand into his. "We'll get this done. You'll have your baby. One way or another. Just have faith."
Her throat thickened from his gentle, supportive words. "Thank you."
He smiled, then said, "Know what? Come here, but turn around. Sit with your back to me."
Her brows furrowed as she looked at him, not knowing what he wanted. But she did as he asked. His large hands swept her long hair away, then settled on her shoulders and began to gently knead them. A moan of pleasure fluttered out of her.
"I'm scheduled for a massage next week," she said, "but the hell with that. You're so hired."
He laughed, a deep rumble from his chest. "Trying to help you relax a bit, that's all."
"You can tell I'm that tense?"
"Yup." His fingers made tiny circles along her neck and her eyes slipped closed. "So," he said casually. "Top five favorite Beatles songs. Go."
She snorted out a laugh. "Oh please. Like I could pick only five."
"I knew I liked you." His hands smoothed back down to her shoulders, working magic. "This robe is so soft . . . it's nice. But it's kind of in the way. So, um . . . you wearing anything underneath? I'm thinking it'd be easier to just massage your skin."
Without a word, she undid the knot of the robe and let it slide off her shoulders. She heard his breath catch as her dusky purple negligee was revealed to him. Wanting to see his reaction, she turned her head to peek over her shoulder. The mesmerized look on his face made it worth it. "For you," she whispered.
"Jesus," he murmured, his eyes locked on her body encased in silk. He fingered one spaghetti strap over her shoulder. "My God . . ." He licked his lips as his eyes traveled over her body. "I have a confession to make." His hand ran slowly down her bare arm, then up again. His eyes met hers and held. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. And I've always thought that. From the moment I first saw you. That's the God's honest truth."
"Wow." She turned a little more to better meet his now hungry gaze. "Thank you. I'm very, very flattered."
"You're very, very beautiful." His hands skimmed up her arms, then turned her away from him to resume his massage. As he rubbed her shoulders, he cleared his throat. "That nightie is stunning on you. I can't wait to peel you out of it."
She smiled brightly, mentally congratulating herself. "Glad you like it."
"Like it? Full disclosure: I'm totally turned on right now. You take my breath away, Tess."
Her breath hitched, but she managed to say, "Good to know."
"Yeah, well . . . all we have to do now is get you a little more relaxed . . ." His warm, powerful hands were so gentle on her skin, Tess couldn't believe it. "So. You can't pick only five, fair enough. I don't think I can either. So just tell me some of your favorites."
Her mind was cloudy with growing desire; it took her a few seconds to figure out what he was talking about. Oh, Beatles songs. Right. Okay. "‘Blackbird,'" she started. His fingers kneaded the muscles in her neck. "Um . . . ‘I Will.' ‘Julia.' ‘She Came In Through the Bathroom Window.' ‘Across the Universe.' ‘Paperback Writer.' ‘Taxman.' ‘She's Leaving Home.' ‘Two of Us.'"
"Ohh, ‘Two of Us' is an all-time fave song of mine, period. Excellent choice." Logan's hands never ceased or strayed from her neck and shoulders. She was turning to putty. "Those are all good ones, ma'am. You're a true fan. I approve."
"Are the Beatles your favorite group?" she asked.
"One of them," he said. His fingers stroked her skin without demand, giving nothing but tenderness. She felt like she was slowly melting into a big, pleasured pile of goo. "I like classic rock best. Mainly from the sixties and seventies, some eighties. Not much after, say, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. Guess I'm a bit of a throwback."
"Thor is an old-school rock god," she teased. "I can see that being your style."
"What do you listen to?"
"A little of everything . . ."
They talked about music for a while, her back to him, his hands comforting on her skin and his deep voice soothing in her ear. She gazed at the fire and felt herself loosen up; he successfully calmed her body and distracted and quieted her mind. By the time he gently eased her back against his chest, she was totally comfortable.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Like a warm puddle of mush," she replied. "You're good at this. You're a genius, actually. I'm completely relaxed now."
"Mission accomplished."
"And then some."
"Great. But you're not going to fall asleep on me, are you?" His voice, low and playful, vibrated from his chest against her back as his arms slipped slowly around her.
"No way." She tipped up her chin to look at him. He was already gazing down at her, an interesting mixture of calm assurance and growing desire clear in his eyes. His hand slid up her side, skimming her ribs, the side of her breast, over her shoulder. Their gazes locked. She reached up to touch his face, running her fingertips along his beard until she pulled his head down. Their mouths met in a sweet kiss.
She felt the flames of desire flicker and spark inside her as they kissed, the delicious heat building at a slow and steady pace. He shifted her in his arms for better access, his big hands sliding along the silk as they settled into a full embrace. Her mouth opened and his tongue swept inside, tasting her, consuming her bit by bit. The kisses deepened, a slow, sensual burn. He lifted her up to sit on his lap, facing him, pressed against him, so he could wrap his arms around her and hold her close. Her fingers sifted through his hair as the kisses burned hotter. Fire seared through her body, want and need rising in her core. She rolled her hips against his erection and he groaned into her mouth, his fingers digging into her hips.
"Are you ready?" he asked in a thick whisper against her lips.
She nodded even as her heart rate took off like a shot.
"Then let's go to your room," he said, kissing her jaw, her chin, then back to her lips. "You deserve a bed, to have this done right. Not here on the couch."
She only nodded again. The air felt stuck in her lungs.
Without missing a beat he stood, lifting her with him, holding her against him in his strong arms.
"What are you doing?" she asked in surprise as he cradled her.
"Carrying you." He kissed her, long and deep, holding her securely. "Wrap your legs around my waist."
She did as she was told. Breathless from his gesture, swept away, she dipped her head into the crook of his neck. "My room's at the end of the hall," she whispered against his skin.
"I know where the master bedroom is," he assured her.
Seemingly without effort, he crossed the length of the living room, went up the stairs, and down the hall to her bedroom. The only light in her room was the dim softness of one small lamp on the dresser. He set her down carefully on the king-size sleigh bed and smiled down at her, sweeping her hair back from her face.
"I can't believe you just did that," she whispered.
He silenced her with a deep, commanding kiss, aligning his large, warm body with hers. With a whimper of submission, she let herself drown in sensation. They held each other and kissed, letting the passion build. Any traces of her initial nervousness or awkwardness were fading away. She wanted him more with each minute.
"You're wearing too many clothes," she finally said.
He grinned, then sat up and pulled his sweater off over his head, tossing it aside. Then he stood up and pushed off his jeans. Standing before her in only tight navy boxer briefs, Tess sucked in a breath at the sight of him. She'd known he had a great body because it was obvious, but seeing him unclothed for the first time . . . He was magnificent. That six-foot-four frame had muscles everywhere. His arms, his chest, his abs, his thighs . . . good Lord. The Thor nickname was perfect, really, whether he liked it or not. She got up onto her knees and reached up to let her fingertips drift through the light dusting of hair on his broad chest, over the Celtic tattoo on one strong shoulder . . .