Between You and Me(47)

She tossed him a flirty glance and grin. "Glad you like it," she said before disappearing into the kitchen.

"I love it," he said, following her, unable to take his eyes off her.  "I'll love it even more later, when I peel you out of it." His mouth  actually watered at the thought. His dress slacks felt too tight.

"Sounds fun to me," she said with a sensuous grin.

His cock throbbed and he shifted his stance. As she set the bouquet down  on the marble-topped kitchen island, he opened his coat and noticed her  gaze sweep over him.

"You dressed up for me," she remarked with surprise and delighted approval.

"Yeah, a little. You said you were, so . . ."

She went to him, running her hand over his crisp white button-down  shirt. He hadn't worn a tie, just the shirt and navy dress slacks, but  she seemed to revel in his outfit. Her eyes lit as she looked back up at  him with a smile. "You look very handsome." She leaned in and dropped a  quick kiss on his mouth, then went across the room to the cabinets. She  bent over to pull out a tremendous crystal vase and he almost groaned  from the view. Blood rushed south.

While she wrestled the roses into the vase, he crouched down to say  hello to Bubbles and play with her for a bit, needing a distraction. He  was too turned on; he wouldn't be able to go to dinner with this raging  hard-on and burning need.

"When you suggested getting together for Valentine's yesterday"-Tess  fussed with the roses, positioning them to her satisfaction-"well, I got  you a little something. Now that I'm staring at these gorgeous flowers,  I'm doubly glad I did."

Logan straightened to his full height. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"I know. That's what made it fun."

He had to smile. He'd thought the exact same thing about her, hadn't he?  "Then thank you in advance." He moved around the kitchen island, the  outsized bouquet of flowers between them. "Is it edible?"

Chuckling, she went to one of the many drawers, polished wood beneath  marble countertops, and pulled out an envelope. She held it out to him  with a smile. "Only if you like to eat paper."

He opened it to find a season pass for skiing at Ajax Mountain-for the  following year, all bells and whistles included. It was a great gift.  And too expensive. And showed real forethought. His eyes flicked up to  hers. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"You love skiing," she said. Her long, graceful fingers reached out to  push around some of the flowers in the vase. "This will assure me that  next year . . . Well, forgive me, but if your mother's gone"-she glanced  at him, and he nodded to show it was okay-"and I'm not going to be  around to drag you to the slopes on a regular basis, since I'll  hopefully be home in New York with a newborn-I thought if you have this,  you'll be motivated to get out and do something fun once in a while."  Smiling gently, her voice dropped as she added, "And maybe you'll think  of me with a smile when you do."

A slow wave of heavy emotion rolled through him . . . something that  made his heart squeeze and his insides warm at the same time. Jesus,  she'd cut him off at the knees with this. He tried to swallow back the  lump in his throat. His voice was rough as he managed to say, "I'll  always think of you with a smile, no matter what I'm doing."
                       
       
           



       
Her smile deepened. "I'd love to think so."

Damn. He adored her. Only that second did he realize that he did, much  less the depth of feeling. He cleared his throat. "This is an incredibly  considerate gift. Thank you." He moved around the island to gently pull  her into his arms. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his  waist and letting her head fall onto his shoulder. His eyes slipped  closed as he savored the feel of her against him.

And it hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut: This time next year, he'd be completely alone. More so than ever before.

His mother would likely be gone, which was devastating. He couldn't bear  to think of it, though he knew full well it was reality. And Tess would  be living her life in New York with her baby, thousands of miles away.  She'd become such a presence in his daily life . . . someone to chat  with, laugh with, and yes, make love with. She'd be gone, their bargain  completed, her need for his presence and services fulfilled. So she'd go  on with her life, he'd be here, alone . . . and he'd miss her. He'd  miss her like hell. The thought of that left him reeling, like a hole  had been blown right through him.

He drew a long, deep breath as it all crested over him, trying to hold  his ground. His hands ran over her long hair, up and down her slender  back, sliding along the soft fabric of the dress as he breathed her in.  She smelled so good, a musky vanilla scent that always made his senses  fire to life. "You won't visit once in a while?" His voice felt thick in  his throat.

"Of course I will," she said. "But it won't be for a few months at a  time, like this winter. A week here, a week there . . . and, well . . ."  She drew back to look at him as she said quietly, "Have you thought  about that it might be hard for you to see the baby once he or she is  born? I know you're giving up your rights gladly; right now it's just an  idea. But . . . it may hit harder when you actually see the baby. And  if so, I don't want to do that to you. I might stay away more than not."

He hadn't considered that. Suddenly he could barely breathe. But he  looked her right in the eye as he said, "That's kind. But I'll be fine  with it." His voice was husky, his chest tight as he stared at her.  "Don't worry about me. And definitely don't stay away from Aspen because  of me. Okay? Everything will be fine. I promise."

She only smiled, tender warmth in her gaze. "Let's go to dinner."

They went to Sophie's Bistro. He knew it was one of her favorite  restaurants and he liked the warm, cozy atmosphere, but he'd also chosen  it for another specific reason. As they walked inside, he confessed he  wanted to wipe away the memory of their last meal together there, when  he'd bolted and left her there. "This time," he said, "we'll replace  that debacle with a nice memory."

She smiled, clearly touched. Her hand lifted to give his beard a quick, affectionate rub. "That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

Something like affection unfurled in his chest. "I even asked for your favorite table, that one in the back that's hidden away."

"How very Valentine's Day of you, Mr. Carter."

"I've done romantic in my time, you know," he said, quirking a grin. "I'm rusty as hell at it, but for you tonight, I'm trying."

"Nice work, fake boyfriend." Tess winked as they were shown to their  table. "It's very appreciated. Everything you've done tonight. I haven't  been romanced in any way in a long time."

"That's criminal," he murmured as he sat.

Dinner was lovely, the food delicious, the vibe between them genial and  relaxed, as it usually was. They talked about random things, from movies  and TV to their college coursework two decades ago to the work he'd  done at the Andersons' property and the work she'd done long distance  the day before. The dim lighting, warm earthy colors of the restaurant,  and tea light candles flickering in a bowl on the tabletop, all served  to reinforce Logan's opinion that Tess was the most beautiful woman he'd  ever laid eyes on.                       
       
           



       

Her hair sometimes reminded him of a mermaid's storied mane. Tess's  thick, dark curls fell over her shoulders, way past her breasts, the  ends spilling onto the table. No matter how often she swept them away,  they always seemed to reclaim their position around her face, as if they  had a life of their own. Her high cheekbones, generous mouth, and wide  blue eyes were so strikingly shaped . . . Her lithe body always called  to him, making his blood stir. But all that, as incredible a package as  it was, wasn't what made her so out-of-this-world stunning.

It was the light inside her. She was so easy to be with, while at the  same time, he felt like she was way, way out of his league-and he  couldn't believe she continually chose to hang out with him. Tonight, he  couldn't stop gazing at her, filled with appreciation and warmth, drawn  to her with an almost magnetic, unearthly pull.

He supposed it was because their friendship had become so solid, so  genuine. They had each other's backs in a way that he . . . Truth was,  he hadn't felt so supported, understood, or appreciated by anyone in a  really long time. She'd filled a void in his life he'd refused to  acknowledge existed. What would he do when she went back to New York?