A muscle clenched at his jaw. "Yeah, I don't know why, I seem to sleep better when you're in my arms."
At his words, her heart began slamming against her breastbone as emotion suffused her. She took a deep breath, not able to form an answer even if she'd needed to.
Chapter Eight
That night had been another pivotal point in their relationship. At first what she'd thought had been a power play, was actually anything but. Logan wanted her near him. It was obvious, she could tell, and he'd more or less admitted as much when he told her that he slept better with her in his arms.
After that night, they slept together every night, if Lauren was in town.
His place was bigger and nicer and had that awesome swimming pool in the backyard, and a lot of Lauren's things began migrating to live at his house. Lauren knew it was happening, and as every single item of her stuff found a new home, she knew she was getting in deeper. But that didn't scare her; she was comfortable in their relationship and decided to go with the flow and see where it would lead.
One rainy Saturday morning a couple of weeks later, Lauren was trying to prepare coffee in his kitchen and found herself grumbling under her breath when Logan walked into the room. He was freshly showered and looked immaculate and she felt like everything was out of control in her life. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her neck. "What's the problem?"
"Nothing," she denied sharply, absolutely not her best in the morning without her coffee.
He spun her around to face him and tipped her chin up with a finger. "Tell me what's wrong."
She'd put up with it for about as long as she could stand it. Lauren threw out a hand and indicated his kitchen. "It's all wrong."
His eyes narrowed as he glanced around. "Nothing's wrong with my kitchen. It's exactly like the rest of my house. It's organized and everything has a place."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him, trying to shake him loose, too impatient to try to explain something to him that he was too male to see.
He frowned and his hold tightened. "Don't blow me off. Tell me what the hell is wrong with my kitchen."
"Everything," she gritted out.
A sense of urgency seemed to come over him and any patience he had remaining, splintered. "Tell me," he grunted.
Lauren blew out a breath. "The coffee cups should be kept in the cabinet above the coffee-maker. All the coffee stuff should be kept there. The hot pad holder thingies should be kept in the drawer next to the stove where they'll be needed, not across the room in the top cabinet, where nobody can reach them. The glasses and plates should be in the cabinet either to the left or to the right of the dishwasher, where they can be unloaded more quickly, without having to take a million steps." She stopped and took a deep breath. "I can go on." She raised her eyebrows. "You want me to keep on or do you get the picture?"
His face was expressionless for a moment. But then it changed and he looked astounded, as if a light bulb had just gone off in his head. Then he began laughing. He glanced around the kitchen and then back to her. He frowned in confusion. "What's wrong with the plates being in the cabinet directly above the dishwasher? Why to the left or the right?"
She narrowed her eyes at him and would have slammed her hands on her hips if he hadn't held her so tightly. "Because I'm too short to reach that cabinet when the dishwasher is opened. I have to walk all the way around it and then go up on my tip-toes."
There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes and she felt like hitting him. "Why not just stack them on the counter and close the dishwasher and then put them away?"
She felt a flare of temper and gave him a withering stare. "Are you arguing with me just for the sake of an argument?" She exhaled a pent-up breath. "I don't like to extend housework. I like to get it finished quickly and stacking the dishes is adding another step to the process."
"So, basically you're okay with the kitchen, you just don't like the way I have things arranged?"
Her lips flattened and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Yep." She took a deep breath and took a look around. "The kitchen itself is gorgeous."
He shrugged his shoulders. "So change it."
Lauren didn't think she'd heard correctly. Mr. Perfectionist was telling her she could mess with his stuff? "I'm sorry, what?"
"Change it. Move the crap around. Put it where you want it. I don't care; I don't spend a lot of time in here." He turned to walk out. "I've got work to do, let me know if you need help with any of the heavy stuff." And then he stopped and turned and faced her again. "Lauren . . . if there's anything at all about the house you don't like, just change it and if you need help, tell me, okay?"
She nodded, and after he left, Lauren leaned back against the sink, totally discomfited. He'd answered her in a serious tone, as if he really wanted her to be happy and at home. She took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her heart rate. And then she glanced around at the gorgeous kitchen with a tiny arrow of excitement that she tried to suppress. This was going to be fun.
But crap.
Things were getting deeper by the day.
Two hours later, Logan walked on silent feet to the bar that overlooked the kitchen. Lauren was on her knees with her head and shoulders inside one of the lower cabinets and all his stuff was in piles and stacks on top of the granite countertops. A sharp, fierce coil of pleasure heated his guts as he silently watched her.
The feeling wasn't sexual. At least not for the most part. His satisfaction was coming from having her in his kitchen, messing with his stuff, moving it around and putting her mark on it, making it hers.
Whoa. He wanted his kitchen to be her kitchen. That was damn basic.
He stood and watched her for a few moments, enjoying the sway of her hips and the perfect roundness of her butt as she reached farther into the low space. He swelled against his jeans, but he fought his arousal, because this moment wasn't about sex. A gratified smile twisted his lips, and a haunting fire licked down his spine. He was getting so close. So fucking close to his goal, that he could taste it.
It didn't escape Logan's notice that he should be running for cover and throwing her out of his house. That's what guys were supposed to do when women got too clingy, wasn't it? But damn, she never got clingy. Besides, Lauren wasn't like other women. Other women, he could barely tolerate. They were usually good for only one thing, but that wasn't the case with Lauren. Lauren was her own woman, damn it; she had a life of her own and he continually had to ram himself against her reserved outer layer so that he could be a part of that life.
But he was getting close.
He'd have her, and sooner, rather than later, if he had his way about it. She was like the proverbial Little Red Riding Hood, taking one step too close to the Big, Bad Wolf.
And when she did, he'd have her. And that would be that.
Lauren turned off the water in the shower stall and breathed a sigh of relief. Crawling around in the cabinets and moving everything around had taken a lot more work than she'd expected. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her body and walked out of the bathroom.
Drying her hair with another large towel, she came to a dead halt in the middle of the bedroom. Her stomach twisted with heat, and her nerves jangled to life.
Logan lay on the center of the bed, completely nude, with his hands laced behind his head, staring straight at her. He lifted a hand and crooked a finger at her, and Lauren's eyes took in his straining erection.
"Come here," he drawled deep in his throat.
Never thinking to deny him, never wanting to, like an automaton, Lauren took two seconds to squeeze the excess moisture from her hair and then dropped the towel on the floor. Goosebumps shivered over her skin and as his erection jerked and throbbed, her feminine channel flooded with answering moisture.
It was a damp and dreary day, romantic in the bedroom with the rain softly falling against the windowpanes, and Lauren didn't hesitate. She dropped the remaining towel that hid her body from his, and climbed over the foot of the bed.
Their glances connected and his arrogant half-smile disappeared completely as tension gripped his muscles. Incendiary heat built between them and the primal expression on his face accelerated the blood as it pumped through her veins. She felt an intoxicating need to take him into her mouth. He only ever allowed it for a small while; his patience was always tested and she never got to play with him the way she wanted to. It never failed, he always flipped her to her back before she got what she wanted; he rarely allowed her to bring him to completion this way. But when he did, it was awe- inducing.
Lauren looked at the washboard abs of his six-pack clenched in uncontested strength. He seemed to lounge back almost indolently, but she knew him well enough to know it was a facade; he looked as if he could attack in two seconds flat if he wanted to or needed to. She smelled the raw sizzle of primitive hunger that wrapped around them. His face was stamped with authority, like he was about to get his way in all things, but Lauren was about to dispute that dominance in a non-verbal way of her own.
She slowly scooted up another few inches, keeping her eyes on him the entire time, as if he were a sleeping lion that couldn't be trusted. His legs were spread just enough that she could slide between his thighs and keep her own legs tightly closed. She made the move and took his straining cock triumphantly in one hand.