Linger (10 page)

She'd intended to say something to Logan right away—it had even been on the tip of her tongue—but the view of the bright blue sky, stretching over the jagged mountain peaks, was astounding.

“Takes a while to get used to it.” Scarlett turned when Logan spoke, and she caught the barest hint of wistfulness on his face—one of the few times she'd seen him unguarded.

The walls seemed to come back up between them when she started to step toward the small oilcloth-covered table at which Logan sat. She took her time, observing the way he'd laid out breakfast . . . observing him.

Despite their arguing, he'd made not just scrambled eggs, but omelets with large chunks of onion, mushrooms, and tomatoes. The bacon was perfectly fried, and there were even slices of orange, fanned out prettily, along the edge of the plate.

Not what she'd expected from this rough, tough, pissed-off cowboy.

“Well, this is unexpected.” Before she had a chance to chicken out, Scarlett reached across him to the plates and broke off a piece of bacon, which she pressed to his lips. “I was expecting a box of Cap'n Crunch.”

Logan's eyes narrowed with suspicion as Scarlett offered him the bite of food. He continued to look at her, face set, as he opened his lips, chewed, then swallowed.

“We're not on personal time right now.” He reached for his own piece of bacon, and Scarlett tentatively pushed his hand away, her confidence growing when he didn't push back.

“We most certainly are,” Scarlett insisted. Taking his fork in hand, she scooped up a bite of fluffy eggs, held it to his lips. “It pleases me to feed you.”

“Shouldn't you be making me serve you?” His eyes roamed her face, and though Scarlett really, really wished she had some makeup on—particularly in the unforgiving bright light of early morning—she held herself still and let him look.

Though the continual shifts of power between them made her more uncertain than she'd ever been, she steeled herself to push through, wanting to show him that being a bit vulnerable wasn't the end of the world.

Shaking her head slightly, Scarlett slid into his lap, thighs spread wide, facing him.

“A power exchange doesn't necessarily mean I'm looking for a slave, Logan, though that does work for some people.” The next bite that Scarlett picked up was for her, a slice of juicy orange. “And I think you'll find that many Dominants find great joy in nurturing their sub.”

She nibbled at the lush piece of fruit, and the juice ran down her hand. Without asking permission, Logan dipped his head, licked up the stream of sweetness from her skin.

He looked at her after, waiting for her reaction. That was good. So Scarlett didn't chastise him for acting on his own. But then, before she could even recover from the sensation of his tongue rasping over the tender skin at the inside of her wrist, he moved his hands up to cover her breasts.

Scarlett lifted her hand and lightly slapped his cheek, just hard enough to get his attention. He wrapped her wrists in his hands, holding her firmly in place.

Scarlett's pulse began to pound as she looked him in the eye, saw a man every bit as alpha as she was reflected there.

What was it about him that drove her so crazy, in the best possible way?

Submitting had to be a choice for him, she understood in that moment, and it was one he wouldn't make lightly.

All she could do was show him that she was strong enough to take care of him.

“If you can't keep your hands to yourself until I give you leave to do otherwise, sit on them.” She didn't struggle, didn't try to wrench her hands away. She simply waited, doing her best to appear calm despite the complicated feelings swirling inside of her.

When he finally, slowly, let his hands fall to his sides and bent his head, his surrender was so beautiful that Scarlett wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders, to bury her face in his neck and never let go. And that she wanted to just hold him even more than she wanted to undo his jeans and take him inside her was yet another reminder of how very different he was from every submissive, every other
man
she'd ever come across.

Instinct told her that pushing the emotional side of things too hard, too fast might make him shut down. So she swallowed down the enormity of what she was feeling and returned to their game.

Picking up another piece of bacon, she lifted it to his lips. “Eat.”

For another ten minutes, they ate in silence, Scarlett feeding Logan bites in between her own. A couple of times he swiped his tongue over the sensitive tips of her fingers as she pressed segments of orange to his lips, and he shifted beneath her every few minutes, which pressed his hardening cock up against the growing dampness between her legs.

By the time eight o'clock came, Scarlett was quivering with need, and she could feel Logan's erection, thick and hard between them. She could have had him in that moment, she knew. She could open his zipper, pull his impossible length out. Could take him inside her and rock them both into bliss.

But she'd promised. When they were on work time, he was the boss. So though it hurt to push the lust aside, she swung off his lap, put some distance between them.

“What next . . . boss?”

L
ogan didn't keep an office—the very idea of sitting in a closed building for hours at a time made him shudder. Though his predecessor had kept an office in town, Logan did his work on location and kept his cell on him—people in the small town and the surrounding farmland knew to reach him that way if they needed his veterinary skills.

Today had been utterly silent on the vet side of things. It wasn't entirely unusual—it was early fall. Not yet calving season, not breeding season, and not winter, when the animals tended to get sick.

He'd used the opportunity to push Scarlett hard at the chores, all the things they would be responsible for doing together for the next year. He hadn't expected her to balk at anything related to the animals—Dr. Scarlett Malone had come with excellent references from her professors.

But he had expected some sort of protest, or complaint, or
something
when they'd swept out the big barn, mucked out the stalls. When they'd rearranged the tack room and hauled bales of feed from the back of his truck.

He'd had seasonal workers twice the size of slender Scarlett who'd bitched and complained nonstop about the backbreaking work.

But this one? Nothing but questions, questions, and more questions—all of them eager.

If he'd met her in person during their interview for the internship, he could have avoided her at Veritas that first night
they'd met—he would have known who she was. Now the one woman who intrigued him more than any woman ever had was living with him—in his personal space—for the next year.

There was no way to avoid her, and damn it, he didn't want to. But without that easy out, there was also no way to keep her from delving inside of him, from pushing him into places he didn't want to go.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Logan's head was spinning. He had been sure that beneath that tough-as-nails Domme exterior there must have been something soft or weak. Something he could use as an excuse not to submit further to her.

But Scarlett seemed to give all of herself in everything she did. And rather than finding a reason to pull away, he was more fascinated by her than ever.

“We're done for now.” Rocking back on his heels, Logan swiped his forearm across his sweaty, dusty forehead, watching Scarlett feed one of the horses.

“You're just a big handsome man, aren't you? All the ladies must love you.” Though Logan had no idea how she'd fit it in the pocket of those tight pants of hers, Scarlett pulled out a carrot, offered it in her palm.

“Careful! He nips!” Logan sprang forward to knock Scarlett's hand out of the way. The horse—a big coal black Arabian named Loki—had attitude to spare.

Logan simply blinked when the nasty-tempered stud gently nipped the carrot from Scarlett's outstretched hand.

“He'd never nip me. He's hoping for a date.” Scarlett rubbed a hand over Loki's nose, then turned to grin at Logan, her expression tired but full of delight. “It's great to be able to spend so much time around these big guys, you know? At school a lot of the training focuses on dogs and cats. But this guy, he's just so beautiful.”

Both Loki and Logan rolled their eyes, but while Loki's gesture was in agreement, Logan's exasperation was because he was out of answers.

“The last person who offered Loki a treat like that nearly got his arm chomped off.” Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets and regarded Scarlett from under the brim of his hat. She looked beautiful, even after a day of sweaty, dirty work. And with no makeup, a smudge on her nose, and a new rip across the knee of her blue jeans, she exuded calm, competent control.

He was beginning to see just how much he would do for her, open himself for her.

It scared the shit out of him.

“I said, we're done for now.” Logan repeated it, with an extra layer of harshness in his words. “Your time's your own for the night. Spend it however you like. Dinner will be on the table around seven. You can eat or not, your choice.”

“Why don't we go into town for dinner?” Scarlett suggested.

Logan gaped. He knew he did. “Why on earth would we do that?”

She furrowed her brow adorably, but Logan's mind was too caught on the question to fully appreciate how cute she looked. “I drove through Hanover Creek on the way here, but I haven't actually spent any time there. I should find out where the grocery store is, the gas station. I can't just keep eating your food.” She frowned then, clearly perturbed.

Logan could care less if she ate his food. Truth be told, it was kind of nice to have someone to eat with . . . though he damn well hoped she wasn't planning to perch in his lap and hand-feed him for the next year. It was unsettling.

But this . . .

He went into town whenever he needed to. As she'd said, he needed groceries, needed to fill up his truck.

But he always took the quickest trip possible—no lingering over meals at restaurants for him. And he always prepared himself mentally for the onslaught of people who would be in the aisles, on the streets, brushing against him.

Brusquely, he shook his head. “Not tonight. I'm not in the mood.”

He would have to have been made from stone not to miss the disappointment that flashed over Scarlett's face, though she smoothed out her features quickly.

“All right.” Tucking a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear, she turned as she spoke. “Why don't I go throw some sandwiches together for supper? It's been a long day. And tomorrow I'll head into Hanover Creek myself, load up on some groceries so I'm not always mooching off of you.”

Logan watched her walk away, cursing that he felt so unsettled.

He shouldn't feel obligated to take the woman into town every time she had a whim. He couldn't live like that.

But neither was he comfortable with disappointing her already, before their fledgling relationship—whether professional or sexual—even got off the ground.

He strode forward a step, then stopped, planting his hands on his hips. He didn't want to look weak in front of her. She wasn't into weak men.

But more than anything, he wanted to please her.

“Fuck me.” Before he could change his mind, Logan stalked into the house, into the kitchen. Scarlett didn't turn when he slammed into the kitchen, staying where she was, gathering sandwich ingredients at the counter, but he noted that her shoulders tensed.

Damn it. He'd already disappointed her. That wouldn't do.

“Get your bag, or whatever else you need,” he ordered gruffly, fighting against the nerves that were rising up in his
throat, threatening to choke him. “Meet me at the truck in five.”

“We don't have to go.” Scarlett's voice trailed off as she turned around to face him.

“You said you wanted to go. We're going.” He rocked back onto his heels. “Come on. We don't have all night. This isn't the city. Things close early around here.”

Though she seemed a bit afraid to show it, Scarlett couldn't keep the wide grin from erupting over her face. She rose onto her tiptoes, bounced, and Logan was struck yet again by how her every movement seemed like she was dancing.

“I just need to get my purse.” She did a little spin, and Logan was surprised at the chuckle that slipped past his lips as she raced from the room.

Damn it, but the woman was fascinating on so many levels.

Still, unease danced ghostly fingers over the back of his neck as he headed out to his work truck and climbed into the driver's seat. The engine gave a cranky whine as he turned it over, emitting clouds of exhaust as Scarlett exited the house. She'd taken her hair out of the tight bun she'd had it in all day, and now the dark, silken strands streamed behind her.

When she climbed into the cab of the truck, her perfume hit him—she must have just sprayed some on. Damn it, she smelled like cake.

How was a man supposed to resist something so sweet?

Logan felt her looking at him as he started the truck on the long, rumbling path of his drive.

“Thank you,” she said finally. He grunted, but was shocked into silence when she leaned across the wide bench seat and pressed a simple kiss to his cheek.

It was a chaste gesture, that kiss—just a slight brush of her moist lips over his cheek.

But it rocked him to his core. Words failing him, Logan simply grunted.

They drove in silence, and Logan was surprised that the twenty minutes it took to get to Hanover Creek, the nearest town to his ranch, passed fairly quickly. Not to mention painlessly.

Scarlett didn't try to make small talk when it wasn't called for, didn't try to fill the empty spaces with meaningless chatter like so many women, chatter that drove him to the brink of insanity.

He filed that away. It was just one more thing that he liked about her.

That file was getting rather full.

Instead he focused on his breathing, on staying calm as the gravel beneath the truck's tires turned to pavement. He kept his eyes dead ahead as he drove down the main street of town, parallel parked the big black truck between a big red truck and a big blue one.

He was out of the car and around to Scarlett's door before she could open it herself. He thought she might be one of those women who were all tied up in feminism, in opening doors for their own damn selves, but she simply smiled at him in thanks, a slow curve of those pink lips that made him want to kiss her.

“This is Main Street,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her. “There are only two restaurants, and they're both here. So is the grocery store, down at that end.” He pointed to the far end of the street.

“We passed the gas station as we drove in.” He gestured back the way they had come, watching as Scarlett took it in with wide eyes. A grim part of him wondered if she was going to turn her nose up at the tiny town, which was rustic on a
good day and unrefined the rest of the time—a far cry from Las Vegas. “We have a barber shop, a couple of women's clothing stores, a drugstore. And a really crappy movie theater.”

She'd see now just what she'd left behind to come here—she'd probably had no idea. And as soon as she saw, she'd head back to the city.

Even as he thought it, Logan knew that he wasn't giving her enough credit. If he had to choose a single word to describe the woman who had turned his life upside down so quickly, it would be stubborn.

She wasn't going anywhere, not until she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do.

“Well, if there are only two restaurants, should we flip? Or do you have a preference?” Logan found himself staring at Scarlett with more than a bit of disbelief.

Yes, he knew he needed to give her more credit. But unless he was really reading her wrong, she wasn't at all startled by the appearance of the run-down town that she would call home for the next year.

If anything, she seemed . . . excited. Even enthusiastic at the prospect of being given the grand tour of Hanover Creek, as if it was all she'd wanted when she'd asked him to take her here.

Was it really that simple to please her?

Belatedly, Logan realized that she was waiting for an answer.

“Pizzeria is only good on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when Mama Pizzoli is working.” Logan rubbed a hand across his chin, the bristle of his stubble scratching the skin. “The rest of the time her kids do their best to run the place into the ground. But Maxine's is solid. Chicken fried steak, burgers, pie. Or salads, if you'd rather.”

Scarlett arched an eyebrow at him, and Logan realized
instantly that he'd stuck his foot in it. He'd meant that most women he'd met ate things like salads with cut-up chicken on them when they went out to eat, rather than indulging in thick, juicy steaks like he would choose. He certainly didn't think she needed to be eating that way. She looked damned good to him.

“Not all women prefer rabbit food over meat, cowboy.” Then she sauntered off down the sidewalk, leaving Logan staring after her.

He'd accidentally made a comment that she could have taken offense to, and she'd shrugged it off.

He just couldn't keep up with her.

“Hold up.” Striding after her, Logan fell in next to Scarlett as they passed a storefront with windows that were boarded up. She stopped in her tracks, moved to the window, and peered in.

“What was this place?” Rubbing her fingers over the glass, squinting, Logan realized that she was trying to make out the shapes of the decals that had been scraped off.

“That was the office of Dr. Wilkinson. He was the town vet until I took over his practice ten years ago.” Logan slid his hands into his pockets, remembering how he'd helped the older veterinarian board up the windows by himself. “He and the missus packed up and moved to Florida, and I didn't want to have an office in town. Too big for a clinic, anyway. Too big for lots of things. So it's sat untouched ever since.”

Scarlett studied the building, running her fingers over the boards at the base of the glass. “So this is still yours?” A light went on in her eyes, and Logan watched as the wheels started to turn.

“It is.” He replied slowly, his gut clenching. “Why?”

“How do you think a veterinary hospital would fare here?” She mused out loud, sending a skitter of panic through
Logan's veins. “There are lots of surrounding towns. More animals than people.”

Needing to deflect before she went further into her idea, Logan tried for a jovial tone. “Trying to put me out of business already, huh? Should have made you sign a noncompete contract.”

Scarlett started, her skin flushing. “That's not what I meant. I was just curious. Ignore me.”

But now the picture was in Logan's head, too, and it stuck there as they continued toward Maxine's.

Of a woman—Scarlett—who didn't
want
to leave. Who could—and would—make a life here, with him.