legs. She backed out quickly.
She sure couldn't sleep in there. Maybe the kitchen? No. The moron who built the oversize doorways for the dining room and kitchen had somehow neglected to include actual doors. With her luck, some male idiot looking for wine would trip over her instead. No way.
Staring down the trails, she saw people coming and going from the cabins in a raunchy version of musical chairs. Musical cabins? But she was the loser, the one left without a chair. Or bed. Fine. Who needs a bed anyway?
Scowling, she walked over to the porch swing. Pulling her wet shirt tighter, she curled up on the damp cushions. In the shadows, no one would see her, and she might be cold, but at least she'd be free of wandering hands and wet lips. She shuddered, cutting off that train of thought. Had she really wanted a relationship with Matt so badly?
Her mother's psychiatrist husband would probably call it a life lesson. And how.
* * * * *
Logan opened the lodge door to go inside and paused when Thor whined behind him. Had a mouse or rat holed up under the porch? “What is it, boy?”
When the dog nosed the porch swing, Logan walked over. “Well, hell.” Rebecca lay on the cushions, curled into a ball and shivering. Before making his rounds, he'd watched her down a fair amount of wine. Was she drunk?
He touched her neck and winced. Too cold. Worry turned his mouth down. “You, woman, are a pain in the ass,” he muttered and scooped her up.
As he carried her over to the door leading upstairs, he saw at a glance why she hadn't come inside. Busy people, these swingers. He noted with appreciation the brunette's legs-up position. And the blonde's bare pussy wasn't bad either.
After he punched in the code on the keypad, he climbed the stairs to his quarters and opened the door without dropping the city girl. He deserved a prize, but the half-conscious woman wasn't going to be handing them out. Not tonight.
He flipped on a light, made his way past his living room, his small kitchen, and into the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed, he grinned. Looked like he got to strip her after all.
Her shirt pulled over her head easily enough. With reluctance, he left her lacy blue bra on. Nice underwear, but he ached to fill his hands with her full breasts. He didn't. How about that? Chivalry wasn't completely dead.
Getting off her wet shirt revived her enough that she batted at his hands when he pulled her jeans off, but the alcohol and cold had left her only half-conscious. Not good. Her soggy jeans landed with a splat on the hardwood floor. Logan groaned as the dim light from the living room turned her pale thighs into an erotic dream against his dark red quilt. Dammit, he'd really like to wrap those legs around his waist and… Don't go there . He ran his fingers over the shadowy ridges of old scars on her calf, then pulled the quilt out from under her and tucked her in.
He eyed her. Hot drink first.
She roused to take some hot chocolate, although she wasn't especially polite. City girl had a mouth on her when riled. Setting the cup on the nightstand, Logan stripped and joined her. Rolling her onto her side, he pulled her back against his chest and molded her frozen little body against his. Skin to skin warmed a person quickly. God, she was soft.
She gave a low, husky sigh.
Christ help him, he bet she'd sound like that when a man entered her. Her soft ass nestled against his groin and against a cock so hard, even her chilled skin couldn't cool him off. Unable to resist, he pressed his lips against the curve of her shoulder. She smelled of only soap and woman. Considering her classy city clothing, he'd expected a fancy perfume.
And what was Miss Modesty doing with this troupe of swingers? The little rebel just didn't add up, and he wanted a few answers. Later. For now, he buried his face in her silky hair and cupped his hand over her breast. A man was
She sure couldn't sleep in there. Maybe the kitchen? No. The moron who built the oversize doorways for the dining room and kitchen had somehow neglected to include actual doors. With her luck, some male idiot looking for wine would trip over her instead. No way.
Staring down the trails, she saw people coming and going from the cabins in a raunchy version of musical chairs. Musical cabins? But she was the loser, the one left without a chair. Or bed. Fine. Who needs a bed anyway?
Scowling, she walked over to the porch swing. Pulling her wet shirt tighter, she curled up on the damp cushions. In the shadows, no one would see her, and she might be cold, but at least she'd be free of wandering hands and wet lips. She shuddered, cutting off that train of thought. Had she really wanted a relationship with Matt so badly?
Her mother's psychiatrist husband would probably call it a life lesson. And how.
* * * * *
Logan opened the lodge door to go inside and paused when Thor whined behind him. Had a mouse or rat holed up under the porch? “What is it, boy?”
When the dog nosed the porch swing, Logan walked over. “Well, hell.” Rebecca lay on the cushions, curled into a ball and shivering. Before making his rounds, he'd watched her down a fair amount of wine. Was she drunk?
He touched her neck and winced. Too cold. Worry turned his mouth down. “You, woman, are a pain in the ass,” he muttered and scooped her up.
As he carried her over to the door leading upstairs, he saw at a glance why she hadn't come inside. Busy people, these swingers. He noted with appreciation the brunette's legs-up position. And the blonde's bare pussy wasn't bad either.
After he punched in the code on the keypad, he climbed the stairs to his quarters and opened the door without dropping the city girl. He deserved a prize, but the half-conscious woman wasn't going to be handing them out. Not tonight.
He flipped on a light, made his way past his living room, his small kitchen, and into the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed, he grinned. Looked like he got to strip her after all.
Her shirt pulled over her head easily enough. With reluctance, he left her lacy blue bra on. Nice underwear, but he ached to fill his hands with her full breasts. He didn't. How about that? Chivalry wasn't completely dead.
Getting off her wet shirt revived her enough that she batted at his hands when he pulled her jeans off, but the alcohol and cold had left her only half-conscious. Not good. Her soggy jeans landed with a splat on the hardwood floor. Logan groaned as the dim light from the living room turned her pale thighs into an erotic dream against his dark red quilt. Dammit, he'd really like to wrap those legs around his waist and… Don't go there . He ran his fingers over the shadowy ridges of old scars on her calf, then pulled the quilt out from under her and tucked her in.
He eyed her. Hot drink first.
She roused to take some hot chocolate, although she wasn't especially polite. City girl had a mouth on her when riled. Setting the cup on the nightstand, Logan stripped and joined her. Rolling her onto her side, he pulled her back against his chest and molded her frozen little body against his. Skin to skin warmed a person quickly. God, she was soft.
She gave a low, husky sigh.
Christ help him, he bet she'd sound like that when a man entered her. Her soft ass nestled against his groin and against a cock so hard, even her chilled skin couldn't cool him off. Unable to resist, he pressed his lips against the curve of her shoulder. She smelled of only soap and woman. Considering her classy city clothing, he'd expected a fancy perfume.
And what was Miss Modesty doing with this troupe of swingers? The little rebel just didn't add up, and he wanted a few answers. Later. For now, he buried his face in her silky hair and cupped his hand over her breast. A man was
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