The Summer Cottage Read Online Free PDF Page A

that.”
    You kissed me, she wanted to say, but the mischievous quirk at the corner of his mouth told her
     that was exactly what he wanted. Rather than argue about who kissed who and how passionate
     it had been, Jessica forged ahead. “You’re right, it would be pointless to claim I’m
     not attracted to you.”
    Desire flared sharply across his gorgeous face, his eyes never leaving hers.
    Before he could take more than a step toward her, Jessica held up a hand. She needed
     to preserve her distance if she had any hope of getting through this awful, humiliating
     story. “The fact that my body reacts to yours does not obligate me to act on that
     attraction.”
    Throwing himself down to sit on the log she’d vacated, Logan was the picture of irritated
     frustration. “You know it’ll be good between us. Why don’t you just give in? It’s
     what we both want.”
    Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “Because what we want isn’t always good
     for us, Logan. For instance, office romance. I know—from bitter experience—exactly
     how badly an office romance can go.”
    “That sounds like an interesting story.” His eyes sparkled with curiosity. “A story
     that just might answer my question and fulfill your requirement for yesterday.” Jessica
     nodded, her mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry.
    “Okay then. Story time with Tink.” Without further ado, Logan reclined on the log
     more fully, twisting his back like a bear scratching an itch as he found a comfortable
     position. “Lay it on me.”
    He looked oddly like the stereotype of a patient in a therapist’s office, fingers
     laced together and resting on his chest. She watched them rise and fall with the steady
     cadence of his breath, the expansion of his rib cage drawing her eyes to the lean,
     mouthwatering V of his torso, and bit back a smile.
    Nervous as she was at what she was about to reveal, she couldn’t help being amused
     at the typical Harrington male way Logan took up every available inch of space. Even
     in the great outdoors, with the vastness of the ocean rolling out into the distant
     horizon, Logan Harrington was larger than life.
    But he wasn’t the only man she’d ever known who sucked all the oxygen out of a room,
     simply by entering it.
    Any urge to smile faded, and Jessica was abruptly glad Logan had taken over the seat.
     She needed to move around while she told this story, rather than feel stuck in one
     place. Trapped.
    “Once upon a time,” she began, pacing beside the length of the fallen tree, down to
     the torn-up roots and back again, “there was a very young, very naïve Midwestern girl
     whose first job out of college was personal assistant to the CEO of a hotel chain
     in New York City.”
    Jessica sneaked a glance at Logan’s face as she passed where he’d propped his head
     on a knot in the tree bark, but his eyes were closed. The fact that he wasn’t looking
     at her made it easier for Jessica to go on. “When the young girl met her new boss,
     she knew she’d gotten lucky. He was kind, considerate and handsome. He spent time
     with her one-on-one, every day, mentoring her. At least, that’s what she thought at
     first.”
    But she was getting ahead of herself. Forcing her breath to slow and her hands to
     stop twisting the fabric at the hem of her sweatshirt, Jessica hesitated.
    Without opening his eyes, Logan murmured, “What was the boss’s name?”
    Heart pounding, Jessica felt a sick wash of shame as she spoke the name she hadn’t
     uttered in five years. “Russ. Russell Owens.”
    Saying it out loud broke the numbing, distancing magic of treating this story like
     a fairy tale. Not that it was headed for a fairy tale ending. Stop being a child about this, she lectured herself silently. Just get it over with.
    “I worked for Russ for three years, but it only took him three months to talk me into
     bed. He was good at talking me into things. He hated my apartment—a tiny studio walk-up