Run the Risk. Lori Foster

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СКАЧАТЬ she could look so shy after last night, he didn’t know. The woman had used him up, and they’d both loved every second of it.

      She licked her lips—which now, to his curious libido, appeared soft and lush—and nodded at him. “Hi.” Clutching a big purse to her chest, she turned toward the stairway to the apartment building entrance. “I was just on my way out.”

      “Hold up.” Logan fell into step beside her. Bright sunshine poured through the glass entry doors, gilding her long, dark eyelashes, highlighting her lack of makeup. He hadn’t noticed it before, but she had amazing skin.

      And when the hell had he ever noticed a woman’s skin, unless it was on an interesting place on her body? “Where are you off to?”

      “Shopping.”

      “I could give you a lift.”

      “No. Thank you.” She trotted down the steps. “That’s okay.”

      “What’s the rush?” He tried a laugh that, even to him, sounded fake as hell. But damn it, she was running from him. Still.

      First the hurried sex in the dark with her clothes on. Then the abrupt goodbye. And now she didn’t want to take a single second to talk with him.

      “Sorry,” she said again. “I have a lot to get done today.”

      “I could help,” he offered, but she was already shaking her head. “Why?” he demanded. “What’s different today?”

      But he knew. Intimacy, mixed with sunshine. She wanted to keep her damned secrets.

      He wouldn’t let her.

      Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Nothing has changed. Why would you think it has?”

      Now, that pissed him off. He leaned toward her. “I was inside you last night.”

      As her face went hot, she dropped her gaze to his shoulders, then lower to his crotch. “Yes,” she breathed, and she touched his chest. “You were deep inside me.”

      God, the way she looked at him made him feel it all over again. His cock twitched, his heart started popping against his ribs. He covered her hand with his own. “You liked it.”

      “I did.” She looked into his eyes and pulled her hand away. “But that doesn’t change anything. I still can’t…” She gestured from him to herself and back again. “Can’t. But if you want, we can still do dinner tonight.”

      Only dinner? Like hell. He’d squelch that idea at the first opportunity. “My place or yours?” he said as a challenge, then wanted to smack himself when she jumped on the offer.

      “Yours.”

      Figuring her out could take a lifetime. But he’d already spent considerable time getting to this point. He wouldn’t waste a minute more. “Okay, sure.”

      Maybe after he had her brother, he’d be able to nail Andrews and ultimately get justice for his best friend’s murder.

      And then he could work on unraveling the mystery of Pepper Yates.

      He looked her over in the faded jumper that she wore over a blouse with elbow-length sleeves. “What do you feel like?” God Almighty, she had horrid taste in clothes. “Besides me, I mean.”

      Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, making them look darker and somehow more mysterious. “Besides you—I don’t care.”

      Damn. So sex was still on the table with no effort on his part at all?

      He’d never known a woman to be all timid one minute, then so verbally ballsy the next.

      The contradictions left him singed.

      “I’ll be over at seven.” Tentatively, she reached out and touched his chest again in a vague, barely-there goodbye gesture. “See you then.”

      Logan rubbed the spot where she’d just stroked him.

      What was it about her? She may as well have stroked his junk for the way it affected him.

      She hadn’t asked about his hand, or why he wasn’t at work, but then, he’d already told her he didn’t work every day. And really, with her attention on his body, who cared if she noticed a stupid injury or not?

      He didn’t.

      Before she got too far down the walkway, Logan stuck his head out the doors. “I’m cooking barbecue.”

      Her head down, her shoulders forward, she gave a negligent wave of her hand and kept going in a brisk walk.

      Almost like the hounds of hell dogged her heels.

      Logan watched her until she was out of sight. Damn it. He hadn’t even realized he was staring after her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

      He had to get it together.

      Preferably by getting her under him. Without clothes. Lights on. And with enough time for him to explore every inch of her.

      Once he had her, all of her, then he’d be better able to focus.

      But for now…what to do?

      He looked up the steps, considered breaking into her apartment to snoop around, but if Rowdy had any booby traps set, he could end up blowing his cover.

      Best not to push it.

      Tromping back up to his own apartment, he got his shoes and a shirt, and headed out to the grocery. His culinary skills were limited. He knew only how to cook what he liked best, which meant meat and potatoes. He’d pick up the barbecue, and maybe grab a cake or something from the bakery.

      He made a point of driving around the block so that Pepper wouldn’t think he followed her. They could still run into each other, but it wouldn’t be on purpose—not on his part, anyway. Along the way he thought about Morton Andrews. So far, Andrews had gotten away with a lot, including murder. So many times, in so many ways, the trail led to him.

      Unfortunately, Andrews had connections everywhere, which meant he always had an alias.

      Logan needed Rowdy Yates’s eyewitness account to nail the bastard for good. The facts bolstered his belief that he’d eventually be successful.

      Yates had worked at Andrews’s club, Checkers, a few years ago. For all Logan knew, Yates had been legitimate muscle for the club, but either way, he’d been in the right place at the right time to have the inside scoop.

      A reporter had claimed to have a breaking story about Jack’s murder—thanks to confidential info from Yates.

      That story had died with the reporter, but Yates was still around, and soon, Logan would be able to question him.

      He could hardly wait.

      Thoughts of Morton Andrews continued to plague him even as he parked and did his shopping. He could still see the smug prick: fifty years old, tall, trim, and as dirty СКАЧАТЬ