Run the Risk. Lori Foster

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      “I’m private.” Although, the way she’d just looked at him, sort of eye-raping him—oh, God—it was no wonder he didn’t understand that.

      Every single time he got within her view, she visually molested him. His fault in part, because he always had so much skin on display; she wasn’t used to anyone like him, anyone who looked as good as he did.

      A touch to her chin brought up her face and nearly stopped her heart. “Saying hi to a neighbor somehow intrudes on your privacy?”

      No, no, no. He couldn’t touch her. She couldn’t let him touch her. Time to escape.

      Ducking around him, Pepper swung the door open, stepped in fast ahead of him, then turned to block his way. “I barely know you.”

      “I’m trying to remedy that, right?” He looked into her apartment with curiosity and surprise. One brow lifted at the mess she knew he saw.

      So she wasn’t übertidy. So she was actually a slob. Maybe that would repel him.

      “I keep to myself.” She awkwardly snatched back her groceries and straightened her spine. “Others should do the same.”

      “Yeah, maybe I could.” Giving up his scrutiny of her cluttered living space, he leaned in her door frame—all six-feet-plus of him. His broad shoulders kept her from closing the door.

      Patient, silent, he waited for her to meet his gaze.

      Girding herself, Pepper looked up—and felt caressed by his suggestive, intimate attention. She cleared her throat and prompted him with, “You could…what?”

      “Maybe stop chasing your skirt.” His voice dropped. “If you weren’t so damn cute.”

      Shock took her back a step.

      Cute? He must be deranged, because no way was he desperate. Why would he say such an absurd thing?

      His expression softened. “You don’t think you’re cute?”

      The laugh strangled in her throat, and her automatic “No” sounded like a croak.

      Cute? Hardly. She kept her dull blond hair pulled back in a low, unflattering ponytail at the nape of her neck, showcasing a face devoid of even the most subtle makeup. She wore clothes any respectable grandmother would disdain, with shoes so ugly they made her sad when she stepped into them.

      She slumped when she walked, mumbled when she talked. Or at least, she remembered to mumble when a certain neighbor didn’t push her past the breaking point.

      “Well, I think you are,” he said, still watching her, his tone almost…pitying.

      How dare he feel sorry for her?

      Pride rose to the forefront, returning her backbone. “Is that a joke, Mr. Stark?”

      Shifting his stance, he leaned in and—while she held her breath—said with distinct insistence, “Call me Logan.”

      Oh, good Lord. He was close enough that she felt his warm, moist breath and could see the thick, dark lashes on his eyes.

      Bedroom eyes.

      Her temperature spiked. “Oh, umm…”

      Those sexy lips lifted into a satisfied grin. “And I’ll call you…?”

      When Pepper only stared at him, a little dazed, his grin twitched. And man, oh, man, she wanted to kiss that mouth of his.

      Kiss it and…other things.

      Catching herself, Pepper shook her head and tried to ease the door shut. “Goodbye, Mr. Stark.”

      His big hand flattened on the door near her shoulder. “Come on, throw me a bone here.” Without much effort, he held the door open. “How will it hurt if I have your name?”

      What to do, what to do?

      He was so pushy that her continued refusal looked absurd.

      Grudgingly, she said, “Sue.”

      Now more amused, he admitted, “I know.”

      “Beg pardon?”

      “You manage the building, so I already saw your name on my rental agreement.” He tweaked her chin again. “But I wanted to hear you say it anyway.”

      Her huff of affront did nothing to get him out of her doorway.

      “So.” He looked up and down the hallway. “You’re a woman alone, and this isn’t the best apartment building, or the best neighborhood.”

      Now he was a master of understatement? “You’re insulting my management skills?” Did he think that’d win her over?

      “You’re only responsible for notifying the owner if rent is late or repairs are needed, right?” Without letting her reply to that, he said, “Let me leave you my number. Anything comes up, or if anyone bothers you—”

      “You’re bothering me.”

      His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. “That’s why you’re flushed?”

      Oh, God. More heat rushed to her skin’s surface. “Really, Mr. Stark—”

      “Logan,” he corrected softly. “Say it for me. Just once. Then I’ll go.”

      He wanted to…seduce her?

      So it appeared. And worse, he succeeded just by presence alone. “Logan,” she agreed through stiff lips. “I need to go.” Before I do something stupid—like invite you in.

      Or kiss you.

      Or drag you down to the floor and—

      He pulled a card from his pocket. “My number. Seriously. Any problem at all—or if you just want to visit—give me a call, okay?”

      “All right.” Not on your life. “Thank you.”

      As if he knew her thoughts, he gave a warm laugh and stepped out of the doorway. “See you later, Sue.”

      Not if I see you first. “Goodbye, Logan.” She started to close the door.

      And he said, “Now that wasn’t so painful, was it?”

      She clicked the door shut in his face, then dropped against it.

      Painful? Not exactly.

      Stirring? She felt like a blender on high speed, all her emotions, all her dormant desires, churning together in a frenzy.

      It had been too long—like forever—and she was too deprived to be around a specimen like him without imagining the impossible. She needed to find a way to avoid him, but she’d have to do it without causing suspicion. And there was the rub.

      Avoiding him was suspicious.

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