I prepared for the closeness as he slid his hand under my damp, quivering legs and behind my back.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his rough voice barely above a whisper.

A shiver shot through me and I nodded, thankful for the candlelight that hid my terror as the pressure of his embrace seared into my skin. It felt so…right.

My teeth caught the inside of my bottom lip, determined to hide any revealing emotions. I interlocked my hands around his neck, his clean, familiar scent so close my head dropped of its own volition into the nook of his neck.

I’d never been more aware of my own body as I felt his brush against mine with every step he took as he clutched me in his arms. His scorching hands imprinted into my flesh as he carried me to my bedroom without a word and sat me on the corner of my bed.

The towel was clutched tightly in my grip against my chest as I turned away from him, desperate to hide both my nudity and the wound on my thigh. It hung open in the back, since it was draped over the front of me and my hands weren’t flexible enough to keep it closed in the back. I rushed to bring the covers up in time to cover my behind.

Logan was standing at the edge of the bed directly behind me, and the moment I grabbed the blanket was too late. I’d been too focused on my backside that I’d let down my guard and hadn’t noticed the towel slipping away from my thigh, revealing my worst.

I couldn’t look back up at him, feeling his intense gaze on the wound. The clear bandage I’d placed over it to protect the stitches from becoming saturated hid nothing.

My head dropped. I’d never felt uglier.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him hunch down and fall to his knees. I closed my eyes.

Yes, this is what you did to me.

It was wrong. He wasn’t solely to blame. It wasn’t him drinking and driving. It wasn’t he who flew through the red light and nearly destroyed me. It was he, however, who caused me to lose my head and get in that car without a seat belt. It was he who put me there with tears clouding my vision.

My thoughts were interrupted by the touch of his warm palm settling on my leg beside the bandage—inspecting it, from what I caught from my sidelong glance at him. My stomach flipped, heart pounding feverishly as the nerve endings in my leg jittered and buzzed to life. My eyelids snapped shut as Logan mimicked the skillful ease of a gifted surgeon to pull the bandage away slowly. To my disbelief, I didn’t even wince; his touch was so gentle and slow.

My eyes opened gradually and cast down, unable to look at him as he placed the soiled bandage aside. I felt the pads of his fingertips trailing along the tender stitches that ran halfway down my outer thigh. Doctors said a scar was imminent, but that plastic surgery could make it near invisible in the future. I told them no. Not that I could afford the option, anyway, but this was me now. This was the mark on my body that reminded me I took a chance and lost.

My eyes fluttered as the pads of his fingertips continued their slow descent to where the stitches ended.

“Hideous, I know,” I breathed finally, my body tense, embarrassment raw as his touch sent me spiraling.

Logan peered up at me, and I saw the swell of anguish in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful, strong, and what every man could ever hope for. This,” he said, his fingers continuing back up, gaze locked with mine, “proves you’ve lived life, but unfortunately trusted an unworthy man.”

My eyelids shut tightly again, willing the tears not to spill forth from the way his soft voice faded into a broken whisper. A beat of silence was followed by my stomach exploding with butterflies when I felt his lips cover the top of the stitches. My hands clutched the towel more tightly, using it to control my urge to reach out to him as I sucked in a ragged breath.

With sensual tenderness surrounding his unexpected and gentle touch, I watched with half-lidded eyes as his lips pulled back, then placed another open-mouth kiss down a bit further. He kissed me over and over until his lips were halfway down my thigh and I was left with a tear-stained face and swollen heart.

Before I could speak, Logan tilted his head to the side and stared up at me, raising his thumb and wiping away my agony. A long, content moment settled between us until he was standing up and placing the blanket over my shoulders and around my legs, wrapping me in snugly.

Speechless, I watched as he strode over to my dresser and opened the top drawer.

I shuddered. Not that drawer.

With a boyish grin that lit a twinkle in his eye and a cocked, playful eyebrow, he looked back over his shoulder. He was holding a pair of yellow-and-white polka-dot panties.

“Interesting choices you have.”

Any sexual tension between us was instantly squashed. I rolled my eyes, sniffing once, snipping away the final thread of intimacy we’d shared seconds earlier. I fought in vain to cover the smile threatening to break out.

Logan was trying to make it easier; I could see it in his posture as he turned back away for a moment, sifting through my unmentionables until he spoke to himself again.

“Perfect.”

I waited anxiously, unsure what he’d found, when he stepped closer to the door and snagged the pale pink robe from the hook beside it.

“Do you need help?” He set the robe beside, me holding my panties and a white lace bra as though he had done so a thousand times before.

I shook my head once, too grateful for him breaking the tension that had been developing between us to be angry. Not a bit of me felt embarrassed when I held out my hand. My eyes narrowed into thin slits up at him, but not in the same way they had throughout the week. Logan had somehow managed to kiss away my anger—at least for the night.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

He placed the underwear in my hands with an easy smile. “I’ll be right in the kitchen if you need me. I brought over Chinese tonight. Hope you like it.”

He didn’t already know? I wasn’t expecting the way it lightened the heaviness inside me.

“Yeah, I do.”

Chapter Five

Hard Truths

I’d never have admitted it aloud, but my resolve toward Logan was already softening. Was that all it took—a few brief but incredibly intimate touches? A pleasant calmness over dinner that evening earned him an actual conversation as we sat at the table nearly an hour after the food was cleared from our plates.

This discovery should’ve made me happy or at least content, yet I awoke the next day feeling the exact opposite. I was falling for him again, and there would be no way to stop it if he kept up the perfect man-in-love spiel. I knew what he was doing, and as much as I wanted it to work, I was terrified.

Neighbors, I could live with, but even friends just seemed too difficult. As disheartening as it was, the notion of friendship seemed impossible with my irksome old feelings blurring the lines.

The week lurched by, and Logan never missed a beat. He sent a good-morning text first thing when I awoke and stopped by with both breakfast and dinner. I listened as he told me about Oliver, and even interacted with him over the designs of Julia’s house.

However, I kept myself guarded so as not to step over the substantial line I’d drawn between us. I had to make it clear there was no chance for us. I couldn’t let myself go down that road again only for him to walk away the moment things got rough—or worse, once he grew bored. And the last thing I wanted to do was lead him on. I knew how that felt, and I wouldn’t do that to him.