“Good girl,” he says with a smile. “I knew I liked her.”

“Her father is going to be a problem.”

“Win him over, dumbass,” he says. “You’re smart. You want to succeed. You’re talented as hell. And you love his daughter. He’ll get over the tats and you not being able to hear.” He motions absently toward his ears. I’ve been deaf so long that my family doesn’t see it as a handicap. Neither do I.

I push to my feet. “I’m going to bed.” Paul arches his brow at me. “None of your f**king business,” I grouse. But I rub his head as I walk by, and he shoves my hip to get me away from him. “Love you, dumbass,” I say.

“Love you better,” he replies. It makes me smile.

I still have a grin on my lips when I open my bedroom door a crack and stick my head in. I am prepared to retreat if a shoe or a lamp flies in my direction. But the only thing I see is Emily sitting on my bed with her guitar across her lap. Her fingers absently strum the strings, and she twists the tabs at the top of the guitar. I have no idea what they’re called or what she’s doing, but she is obviously absorbed in her task.

She looks up when I step up to the edge of the bed, and a smile hovers over her lips. “I missed my guitar,” she says.

She left her guitar with me when she went back home three months ago. “It missed you too,” I say.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and take her in. Her hair is shoved back behind her ears, and her legs are splayed open. I can see the strip of her pink panties between her legs, and I lick my lips. I lean forward and pull her toward me, my hand cupping the back of her neck. I kiss her quickly. “Sorry about Paul,” I say.

She shrugs. “He cares about you. I think it’s kind of sweet.” Her face puckers. “Intrusive,” she says. “But still sweet.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow that you called him sweet. He was worried you’d be angry at him.” There was a time before she left when she walked up behind him just as he told me I should f**k her and get it over with. And now this mistake.

I take off my jeans, lie down on the bed on my side facing her, and prop my head on my upturned hand, my elbow pointed toward the wall. “What were you playing?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” she says with a smile. “I can take requests.”

I shake my head. This is one area where I can’t bond with her. “I don’t know anything at all about music,” I say. “Sorry.” I know it’s important to her. Kind of like a mainstay in her life.

“You can’t hear this at all?” she asks. Her fingers strum across the strings again. “That?”

I shake my head. I wish I could hear it, but I can’t.

“Can you hear any music?” She’s curious. I like that.

I nod. “I can hear the rock bands at the club. Or rather, I can feel the beat and the rhythm of the song when rock and roll is playing.”

“Can you dance?”

I roll my eyes. “Can I dance? You have to be kidding me.” I motion to my body. “I have rhythm.”

Her face colors. That’s not quite the rhythm I meant, but I’ll take it. “Someone is thinking naughty thoughts,” I tease.

I reach for her toe, but she jerks it back before I can tug on it. “I’m sorry I can’t enjoy your music,” I confess. “There’s nothing I would like more than to hear you play. I want to experience everything that makes you happy.” I shake my head. I don’t usually feel left out of anything, but I do now.

She sets her guitar on the floor. “Thanks for hanging onto my guitar for me,” she says, leaning toward me. She gets up on her hands and knees and crawls over.

“Why did you leave it?” I ask as she rolls herself into my arms.

“I knew I’d be back. I just didn’t know when,” she says. “I wanted to be sure you knew, too.”

“I knew. The minute you made your big announcement on TV, I knew.” When she went back home, there was a press conference and everything. She announced that she would be coming back to New York. Back to me.

I slide my hand under her shirt to rest on her waist, and I draw little circles above her panties. I lift her arm and kiss my way up her tattoo that has my name in it. “The tattoo helped.”

“You can thank Paul for that,” she says, giggling as I tickle her lightly across her stomach. I slide my hand into the edge of her panties, and she stills in my arms. “This okay?” I ask.

She nods, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “You want to try out one of those cherry-flavored condoms?” she asks.

“I don’t particularly care if my junk smells like pie,” I say. She laughs.

I hook my fingers in the sides of her panties and pull them down her legs slowly. Her exhale brushes against my forehead as she lets out a deep breath. She kicks her feet when I get to her ankles, and her panties go flying.

I inch her shirt up her belly, placing quick kisses to all the skin I uncover. Her belly quivers when I lick the underside of her breast. With a quick jerk, she reaches down and pulls the shirt over her head. She’s na**d. Completely, delightfully, wonderfully na**d.

“Damn, that’s pretty,” I say. She giggles, and her stomach ripples.

Her ni**les are rosy and tight and reaching for my mouth, so I don’t hesitate to lick across one of the turgid peaks. I spread her legs and settle between her thighs. She taps me on the shoulder, and I look up at her, not breaking the seal my mouth has on her nipple. Her lips fall open, and I imagine a sound comes out but I have no idea what it is. I raise my brows in silent question, wondering why she tapped me.

Emily grabs my shirt at the back and pulls it over my head. I lift my face from her breast long enough to help her. She likes my body art, and her hands tickle across my shoulders as she explores my tattoos with her fingertips.

Her hands trail down my chest, and she rolls the bars that pierce through my nipples. I bury my head in her shoulder and breathe against her skin. I just had her last night, but I need her again. And again and again. I suspect that I will never tire of her.

Her hands slide down my sides, and she shoves my boxers down over my hips. Her greedy little palm wraps around my dick, and I’m immediately fighting the urge to come. I pull my h*ps back in warning. She lets me go but not without a pout. I pull that lower lips of hers into my mouth and slide my tongue across it, nipping her gently. Her breaths are broken, and her legs open even wider so I can press my dick against her wetness. She rocks her hips.

“Not yet,” I chide.

She groans, the rumble of it moving from her chest and into mine. I slide my fingers into her wetness, parting her lower lips so that I can pull forward some of the slickness that is her desire for me. I circle her clit, and she arches against my hand. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and she pulls it until I look at her. “Now,” she pleads.

I’ve been with a lot of women, but I’ve never been with one who works so hard to communicate with me. She knows I can’t hear her cries or moans or even startled gasps, but I never feel disconnected from her.

“Do you want me to use a condom?” I ask, lifting my lips from hers long enough to watch her face.

She shakes her head.

“You sure?”

Her eyes meet mine. “If you need one, I’m fine with that. But don’t do it for me.”

I grin. Thank God. I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t care to have anything between us.

Emily shoves my shoulder, rolls me onto my back, and climbs up to straddle me, her legs spread on top of me. She rocks her hips, sliding back and forth along the ridge of my dick. Her desire sucks at me, and I can’t wait any longer. I reach down and lift my dick so I can slide inside her. She sinks on me, slowly taking me inside. She’s so f**king tight that I can barely breathe, much less move. But she’s so, so, so very wet, and after she rises and falls on me twice, my way is clear. I take her h*ps in my hands and speed her up a little, but she shakes her finger in my face and scolds me. I reach above me and hook my hands beneath my head. It’s the only f**king way I can keep from taking over. I need her so bad. I look up at her, arching my h*ps to meet her every fall and retreat.

Emily balances on my chest, her hands flat, as she rolls my piercings with her thumbs. Her lower lip draws between her teeth, and she bites down. Her brown eyes meet mine, and she mouths the words I love you.

Her movements begin to break and falter, and her pace becomes less rhythmic. She tosses her head back, her hair falling over her shoulders. I pull her down to me, changing her angle so that my pubic bone will rub her clit. She cries out, if the hot, wicked little breaths striking my chin are any indication. She’s so f**king wet, and that velvet glove that is her pulls at me. I’m going to come before she does.

I reach down and strum my thumb across her clit, and she leans back ever so slightly to give me access. She smiles, and she speeds up. I watch her face as her eyes close. Her legs begin to shake, but she doesn’t stop. She rides me, her br**sts bouncing, their perfect roundness calling to me. I tug her nipple with my free hand, elongating it with rough pulls.

Emily leans forward, balancing her weight on the palms of her hands, and then she begins to quake. She comes, trembling on top of me. I don’t stop strumming her clit. I work it, watching her face as she rides out the storm. It’s not until she pulls my hand away from her, shaking her head in admonition. She’s sensitive since she just came. She makes me move my hand back, but she doesn’t stop moving above me. I take her h*ps in my hands and speed her movements, pushing hard into her every time she falls. With a quick tug, I pull her against my chest and spin her over, my arm behind her back. Now she’s below me, and I’m in charge.

I push in and out, and she pulls my head down, her hands tangling in my hair as she kisses me. It’s passionate and sweet and so full of want that I can’t hold off any longer. Her legs wrap around my waist, changing the angle ever so slightly, and I see the look in her eyes. She reaching for a second orgasm, and damn it, I’m going to give it to her.

I bite back my own need to come, and I push her legs toward her chest. Her bottom rises, and I can take every inch of her in this position. Her head thrashes back and forth on the pillow and, it’s not until I feel her orgasm wreck her that I let her legs fall and come inside her. I move in her, grunting as she takes me, letting me finish, letting me make us one, letting me have all that she is.

I still on top of her and start to roll to the side, but her arms wrap around me and hold me close. I rest on my elbows, so f**king spent that I can barely move. I lean more heavily onto her and brush her hair back from her face. She’s sweaty and beautiful and mine.

She complains when I move, trying to clutch me closer to her, but I just need to pull the covers back. Then I move her up to the head of the bed and slide in beside her. I cover us both and wrap my arms around her. She reaches over and turns off the lamp. I have a night-light on so that we can have pillow talk, and she doesn’t seem to mind it. She’s facing me so I can see her lips.

“Should we talk about the condom thing?” I ask.

She blinks those pretty brown eyes at me. “I’m on the pill. I think we’re okay.”

I kiss her shoulder. “And if we’re not?”

“Then we still will be.” She grins at me.

Yes, we will be.

Emily

I wake Logan by placing quick kisses across his na**d chest. He sleeps like the dead, since he can’t hear. Nothing usually wakes him, but apparently this does. The sheet tents quickly, prompted by the length of his manhood, even before his eyes blink open.

His arm wraps around my na**d back, and his blue eyes meet mine. “Morning,” he says, looking down at me. “Why are you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this early?” he asks. He props a hand beneath his head so he can look down at my face.

“I can assure you there’s nothing bushy about my tail.” I took care of that with a day at the spa before I came back to New York. I laugh when he chuckles and growls, rolling me beneath him. He tosses the covers over his head and inches down my body.

“What are you doing?” I ask. I quickly realize he can’t hear me, and I tap his shoulder. He tosses the covers back and looks up. “What are you doing?” I ask again.

“I didn’t get to see enough of your non-bushy tail last night.” He grins and opens me up with his fingertips, looking down at the most private part of me while he licks his lips. “Not bushy at all,” he says. “Kind of wet, though.” He slides a finger inside me. “Really, really wet.” Another finger joins the first, and he scissors them apart.

His lips rest right above where the triangle of private hair would be if I hadn’t just had a wax, and he kisses me softly. I squirm because what he’s doing feels really good, but I’m also mortified by the intimacy of his actions. He acts like my body has been his since the beginning of time. Like there’s no thought of indecency or embarrassment between us. I like it. I like it a lot. I can imagine him having this same intimacy and more with my body when we’re both old and gray. When we’re helping one another shower rather than ha**g s*x in the shower. When we’re bedridden instead of lying in bed making one another sweat. I can already imagine it. And I love it.

Yes, it frightens me sometimes. What sane woman wouldn’t be scared to death of a man who can make her feel the way Logan makes me feel? No one.

I love this man. I love every part of him. And he apparently loves every part of me if his questing fingers and his foolish grin are any indication.

I tap his shoulder. “You’re going to have to let me up.”