I know what he means. The attraction seems a thousand times stronger. It’s hot and fierce and I can feel it pulsing deep in my sex. My gaze is glued to his mouth, to the sensual curve of his lower lip. I miss kissing him. I miss the greedy thrust of his tongue, and the way he groaned when it swirled against mine.

Distance. I need to back away, steel myself against his palpable sex appeal and—my butt bumps the wall. Crap. Nowhere to go. No way to run from the awareness incinerating all the oxygen around us.

“Kiss me.” His raspy command is barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

His head bends, his mouth inches from mine. I’m mesmerized by it. By the beard growth shadowing his jaw and the way his tongue darts out to moisten his top lip. One kiss wouldn’t be the end of the world, right? I can just get it out of my system. Get him out of my system.

He lifts his hand to my face, and rough fingertips skim my cheek. I shiver.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs again, and my control snaps.

I grab the back of his head and bring his mouth to mine, kissing him as if possessed. When he groans against my lips, I feel the strangled sound in my clit. Oh God. I can’t breathe. Can’t concentrate on anything but his hungry tongue in my mouth and the rapid beating of my heart.

He reaches down and cups my ass, pressing my lower body to his and rotating his hips. “I’ve been fantasizing about this all summer.” His agonized whisper heats my neck before his mouth latches on, sucking hard enough to make me moan.

I cling to his broad shoulders. Helpless to stop this. He kisses a path back to my lips, teases the seam with his tongue before plunging inside again. His hips keep rocking. So do mine. I’m aching for him and he knows it. He growls softly, then slips one hand under my skirt, his fingers tickling my thigh, gliding higher, moving closer to the spot that’s begging for his touch. Millimeters. That’s how close he is. I want to scream for him to touch me already, but he’s taking his time. Rubbing my inner thigh with his thumb. Slowly. Too damn slow.

He breaks the kiss and stares into my eyes, while his hand eases closer to the crotch of my panties. His fingers tremble. His breathing grows labored.

And then he yanks his hand away, his expression so tortured you’d think he’d been water-boarded for three days straight.

“No, goddamn it,” he croaks. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”

“W-what?” I’m stuttering, still dazed from those mind-melting kisses.

“I just wanted a kiss. Not a hook-up.” He draws a deep breath. “I meant what I said the other day. I want to take you on a date.”

“Logan…” I trail off warily.

Footsteps echo from the stairs, and Logan quickly steps back, his gaze shifting to the landing.

When Morris rounds the corner, my heart jumps to my throat.

Oh shit.

Morris. I totally forgot about Morris.

“There you are,” he says, his smile uneasy. “I was worried you might’ve gotten lost on your way to the bathroom.”

I inhale deeply, willing my heart rate to stabilize. Praying that my expression doesn’t look too guilty. Or worse, aroused.

“No, I found it,” I answer. “I ran into…a friend on my way out.”

Logan’s nostrils flare.

“This is Logan,” I add, then gesture to him as if Morris couldn’t figure it out for himself.

My date nods at the guy I was just making out with. “Nice to meet you.” He glances at me. “Ready to rejoin the party?”

No.

Yes.

I don’t even know anymore.

What I do know is that I came to this party with Morris, who happens to be a terrific person, and I’m not about to ditch him for another guy, no matter how tempted I may be.

“Sure.” I make only the briefest amount of eye contact with Logan as I murmur, “I’ll see you around.” Then I follow Morris downstairs and force myself not to look over my shoulder.

But I can feel Logan’s eyes on me the entire time.

22

Logan

It’s a damn shame that duels don’t play a role in the modern world anymore. Because right now, I’d totally be down for slapping a leather glove on Morris Ruffolo’s cheek and challenging him to one.

What the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Morris Ruffolo. I’m highly suspicious of people who have last names for first names. And Ruffolo? Is he Italian? He didn’t look it.

And yes, I know the name of the guy Grace came to the party with last night. After she’d deserted me upstairs, I asked around and found out everything I needed to know. His name, his rep, and of course, his dorm. Which happens to be my current location.

I’ve just knocked on the guy’s door, but he’s taking his sweet ass time answering. I know there’s someone in there, though, because I can hear the muffled sound of a television from inside the room.

I knock a second time, and an aggravated voice calls out, “One sec!”

Good. He’s home. I’d like to get this out of the way fast so I can enjoy the rest of my Saturday.

When he opens the door and finds me standing there, a deep scowl twists his mouth. “What do you want?”

Okay then. I was wondering if Grace would tell him about the kiss, and his visible hostility answers that question.

“I came here to declare my intentions toward Grace,” I announce.

“Gee, how honorable of you.” Morris snorts. “But the truly honorable thing would have been to not make out with my date last night.”