And there hadn’t been . . . that between his legs. I could tell, even beneath the fabric of his briefs, that it was different . . . bigger.

Suddenly he was moving, walking toward me.

I shrank into the bed, pulling the covers to my chin, hoping, dreading . . .

My heart pounded so hard I was certain he could hear it in my ears by the time he stopped beside the bed. I hadn’t positioned myself in the center of the bed, so he stood just inches from my side and, this close, I could smell him. The faint salt of his skin and a whiff of deodorant. He leaned down over me, his face so close the brilliance of his eyes awed me.

“I can guarantee you haven’t seen me, Georgia.”

His warm voice—those words, the heavy promise implicit in them, made goose bumps pucker across my skin. I gulped. No. I hadn’t seen him. Or anything even close to him.

My eyes fixed on his mouth as he inched forward just a fraction closer and extended his arm . . . to turn off the lamp.

The soft click filled the air.

The low glow of light from above the stove saved the room from total blackness, but his features were impossible to make out. There was just the dark outline of him and his voice. That deep, seductive rumble that created friction across my skin.

My fingers clutched the edge of the sheet, my grip bloodless and aching.

“Good night, Georgia.”

The words puffed across my lips and then he was gone, moving back to the couch.

Bastard.

He got me worked up and then left me aching. I had no doubt he knew it, too. My only consolation was the sight of his raging hard-on. He was aching, too.

I listened in the near-dark to his movements as he settled down on the futon.

He really wasn’t going to make a move on me. I felt my features scowl in the dark, angry at the sharp lance of disappointment shooting through me. I should be feeling relief.

I tossed and turned before settling on my side. Tucking my hand beneath my cheek, I glared into the dark, convinced I would never fall asleep. Closing my eyes, I released a deep breath and focused on forgetting his presence only feet away, convinced that was impossible. No way would I fall asleep with Logan Mulvaney in the same room with me.

When I next opened my eyes, it was morning.

Early-morning sunlight poured into the room. Frowning, I stared at the wide, curtain-free window and the tiny motes of sunlight and dust particles dancing on the air. I searched my mind, trying to remember where I was precisely.

It all returned to me then, hitting me in a rush. I was in Reece’s old apartment. I was spending the summer above Mulvaney’s bar.

I held still for a moment, and then remembered all the rest. The most important thing of all—a half-naked Logan Mulvaney was asleep across the room from me.

I sat up with a bolt.

The futon was empty, the throw folded neatly across the back like he had never been here.

I dropped back on the bed, my fingers playing about my lips.

I think you want me to do dirty things to you . . .

Turning my head on the pillow, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was eight A.M. I had to meet Dr. Chase and the other research assistants at eleven. If I got up now, I could manage to fit in a run.

With a groan, I dragged myself out of the bed. A run was just what I needed. Endorphins pumping through my system that made me feel better, stronger. That helped get rid of all residual sexual frustration.

Chapter 8

IT WAS CLEAR FROM the start that I would be the grunt.

After Dr. Chase met with us and outlined our duties for the next couple weeks, we left his office and walked to the library. It didn’t take ten minutes for the two grad students to assign me the task of accumulating the necessary statistics for Chase’s project on Strategies of Entrepreneurship. A task that amounted to hours on the computer. Snore.

Gillian would write up my findings and actually get the pleasure of interviewing local businesses and conducting phone interviews with entrepreneurs on a national scale. Connor would be combining our data and using it to research social media commercialization tactics.

“So we’re all set for now?” Gillain looked first at Connor, then at me, pushing her bright blue glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Connor clapped his hands together. “All set.”

I nodded, not really suspecting they were interested in my input. That was the impression I had gotten so far. I was the undergrad here.

“Great.” Gillian started gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag. “I’m meeting Caroline for coffee.” She looked me squarely in the face as she uttered this. “She’s another grad student who applied to work with Dr. Chase this summer. Somehow she didn’t get picked.” She grinned a small, tight smile then.

My return smile felt brittle.

Looking very satisfied, she rose from her chair and marched away.

“Don’t mind her,” Connor said as I stared at her retreating back.

I looked at him with a shrug. “At least I know where she stands.”

He snorted. “If Caroline had been picked, then she would have been bitchy, too, trying to outdo her. You actually made her day. Right now she gets to go meet with Caroline and act all sympathetic while inside she’s just patting herself on the back that she’s better than Caroline.”

“Wow,” I murmured. “It’s going to be great working with her this summer.”

“Hey.” He spread his hands in front of him. “You have me. I’m a nice guy.”

I smiled slightly and started packing my things. “Well, I guess I better start on those stats.”

He started gathering his things, too, stuffing his laptop into his bag. He fell in beside me as we walked out of the library. “So how did you get this job anyway?”

I slid him a look. He was tall and lanky. His chestnut hair fell low across his forehead, brushing his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re an undergrad.” He tossed his hair back in a move I’d witnessed him do constantly in the last hour. It only ever fell back on his forehead. “Dr. Chase must be pretty impressed with you.”

“Dr. Chase liked my final paper—”

“That’s it? I mean you didn’t hypnotize him?” He waved a hand in a small circle, wiggling his fingers.

“You get you’re being insulting, right?” I stopped and looked at him, trying to hide a smile.

“Hey, no offense!”