Run the Risk. Lori Foster

      He cuddled her, but his movements slowed, became more of a search than a caress.

      Lifting his head but staying very close, he said with a touch of confusion, “What kind of bra is that?”

      No, she didn’t want reality to intrude. Not yet. Not now. “Sports bra,” she breathed, and took his mouth again.

      A very tight, very restrictive sports bra.

      Hoping he might not think too much of it, she caught his wrist and tugged his hand away. Please let me have a little more.

      “I want to touch you,” he murmured, and his hand went back to her waist, this time slipping up under her loose shirt.

      Sexual frustration mounted, warring against desperation, against common sense. She knew she had to be strong, but then she felt his rough palm at her waist, at her ribs, and her resistance began crumbling—until a knock sounded on his door.

      She jumped, at first alarmed, and then, reluctantly…relieved for the jolt back to sanity.

      The pizza delivery boy had saved her, because she hadn’t been strong enough to save herself. She’d take the interruption as a warning—to show more care.

      Logan pressed his forehead to hers. His heartbeat rapped against her breasts, and the tension in his shoulders amplified.

      “Rotten timing.” Using both hands, he held her face, his thumbs stroking her jaw, his breath hot. “I don’t suppose you’d want to put off dinner?”

      She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d cave. Staring at his left shoulder, she shook her head.

      His sigh teased her lips. “All right then. Pizza it is.” As he sat up, he pulled her up, too.

      She closed her eyes with stark regret, and when she opened them again, she encountered his intense scrutiny.

      His smile went crooked as he tweaked a long hank of her hair. “You are so sweet.” And with that, he left the couch.

      Sweet? What was that about? Pepper checked her hair and felt the way her ponytail had come undone. Worse, her top was all displaced, her skirt hiked up on one side all the way to her knee, and she’d lost one slip-on canvas shoe.

      While Logan answered the door, she decided to make a hasty exit to right herself. “Excuse me.” She snatched up her shoe and rushed down the short hall into his bathroom. She closed and locked the door.

      Get a grip, she ordered herself. But it was oh-so-difficult after those scorching kisses and exciting touches.

      A few deep breaths helped a little. She stepped into her shoe, tugged her shirt into place, and moved away from the door. One glance in the mirror over the sink and she winced. Her hair was more out of the ponytail than in it. Hastily, she pulled the band free and finger-combed her long hair back, then resecured it.

      She straightened her clothes again, but could do nothing about her aroused flush. Blast her fair skin.

      A tap sounded at the door. “Everything okay, Sue?”

      “Yes.” Other than unfulfilled lust, she was just peachy. Head down, Pepper opened the door and walked around him, up the hallway and into the kitchen.

      He’d already put slices of pizza on plates, set out napkins, and moved their drinks to the table. Surprising her, he pulled out her chair.

      Why, oh, why couldn’t he be wearing a shirt instead of flaunting that awesome body? As to that, why couldn’t he be out of shape instead of so ripped? Or unattractive instead of so appealing? Or—

      “It’s just pizza, Sue.” He tipped his head. “I won’t pounce on you while you’re eating, I promise.”

      She didn’t want to get that close to him again, but she didn’t want to look overly foolish, either. “Thank you.” She brushed past him and sat.

      After trailing the backs of his fingers over her cheek, he took his own seat. “Dig in.”

      “Thank you,” she said again.

      He thoughtfully watched her as he ate. “You know, I just had my tongue in your mouth, so you don’t have to be so formal.”

      Pepper gasped—and choked on her pizza. What was he thinking, saying something like that over dinner? Did he have no sense of propriety at all?

      After a bout of wheezing, she caught her breath, looked at him, saw he was still eating while studying her reaction, and decided that no, he did not have any sense of decorum.

      “It bothers you?” he asked. “Kissing me, I mean? Is that why you’re over there strangling yourself?”

      “No—”

      “Sure looked bothered to me.”

      “I didn’t expect to discuss it over dinner!”

      He ignored that. “I’m wondering,” he said, “if I mentioned how bad I want to get you naked, would you keel right over?”

      Throwing the slice of pizza at him seemed like a good idea. Instead she put it back on her plate. Should she leave? Show disdain? Embarrassment?

      She decided on a dose of honesty instead. “You’ll never see me naked.”

      “No?” As if only mildly curious, he asked, “Why not?”

      “Because I won’t allow it.”

      His eyes narrowed—and his gaze went to her chest. “Too shy, huh?”

      She sat back in her seat. “You don’t talk like a man who ever hopes to be successful. You’re so mocking, it’s almost an insult.”

      “Don’t mean to be.” He put another gigantic slice of pizza onto his plate. “Truth is, Sue, you confound me.”

      “Confound you?”

      She had to wait while he devoured half the pizza. After he wiped his mouth with a napkin, he crossed his arms over the table. “You’re as interested as I am. I wasn’t the only one on the couch who wanted more.”

      Since he waited, she said, “No.” She’d probably been far needier than he was. For certain, she’d been celibate longer.

      “So why are you so skittish? Why the mixed messages?”

      Shoot. She had been pretty inconsistent. But how could she possibly explain the past that held her back, the fears that dictated she show discretion in all things?

      He saved her by reaching for her hand. “You can tell me, you know.”

      No, she most definitely could not. She eyed him warily. “Tell you what?”

      “If someone hurt you. If you’re just inexperienced. If you’re modest or afraid or…whatever the problem might be.”

      All that? What exactly did he think? That she’d lived in a convent? That she’d been a victim of abuse? For certain she couldn’t tell him any part of the truth. Even with the passing of time, even with Morton Andrews’s club, Checkers, being in another county—distant enough that they wouldn’t run into him, close enough that Rowdy could keep tabs on him—the truth would be risky.

      But she had to say something, so she looked at his big hand holding hers. “I am shy. And I am modest.” A really good liar, too.

      “But you want me.”

      Did she ever. Whether she should or not, whether it was wise or not.

      “Sue? Whatever you tell me, it’s okay. I’m not going to start rushing you.”

      Baloney. That’s all he’d done so far. She met his gaze. “Yes.”

      It took several heartbeats before he repeated, “Yes…what?”

      “I want you.” Let him deal with that. “Your interest has been flattering,” she added, trying