Linger by Lauren Jameson Page A

their time in the club, wondering if she’d made the right decision by leaving without making plans for more than what they’d already shared. She’d wondered if she would ever see him again.
    She wasn’t upset about this turn of events, even though it complicated things greatly.
    Logan looked mouthwatering, his jeans faded, ripped, and tight in all the right places. A slim-fitting black T-shirtstretched over the chest that she’d had her hands all over, and the boots she’d taken off of him herself were back on his feet.
    Her fingers itched to touch him, to run her hands over those broad shoulders. She took another step forward, her new cowboy boots crunching on the gravel, and watched as a shutter that was damn near visible dropped down over his face.
    It stopped her in her tracks.
    He had let her top him inside the walls of Veritas, but out here—out here the rules were different. This delicious alpha male was her new supervisor, a fact that tilted their power exchange way off its axis.
    â€œBags in the trunk?” Logan finally asked. Scarlett strained to hear some kind of inflection in his voice—anything to let her know that he was feeling even part of what she was. But his face was set as he pulled her two suitcases from the car without even straining, though they had to weigh upward of sixty pounds each.
    â€œI’ve got it.” He waved her away when she reached for one, scowling until she backed off. Shrugging, she followed him into the house, though she did sneak a peek at the way his arm muscles flexed under the weight of her luggage.
    But when he walked up the stairs ahead of her, her face was put right on level with the fine spectacle that was his ass. The fact that she’d seen that ass naked, touched it,
owned
it had Scarlett digging her nails into her palms in an attempt to keep her hands to herself.
    â€œThis one is yours, if it suits you.” By the time Scarlett had followed Logan into a large, sparsely decorated bedroom, she was vibrating with lust. Realizing that he expected a response of some kind, she turned in a slow circle, taking in the wooden dresser, the patchwork quilt.
    The wrought-iron headboard. An image of Logan spreadon the bed with his hands bound to those bars had dampness surging between Scarlett’s legs.
    She swallowed desperately. Oh man, this was so awkward. Mostly because all she wanted to do was jump him, and yet he stood there, as cool and composed as if they’d never met.
    If he hadn’t commented on his sore ass, she might have wondered if the man she’d met in the club had an evil twin.
    â€œWell. I’ll let you get settled in.” Logan nodded once shortly. “I’ll make some dinner. Come on down when you’re ready.”
    He might have left like that, leaving Scarlett utterly bewildered, but he hesitated, then crossed his arms over that wide chest.
    Body language 101
, or so Luca had called it. Arms crossed over the chest . . . Logan was feeling just as disconcerted as she was.
    What should she do? Be professional and pretend that what had happened between them . . . well,
hadn’t
?
    That was ridiculous. It
had
happened, and there was no going back. So Scarlett decided to take matters in hand. It was going to be one hell of a long year otherwise, because she wasn’t going anywhere. She wanted this internship experience.
    And it would be what they made of it. It didn’t
have
to be awkward.
    No, it could be downright delicious instead.
    Bad, Scarlett. Bad.
    But she couldn’t look at the man and not remember how he’d felt inside of her.
    â€œAre we going to address the situation?” Slowly, Scarlett pulled her arms from the sleeves of her fitted denim jacket. The posture arched her back, brought her breasts forward.
    Logan’s gaze flicked down, took in the view she wasoffering. He shifted, and Scarlett’s eagle eyes watched his cock swell against the