Coming Home (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 2) by Jill Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

Boulevard.
    Did Logan have his own place now? Something sleek and modern, with high-end appliances and a king-sized mattress that didn’t squeak every time he rolled over?
    He must have read her thoughts. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I’m about five minutes from here, if you’re interested in coffee. I can even dig up some decaf.”
    She was tempted. Oh, yes. Her pulse skittered at the thought of Logan, naked and aroused, his muscles bunching beneath her hands, his skin slicked with sweat.
    Her insides clenched with need. How long had it been since she’d willingly stepped into a man’s arms? How long since she’d let down her guard enough to experience that panty-melting flash of heat?
    But what if she froze in the middle of things? What if fear overcame desire?
    Intellectually, she knew Logan wasn’t Harry. She also knew that what Harry had done to her had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with power and control.
    She knew that, damn it. Except knowing didn’t stop the nightmares, or the flashbacks, or the irrational panic that welled up at the most unexpected moments.  Like now.
    She forced herself to smile. “Maybe next time.”
    Logan held the door for her. “Okay.”
    She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked around to the driver’s side. In the shifting light from other cars and passing streetlights, she studied the shadowed planes of his face. What was he thinking? Was he disappointed? Annoyed? Impatient? Or worse yet, indifferent?
    He flicked her a glance at a red light. “What’s your schedule like next week?”
    “Pretty light. Mostly C/L—clinical liaison—rounds in the morning, individual and group therapy appointments in the afternoon. Journal club or grand rounds over lunch.”
    “How about in the evening? Will you have time for dinner, maybe a movie?”
    “Absolutely.” This time her smile was genuine. “I haven’t seen anything in forever. I don’t even know what’s playing.”
    “I’ll find something good. Do you trust me?”
    “When it comes to movies?”
    “What else?”
    “Yes,” she said. “I trust you.”
    And the surprising thing was, she meant it.
    They agreed to meet Thursday after work at a café just off campus. By the time Logan pulled up in front of her grandmother’s house, Grace felt like she’d been given another reprieve. The heavy discussion over dinner was nearly forgotten, the anxiety over awkward after-date fumblings allayed by his easy acceptance of her decision to end the evening early.
    “I assume no coffee here either?” he said, helping her from the car.
    She felt comfortable enough to laugh. “You definitely get top prize for persistence. But not tonight. I really am tired.”
    “At least tell me, on a scale of one to ten—one being most annoying, ten being totally endearing—where this persistence thing ranks.”
    She punched in the code to open the gate. “I guess that would depend on the day, and the situation.”
    “Here and now. Don’t over-think it.”
    Motion activated lights marked their progress toward the house.  She unlocked the front door and turned, ready to bid him goodnight. His expression, illuminated by the outdoor wall sconces, made her pause. The banter of the last few minutes had masked the underlying desire she saw reflected in his eyes. For a moment, she wavered. Considered inviting him in.
    Her hand hovered over the breast pocket of his crisp oxford shirt. Time stopped. Heat singed her palm as she bridged the final gap and leaned into that solid wall of muscle. She heard him inhale sharply, felt the hammering of his heart beneath her fingers. Rising on her tip-toes, she brushed her lips against his. “Goodnight, Logan.”
    His lashes dipped. “You sure?”
    She stepped away, into the safety of the doorway. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
    “Thursday.” He sighed. “Right.”
    He was halfway down the front walk when she called out. “Oh, and Logan?”
    “Yes?”
    “On that scale of one to