Pelican Point (Bachelors of Blueberry Cove) by Donna Kauffman Read Free Book Online

want to know.
    She sighed, and he was all caught up in the wonder that was the sweet, satisfied smile on her face as she settled right back against his chest again, as trusting as a kitten.
    “That was even better,” she murmured drowsily.
    And then she was out—leaving him sitting there, half dazed, pulse thundering, hard-on throbbing, wondering how the hammering of his heartbeat wasn’t jarring her awake. He was sure as hell awake. More awake than he’d been in . . . well, too long.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about all the things that were wrong with what he’d just let happen, and figure out what the hell he was going to do about it. But closing his eyes just enticed him to want to sink right back into the moment. Jesus. The friction of her sweet backside pressed against him was making him a little crazy. So the first thing he needed to do was get her out of his lap. Then take a very long cold shower. Then—then he didn’t know what.
    First things first.
    Carefully, and not without a little grimacing and wincing on his part, he managed to get them both up and out of the chair. When he laid her down on the bed, she didn’t rouse at all. In fact, she rolled to her side and curled up, face nuzzling into the pillow. Like she’d just nuzzled into my chest.
    Yeah, don’t think about that. He debated on taking her jacket and shoes off, but figured escaping was the better part of valor. He shook out the quilt folded over the footboard of the double bed and draped it over her. Then stood for another thirty seconds, watching her chest softly rise and fall, before finally kicking his ass out of his own guest bedroom.
    He glanced at the clock over the stove as he walked into the kitchen, surprised to discover it was past midnight. Awesome. He’d lost an entire evening. Not to mention dinner. He debated throwing something together, then remembered there was nothing to throw. Not to mention it was hard to think about food when he had a raging erection distracting the ever-loving hell out of him . . . and the warm, soft woman responsible for it was curled up in bed down the hall.
    Swearing under his breath, he headed out of the kitchen toward the stairs up to his bedroom, but paused, looking back down the hallway. He told himself he just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going back to nightmare land. But she’d been deeply asleep when he’d left her—like the very exhausted woman she was. He climbed the stairs, thinking he’d figure out what the hell to do about all of it in the morning.
    At the moment, there were more pressing . . . needs that he had to tend to. He trudged into his bedroom, peeling out of his uniform and kicking off boots as he went, then flipped on the shower in the master bath. At the last second, he slid the faucet to hot instead of cold. He stepped in, closing his eyes as the hot water beat on the tight muscles in his neck that came from ending a long day by sleeping in the guest room chair. Then pooled some thick body wash in his hands . . . and took care of his other stiff muscle. No need to let that go to waste, he figured, groaning as he leaned back against the tile wall, stroked himself, and let himself imagine how the evening could have ended if she’d been awake and lucid when she’d started kissing him. At least he’d get something out of the wasted night.
     
    Logan jolted awake to the sound of the old copper pipes groaning and rattling in the walls as water flowed through them. The first strands of thin morning light illuminated the faded wallpaper on his bedroom walls as he lifted his head from his pillow. Why was water flowing through the pipes downstairs? His gaze flew to the clock even as he was already tugging off the sheets and comforter and sliding bare feet to the cold, hardwood floor. It was just before six. And somebody was in the downstairs shower.
    He sank his weight back into the mattress, sitting on the edge of his bed, and palmed his forehead. “Oh.