Jan Springer: The Pleasure Girl

Speaking of heroes, what was up with these daisies and the strawberries? Surely she was dreaming. Wasn’t she?

She closed her eyes and opened them again. Still there.

Had she lost her mind? Definitely.

She didn’t know how long she stared at the flowers and the strawberries. It couldn’t have been very long, because soon she smelled something else. Smelled him.

No. God couldn’t be so cruel as to have her dreaming about Logan. Not again. She went through this almost every night since he’d been gone. Dreaming he was here.

Movement from the corner of her eyes caught her attention and alarm snapped through her. Someone was here!

Instantly, she reached beneath her pillow, grabbing the loaded gun she kept there for such emergencies. In a split second, she’d palmed it, released the safety catch, and she was halfway up into a seated position, pointing the gun at the movement when she saw the familiar figure standing at the window. He’d opened the curtains and was peering out.

“Logan?” she breathed and blinked wildly, trying to orient herself. This wasn’t possible. She’d given up on him ever coming back. She’d convinced herself it had been a one-way attraction. All hers. She’d figured she’d only romanticized about him because she’d been lonely. Thought he’d paid off her farm because that’s what he did now for a living. Stole from the rich to give to others. She didn’t agree with how she figured the property had been paid for, with stolen money, but what could she do about it? She didn’t want to return to having that bastard showing up at her place whenever he wanted and demanding sex from her again.

Heck, she hadn’t even been able to accept another client into her bed because of Logan.

When he turned from the window and he spied the gun in her hand, his brows rose in surprise.

“I guess I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. It looks like your taste in bed companions has changed, and not for the better.” He grinned that wonderful, tummy-flipping grin that just about made her leap out of bed and jump into his arms. She stopped herself short, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling and shaking her head.

The man still had a sense of humor. Still sexy-looking as ever in his tight jeans, and this time he wore a light green T-shirt that prominently illuminated the abundance of muscles in his arms and chest. Best of all, he was wearing that gorgeous five o’clock shadow that she loved on his face. He looked so yummy she wanted to have him for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. And always.

She held herself back. Tried not to let the happiness bubble through her like an untapped spring. He was probably only back for sex. And then he’d be gone again. She shouldn’t accept him this time. She should tell him she would pay him back in installments and send him packing. Even as she thought about doing just that, concern whipped through her as he stepped away from the window and closer to her.

“You look tired,” she whispered, stunned at the dark circles hanging beneath his eyes. He looked thinner, too.

“I missed you like you wouldn’t believe. I tried to stay away, but we finally caved and we broke from the Gang.”

We finally caved? What was he talking about? Her mind must still be sleep-muddled because she thought he’d said he missed her.

“When did you come in?”

“Now,” he whispered and he began to undress.

What? What was he saying? Her heart crashed against her chest as a moment later he stood before her, totally naked and fully erect. He lifted the daisies and the plate of strawberries off the pillow and settled them onto the nearby dresser.

“I couldn’t find strawberry shortcake, so I brought the next best thing, strawberries. And since you deserve flowers every morning, I will bring them to you, even if I have to go a hundred miles every day to get them. But all that can wait because I’m coming in, now,” he said as he climbed into bed beside her and took her into his strong arms, crushing her to his strong chest. He held her there for so long she thought maybe he would stay like this forever.

Finally she was able to formulate a semblance of the question she knew she had to ask before she let anything else happen between them. If he came up with the wrong answer, she knew she would have to ask him to leave and never come back.

“How long are you staying?”

“Forever. If you want me to.”

“Spencer and Cassidy?” She knew he loved sharing. Wanted to please him. Wanted more of those scorching menages she’d experienced with them, too.

“They’ll be by tomorrow, and they won’t be leaving, either.”

She couldn’t have hoped for a better answer.