ANGEL COULDN’T GET INTO THE KITCHEN FAST ENOUGH.
Logan’s reaction freaked her out. She’d heard about the effect of Siren Song on Human males, but she hadn’t expected it to happen like that. Didn’t she have to want to mesmerize him with her voice for it to work? And that was definitely the last thing she wanted. Even if her toes had started tingling—
No. Really. She didn’t want him to see her as any-thing other than Michael’s babysitter.
“Angel, I wanna get some different paper.” Michael turned his hat cockeyed on his head. “I’m gonna make more animals after cake.”
“Um, sure, honey. Go ahead.” Better to leave her alone to putter around the kitchen and try to regain her equilibrium— and she didn’t mean because of her legs—than stand there while she was trying to pretend everything was normal.
Everything was not normal.
She grabbed a glass out of the cabinet, then turned on the faucet and ran her fingers beneath the water. Logan wasn’t the only one who could use a drink of something cold. What was going on?
Well, she knew what was going on with him, but what had happened to her? Logan’s gaze had sent shivers over her skin and ramped up her internal temperature. Oh she knew what it was; she just hadn’t expected it. Not with a Human.
She filled the glass and drank most of the water in one swallow, then pressed it against her forehead, will-ing the coolness to have an effect. But when the French door opened and Logan strode in, Angel realized that water wasn’t going to do the trick after all.
Not with that look in his eyes.
She set the glass down and backed up against the counter. “Logan? What are you doing here? We’ll bring your drink out to you.”
He didn’t say a word. Not one.
He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes answered for him and Angel wasn’t so sure she wanted to know what that answer was.
He gave it to her anyway. In four strides.
That’s all it took him. Four.
Then he slid his fingers in her hair, pressed himself against her, and kissed her.
Really kissed her.
Mind-numbingly seductive, ravishing kisses.
He devoured her mouth, his tongue taking quick ad-vantage of her surprise, and swept inside with a thrust so blatant her legs went boneless.
That didn’t stop Logan. He slid an arm around her back and lifted her so her backside rested on the lip of the counter, making her the perfect height to return his kisses.
Return his kisses? She must be going craz—
Logan nudged her legs apart and suddenly her breasts were flattened against that hard, sculpted wall of his
chest, her legs on either side of him, her swelling core demanding pressure, and Angel’s breath disappeared.
Thank the gods Logan chose that moment to nip along her jaw, but Angel still couldn’t catch her breath.
Then his tongue swirled in the soft spot beneath her ear, and she decided breathing was highly overrated.
Her head fell back and she reached for his arms to hold herself upright so he could reach… there… that… Oh, gods… His tongue… it twirled around the shell
of her ear, his warm breath sending goose bumps all over her. She wiggled on the counter, trying to close her legs, needing the pressure…
Then he pulled her against him even more, spreading her legs wider, and there was the pressure.
The long, hard length of him hit her at just the right spot. Her fingers curled into his biceps as he slid one hand beneath her backside to draw her closer.
She hadn’t thought it was possible to be any closer.
Then she felt his shaft jerk between them and knew that there was, indeed, a way…
Angel opened her eyes.
Oh, gods. What were they doing?
Logan’s tongue stroked the soft inside of her bottom lip and Angel knew exactly what they were doing.
Or rather, exactly what she was doing.
She was making out with an enchanted man. Enchanted… and enchanting.
She tried to pull back. Regain her focus.
Logan was having none of it. With one hand still firmly beneath her backside, his fingers sending all sorts of riotous fires along her nerve endings, the fingers of his other hand opened wide across the back of her neck,
his thumb angling her jaw just right so he could kiss her senseless again.
And, oh my, did he.
Angel closed her eyes, her body having given in be-fore her mind, but oh, the sensations…
Her fingers curled again on his biceps, tugging him closer—if that was even possible—and her belly quiv-ered when his tongue stroked hers. Her legs followed suit when his harshly drawn breath expanded his chest against her sensitized nipples and Angel couldn’t stop a groan.
“Angel?” Michael.
Oh, gods. Michael!
He couldn’t see them. Not like this.
Angel squirmed, no longer groaning. No longer tug-ging on Logan. “Logan!” she whispered the moment his lips freed hers to once again trail over her jaw. “Logan, you have to stop! Wake up!” or whatever it was called. Logan was a man on a mission. And that mission was the cord in her neck. His lips traced down it, soft, flut-tery, just like her nerve endings, and if not for Michael’s stomping on the steps, she might have gone with the
sensations to see where they led. But Michael Could. Not. See.
And just as importantly, she Should. Not. Do.
This time she put some oomph behind her actions and managed to separate them.
Logan looked at her with hooded eyes that were hot-ter than any fire, his chest rising and falling in a way her breasts were aching to feel. He reached out to caress her jaw and, for a second, Angel let him.
But when he took a step closer, she backed away.
This was all her fault and she was not going to damage a child’s psyche because of her super-charged hormones, nor any hot, sexy, yield-to-me look in Logan’s eyes.
She closed her legs—pressure at last—and managed to skirt around him off the counter before he could pin her there again.
She grabbed the glass by the sink and, having no clue what else to do because no one had ever discussed how to end a Siren’s enchantment, tossed the rest of the water in Logan’s face.
“What the hell?” Logan shook his head, water drop-lets flinging everywhere, but at least it did the trick.
She tossed him a towel just as Michael entered the room.
“I got colored paper this time,” the little boy said, holding up the aforementioned paper. “Want to help me make a bunch of parrots? They’re my favorite.”
“Sure, honey.” She made the show of adjusting Michael’s hat on his head, but her main purpose was to prevent him from asking why Logan was all wet. She steered him toward the door. “Why don’t you go set up on the table? Your dad and I will be right out. No peek-ing at your presents, though.”
Michael smiled at her—a smile so like his father’s that it took her breath away. “Oh, okay.”
She waited until he was out the door before turning back to look at Logan—something she both wanted to do and dreaded doing.
How in Hades was she going to explain this?