SHE HAD THE BEST BREASTS HE’D SEEN IN A LONG TIME.
Logan jerked his head. What was wrong with him? Ogling Angel’s breasts? He should be shot. And as for pinning her up against the cabinets and mauling her, he ought to be drawn and quartered.
He wiped his face with the towel she’d mercifully tossed him and gave half a thought to gouging out his eyes. He’d never leered at a woman before, much less attacked one. She was a guest in his home. Michael’s babysitter. Could he be a bigger cad?
He slumped against the counter and reached for the glass. Christ. Something had hit him like a tidal wave. There hadn’t been a subtle thing about the staring he’d done. At her breasts, no less. The poor woman was look-ing at him as if he’d suggested he tie her to the bedposts. He couldn’t blame her.
In another life, that idea would have a lot to com-mend it.
He shook his head. Something weird had come over him. Exhaustion maybe. The shock of finding Michael on his doorstep finally catching up with him? A naked goddess on his boat who sang like an angel and looked like a temptress? Who, at this very moment, might be wearing red lingerie beneath her dress? Hell, it was any-body’s guess.
He took a swig of the water. Or rather, he tried to.
Nothing left.
That’d be because he was wearing it—and he didn’t blame her in the least.
She started to fiddle with a few strands of hair. “Logan…”
“Angel, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t excuse my ac-tions, but I honestly don’t know what came over me.”
She let go of her hair and gripped the chair in front of her, her tongue sneaking out to lick her bottom lip.
Actually, he did know what had come over him. But that was no reason to act on it.
“I don’t blame you if you want to look for another place to stay, but I want to apologize and assure you”— and himself—“that it won’t happen again.”
He hoped.
Her mouth fell open. “Wha…what?”
He laughed inwardly. She was going to make him say it. Well, served him right. What moron took advantage of a woman the way he had? You might think it’d been four years instead of four weeks since Joanne.
“That kiss. I was way out of line. I have no idea why I did it—”
She got this look on her face, and Logan realized he was digging a deeper hole for himself. Of course no woman would want to hear that the man who’d just been mauling her—quite pleasantly, there was no de-nying the truth in that—didn’t know why he’d done it. She was gorgeous; he knew why he was attracted to her. He just didn’t know why he’d gone all caveman on her.
“I mean, yes, you’re beautiful, but that’s no excuse for the way I behaved. I’m very sorry and you have my
word that it won’t happen again. Please don’t leave. Michael really cares about you and he’s been through a lot. I’d rather not disappoint him if it can be avoided.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
The funny thing was, she wasn’t being coy. Her eyes, those beautiful sparkling tropical-seas eyes, were open and honest and guileless.
“How can you not know that you’re gorgeous? Half the men on the street today almost tripped over them-selves trying to get a look at you, and the other half were gay.”
She blushed. Her cheeks were as pink as her nip—
Way to go, Hardington. Right back to being the lecher…
“Look, Angel. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again. Please stay.”
She shook her head, the long blonde tresses that had sparkled in the setting sun with threads of burnished copper and gold coursing through them waved behind her like—
Jesus. What was wrong with him? He was waxing poetic? He must be getting sick. They did say kids were germ factories. Maybe Michael had given him some weird childhood illness.
One that makes you stare at a woman’s breasts, at-tack her, then turn into Wordsworth? Keats?
“Logan, you don’t have to apologize. I mean, I did kiss, that is, it wasn’t all one-sided…”
Now she nibbled on her bottom lip, God help him. “I think it’s safe to say that I instigated it, Angel,
and I’m sorry. Is there any chance we could move be-yond this?”
She licked her lips again. She was trying to kill him. She had to be. No one could be that unconsciously sexy. “Yes. Let’s. I mean, after all, it is Michael’s birthday.
We don’t want to upset him, right?”
He blew out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding and put a palm on his chest where his heart was racing—and only because he’d been worried about hurting Michael with his utter stupidity—not any other reason. “Thank you. So… shall we head back out for cake?”
Angel nodded. “Yes.”
If he’d planned it, they wouldn’t have arrived at the door at the same time, but whoever Up There was hav-ing a good laugh at his expense certainly made it look that way.
He stepped back to allow her to pass, determined to act like a civilized, rational human being. It might be a little late, but he did know how to treat a woman. “After you.”
She glanced at him, then tucked another swath of hair behind her ear, and headed toward the door. Logan was damned proud of himself for staying far enough behind her to resist the temptation to touch her as he followed her out.
Then she stopped in the doorway and turned around so quickly that the accomplishment evaporated. It was either touch her or knock her over, and the poor woman had already had enough manhandling from him today.
Luckily, he managed to stay upright, but he did catch hold of her arms to steady himself—not that it was in any way steadying. Especially with her hair now trailing over his arm.
What was wrong with him?
Angel took a few steps back out of the doorway and his grasp, and while, logically, he knew that was a good thing, he still wanted to pull her back.
“I hope that it’s all right with you that I gave Michael a notebook and pen for his birthday.” She did that damn lip-licking thing again that was beginning to drive him slowly and not so sweetly insane. “Everyone should have a special present on their birthday.”
He knew what he’d like for his birthday—Christ. If only she wore perfume, he could attribute this fascina-tion to it, but the scent of hibiscus clinging to her skin and the tang of sea-laden air and the gentle breeze off the Florida beach were enough to make a man go weak—
Oh hell. He was back to spouting poetry.
Logan cleared his throat, shook his head, bucked up his resolve and sucked it up—both his wayward thoughts and the sweet scent of Angel.
He yanked the door closed behind him a little harder than was necessary, rattling the panes. Good. Something else could be rattled. He leaned against the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, fully prepared to wait while she resumed her seat at the table on the patio. Then he’d sit as far away from her as possible and maybe— hopefully—get through the rest of this night with his sense of honor—what little was left of it—intact.
“That’s fine, Angel, but it wasn’t necessary. Having you agree to stay is more than enough of a birthday pres-ent.” Lord knew, it was more than enough for him. “I mean, when we were out fishing on the boat yesterday, Michael said he wanted a mermaid for his birthday, of all things. If he only knew how I found you, he might
even think you’re one. Not that I want to tell him that, you understand.”
Nor did he want to remember…
“But since a mermaid is out of the question, you, in Michael’s eyes, are the next best thing.”