Simply Scandalous. Carly Phillips

she whispered.

      His mouth brushed hers, deliberately light and excruciatingly slow. He simply tasted her without pushing for more. Her fingers curled into his wrists and a purr escaped her lips. Cat, he thought, recalling his grandmother’s use of the endearment, had just earned her nickname.

      His restraint was rewarded. She never broke the kiss or the momentum building between them. With this woman only patience would get him what he desired and he believed she was worth it.

      Catherine let sensation take over. Logan’s lips were firm, his touch gentle. His scent enticed her and his kiss held checked passion and a respect she’d rarely felt from a man. Beneath the gentleness was a longing she felt, too. As a ribbon of desire coiled tight in her belly, the need to be with him overwhelmed her.

      Without warning, the clatter of metal startled her and she jumped back, breaking their passionate kiss. One that never should have happened. She burrowed into his white shirt, unwilling to face him just yet.

      “Sounds like we’re being rescued,” he said.

      “Sounds like.” She forced herself to move. Ignoring the steady pounding of her heart, she stood, refusing to meet his gaze. She’d lost her head, succumbed to desire and Lord only knew what would have happened if they hadn’t been rescued.

      She started for the door but his light touch on her back stopped her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Cat.”

      “Who said I did?” she asked defensively. “One kiss isn’t such a big deal.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “One kiss?”

      “Unless you can’t count.”

      A slight grin tugged at his lips. “Neither one of us came up for air, so I’ll give you that one.”

      Heat rose to her cheeks. “A real gentleman wouldn’t have mentioned that.”

      “Whoever said I was a gentleman?” He touched the pad of his thumb to her lower lip.

      Her entire body shook in reaction. She wrapped her arms around her waist but the effort at self-protection came too late.

      “I started it, Cat, and I wish I could say I was sorry. But I won’t.”

      With that statement, he preceded her to the door. She stared at his retreating back and wondered how things had gotten so out of hand. She glanced down at her shaking hands and closed her eyes against the unfulfilled sexual energy still pulsing through her.

      She wished lust was all she felt for Logan Montgomery.

      Sex was purely physical and easy to leave behind. Logan wasn’t. She’d seen the real man beneath the power suit and playboy charm. She’d caught a glimpse of a lonely little boy growing up in a mausoleum, much like she’d been a lonely child in a tenement apartment. Class differences had vanished. To make matters worse, she’d discovered she liked him. Really liked him. Somewhere between walking into this closet and walking out, he had begun to matter. Knowing the inevitable conclusion, the truth chilled her deep inside.

      She stared beyond Logan’s broad shoulders to the closet door and listened to the sounds of rescue. Seconds later the hinges were off and the entire door had been removed. Without glancing in his direction again, she slid past him and headed for safety. The bright glare of the crystal chandelier hit her hard and she blinked until her eyes adjusted.

      Catherine glanced around.

      “She wouldn’t dare show her face now.” Logan’s voice sounded from behind her.

      It didn’t surprise her that he’d read her mind.

      “Gran’s probably upstairs hiding,” he said.

      While he turned to thank their rescuers—the cleaning crew, as she had predicted—she pulled herself together. By the time he’d returned to her, she was composed again. Until she caught a glimpse of the makeup stain on the once white collar of his dress shirt.

      She cleared her throat. “Well.”

      He grinned. “Well.”

      “Goodbye.” Feeling ridiculous, she held out her hand.

      His warm fingers wrapped around hers. “Not so fast, Cat.” Her heart tripped at the shortened name. “You’re forgetting something,” he said.

      “Such as?”

      “You owe me a drink and I’d have sworn you were a woman of your word.”

      Bantering and sparring. Now she was back on familiar ground. Her tension eased. “You didn’t get us out of there,” she reminded him.

      “And I didn’t have to. I said I’d give that door a shot and I did.” He rubbed his shoulder as a reminder and a blatant attempt to induce guilt.

      He was right. Semantics, as he’d called them earlier, had indeed tripped her up. She owed him one drink, but thank the good Lord, it wouldn’t be now. At least she’d have a chance to regroup and firmly remind herself that whatever was going on between them was just a fluke.

      She glanced down at her work uniform. “I’d rather not go anywhere dressed like this.”

      “You look good to me.” Warm eyes met hers and he extended his hand. “Come with me. You can trust me, Cat.”

      She stared into those seductive brown eyes. Trust him? She nearly laughed aloud. Hadn’t her father said the same thing to her mother the night before he’d walked out for good? If Catherine agreed, would she end up seduced and abandoned the next day? And why was a tiny voice in her head shouting this man was worth the risk?

      What was it about good-looking men that made them think they could have the world at their feet with raw sex appeal alone? She eyed him warily. “I can’t go anywhere with you. The company van is parked outside—I can’t leave it here.”

      “Bet you it’s not. Double or nothing. If I’m wrong, you’re free to go. If I’m right, it’s drinks and dinner.”

      She had him this time. “That’s a safe enough bet.” She patted the outside pockets of her black skirt, then dipped her hand inside. She dangled the van’s keys in midair. Five more minutes in his company then she’d be on her way home.

      Later she’d deal with the lingering disappointment and sexual humming that still teased her senses. Later, she’d ponder the unfairness of fate, throwing a perfect man into her less than perfect life.

      Later. When she was alone.

      “Truck or no truck. Time to find out.” Logan reached out. He made a grab for the keys, but captured her hand instead.

      His fingers wrapped around hers. Warm and trusting. The words came to her in a rush. She shook her head. Sexual awareness had to be short-circuiting her brain. Why else would a woman who’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall into a man’s trap, be thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about someone so far out of reach?