“Come on. The Innkeeper, Ms. Thompson is expecting us,” Logan said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the grand entrance of the estate.
His hand felt warm and solid in mine and it began stirring something inside of me I hadn’t felt in a long time. I had the same feeling last week when he pulled me in his arms and kissed me senseless. Desire.
Walking along the path, I allowed myself a few moments to shamelessly look Logan up and down. God, he’s sexy. He wore dark jeans that rested low on his hips and hugged his ass and a tight fitted button down shirt that matched the dark color of his hair. He looked edible. The bottom button of his shirt was left undone, and I could see his belt buckle and a bit of skin peeking out whenever he moved just right. I wondered if that button was purposely undone because it was currently driving me insane. All I wanted to do was run my hands under that shirt and pet him until he purred.
He was still sporting his “just f**ked” hairstyle, the norm for him I realized, and it was just as hot as it was the first time I saw him, all messy and tossed to perfection. We reached the front of the estate and just as I was contemplating what it would look like with my hands buried in it, he glanced back, basically catching me in the act of eye f**king him.
Oops.
One side of his mouth pulled into a mischievous, lopsided grin. His eyes alight with humor, he took a step closer to me so that we are inches apart.
“See something you like, Clare?”
“That’s got to be the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I teased, even though, yes there were quite a number of things I saw at the moment I liked. But I just couldn’t let that cheeseball line go. It was horrible.
He shook his head, clearly amused, saying, “You must be the hardest woman in the world to flirt with.”
“Ohhhh that was flirting? I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I mocked.
“Maybe I need to try harder,” he whispered in my ear, pulling my body flush against his, sending shivers racing down my spine.
Gently brushing the hair off my bare shoulder, his fingers trailed down my back to rest at my waist. All joking between us was gone, and I looked into his eyes with raw need.
“You are so beautiful, sweet Clare.”
Just as he started to lean in, his soft lips mere inches from mine, the Innkeeper came barreling through the door.
“Welcome to Thompson - oh! Sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt!” she said, suddenly noticing our intimate embrace.
Taking everything in stride, Logan gave me a quick wink, “No apologies necessary, Ms. Thompson.” Logan politely responded, turning to face our host, but keeping his hand firmly secured around my waist. I was so glad he was the one speaking at that moment because he was obviously the more mature one. I wanted to scream “Go away!” so we could go back to the kiss she interrupted.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you in person. I’m Logan and this lovely woman is Clare. We very much appreciate your hospitality this evening.”
Ms. Thompson, an older woman who reminded me of my grandmother fell instantly under Logan’s spell the moment he spoke and was practically swooning. Her eyes were roaming all over my date. I held back the laugh that was currently lodged in my throat. I had to give the old woman credit though, she had good taste. “Well, why don’t you two come on in, and we’ll get you all set for your garden tour?” Ms. Thompson suggested brightly, leading the way into the expansive house.
The interior of the house was just as stunning as I knew it would be. I couldn’t help but run my hands over the hand-carved banister, or brush my fingers along the antique furnishings. The family had done an amazing job of keeping everything maintained and the history preserved. There wasn’t a single modern looking item in view. It was as if you had stepped back in time. Ms. Thompson assured us that the house was equipped with all the modern conveniences, but they had made sure with each upgrade that the integrity of the house was maintained.
Ms. Thompson wasn’t giving us an official tour of the house until later, but I still found myself stopping at least a dozen times as we made our way through the halls to admire one thing or another. Being the ever gracious host, Ms. Thompson entertained my curiosity with interesting tidbits and facts from her family’s history. Logan must have enjoyed history himself because he stood with me, listening intently to every word and even asking questions of his own.
We finally made our way to the main parlor, a large room with antique sofas and family portraits hung on the walls. There was a large picnic basket set on a coffee table with a neatly folded blanket set to the side. A single red rose sat on top of the blanket.
“Wow! What is this?” I exclaimed.
“Well, I wanted you to have something special on your tour of the gardens, so I packed you a little something.” This was a “little something”? What did the woman consider a meal? Logan might have to use a wheelbarrow to get me out of here.
She grabbed the large wicker basket and blanket and handed it to Logan. She offered Logan the rose and a wink and pushed us toward the front of the house.
“Now off you go! I’ve got a meal to prepare! Enjoy!” she commanded sweetly as she walked in the opposite direction, humming softly to herself.
Logan took the perfect red rose and handed it to me, never breaking eye contact until he reached over to kiss me softly on the cheek. I bit my lip in a vain attempt to keep the blush from creeping up my face. With a quick wink, he adjusted the basket to his right hand and grabbed mine with his left and we head for the door. Since that moment on the porch when we almost kissed, he hadn’t stopped touching me. As we walked through the house with our host earlier, his hand sought out mine, or he’d wind his hand around my waist. It was like he was making sure I was still there and I didn’t want him to stop.
Walking back outside, we took a left, intent on the larger of the two gardens. Ms. Thompson said this was the better of the two and perfect for a late day picnic. I personally didn’t know how you could choose a favorite, but I wasn’t a gardener. Anyone who could keep a flower alive was a genius in my book.
The late day sun felt warm against my skin as we began our stroll down the garden path, meandering through arched trellises and flowering trees. Looking over at Logan as he carried the large basket and had the blanket tucked under his arm, I chuckled.
“You sure you can handle that heavy basket all by yourself, Logan?” He insisted on carrying everything, and I carried only the red single rose. Sometime male chivalry is dumb.