Can't Let Go - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,52

to get there. Abby bubbled on nervously at his side as they approached his room, wishing she could still feel the effects of the alcohol. “You know, I think you were a much better bartender.”

“Really now?” She nodded emphatically as he unlocked the door.

“I think his drinks were a little bit on the weak side.” Logan chuckled, nodding his head. “Although, I must admit that was one powerful shot of tequila.” They stood just outside the door then, Abby looking up at him, her lips still full from his earlier kiss.

And he couldn’t resist.

He bowed his head, touching his lips to hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and guiding them backward into the room. She didn’t even flinch as the heavy door swung shut behind them.

There was an impulsive need that swept through them as they crashed into each other. It was a hunger that had been denied for far too long and their bodies cried out, the need undeniable now. Abby didn’t think about the consequences of her actions. She didn’t think about Eric or her father. She couldn’t think of anything but Logan.

And Logan met her fervor, guiding her toward the bed. They fumbled with each others clothing until both were freed from their constraints. And then they tumbled into the bed, Abby whispering his name over and over again.

It was heaven. Nothing but pure heaven.

And it was never-ending—their hunger starved for so long, they divulged themselves, taking their fill, reveling in the sweetness of the moment.

Chapter Nine

Her head swam slightly as she woke, unsure of her surroundings at first. Abby felt the arm around her body and recognized the sensation of tranquility as one she hadn’t experienced in quite some time. The feeling of wholeness inside her was incredible.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so complete.

But as the events of the night began to unfold in her mind, she felt her body freeze up. No, she thought, opening her eyes and looking around. She was sprawled across Logan’s bare chest. He slept soundly, a look of contentment on his face.

Panic rushed through her as she racked her brain, trying to decide what she should do.

The list of obligations flashed through her mind. The promises she’d made. The people who’d come to expect certain things from her. She caught a glimpse of the heavy engagement ring on her finger, guilt flooding through her.

She wasn’t this kind of girl. She wasn’t the type of girl to cheat on her fiancé—she wasn’t the kind of girl who bowed out on responsibility and who broke her promises.

She looked down at Logan, her heart aching.

She loved him. She couldn’t deny it.

Abby rose to her feet, holding a sheet wrapped around her. She walked quietly around the room, trying to calm the racket in her mind.

There was a roll of paper spread out across the desk that she had failed to notice the night before and she crossed over to it, looking it over.

And she gasped as she suddenly realized what it was.

A distant memory of a past conversation entered her mind as she remembered describing her perfect house to Logan years ago. It would have lots of balconies and porches, she had claimed—lots of windows. She wanted to be able to smell lilacs no matter where she went. And there would be at least four bedrooms—one for them, and one for each of the children they would have. She’d wanted a library, too—just a small one, something to put all of her books in.

The roll of paper contained the blueprints for that home. Tears flooded her eyes as she reached out and touched the small cove in the master bedroom that he’d labeled ‘Library’.

It was sudden, the realization she came to as she looked back at him.

She didn’t deserve him.

He’d remained loyal to her—he’d loved her enough not to let go. And what had she done? She glanced down at the ring. She’d given up.

Abby stood still, taking him in for a long moment. After, she wandered around the room, gathering her clothes and dressing quickly. She avoided looking at him, knowing it would only cause her pain.

A pad of paper sat on the nightstand and she picked it up, staring at it for several long moments, wondering what to say. And then it came to her—one simple, heartbreaking phrase. I’m sorry.

But as she wrote the words, something inside her told her that she was lying to herself. Something told her she was acting out