Mad Enough to Marry - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,14

response to his touch wasn't that unsettling vulnerability in the kissing booth, it wasn't that purely physical weakness of the following day, it wasn't her customary prickliness.

Yet what had waved off her could very well be the cause of all that prickliness. K he was right, if what he'd briefly glimpsed was Elena responding to him as

a woman...well, that was just too interesting a possibility to leave alone.

He'd spent the last few months—since the beginning of Griffin and Annie's courtship—at the mercy of Elena's beauty and her sharp tongue. Now she was Uving with him, and even when she moved back to her own place, her best friend's marriage to his brother would mean they'd be together often. It would be a hell of a lot easier for him if their relationship was on a more equal footing. Maybe, just maybe, he'd found the key to that equality.

So, sorry Elena. He wasn't backing off. There was no time like the present to determine whether she felt at least some of the pull of attraction that he did.

Gabby and Tyler acted as his unspoken but wiUing accompUces. Throwing him an assessing look, Elena's sister *'innocently" remarked they could use a truck to retrieve a final few items. With a grin, Tyler one-handedly caught the pickup's keys when Logan immediately fished them from his pocket and tossed them over. They both emphatically declared the errand required only two pairs of hands.

Elena was frowning as the apartment door closed behind them. Then she turned on him like a cat about to sharpen her claws on her favorite scratching post. **What did you do that for?"

A tower of white bath towels was stacked in her arms. Ignoring the question, Logan approached her and she stepped back, until the heels of her sneakers bumped a cardboard box. **What's got you so

jumpy?" he asked, his voice mild. "It couldn't be because we're alone, could it?"

She shook her head, her face stony. "I don't like Gabby and Tyler alone. That's what I worry about."

Logan slid his arms under Elena's and cupped her elbows in his palms. He watched her swallow.

*'What are you doing?" Her question sounded more uncertain than annoyed.

He slid his hands across her skin then Ufted the towels. ''Helping out. Do you want these in the bathroom?"

She hugged herself. "Oh. Okay. Thank you." He didn't think she was aware she was making little circles on her skin with her palms, right where he'd touched her. It was as if she was trying to erase the sensation—or perhaps her reaction?

He hid his satisfaction by turning in the direction of the bathroom. Once inside, he flij^ed on the light with his elbow, then piled the neatly folded towels on the open shelves above the commode. Turning back toward the door, he met his own eyes in the mirror.

He looked pleased. And eager.

Too pleased. Too eager.

Damn. That gave him pause...and second thoughts. A short while ago he'd broken up with his long-time girlfriend because he'd reahzed their relationship was nothing more than a habit. That wasn't the problem with Elena, of course, but he was supposed to be simplifying his Hfe right now—^focusing on working on the house and building his business. Nothing else.

Heading out of the bathroom, he decided then and

there against any more Elena-exploration. Because who was he kidding? Toying with her would only lead to him being ice-bumed or homet-stung or worse. This particular female regularly armed herself with foot-long, razor-sharp thorns. He'd be much better off—safer—^heading back to his own apartment.

As he reentered her Uving room though, Elena's voice caused his feet to stumble. The sound was breathy, soft.

She was singing in Spanish.

A lullaby.

At the other end of the room, she sat cross-legged on a folded comforter, her back to him. He couldn't see what she was crooning to, but her body was curved over an object in her anns as she rocked back and forth.

Her hair was parted down the center and a braid fell over the front of each shoulder. The style left the nape of her neck bare and with his eyes he traced the fragile-looking bumps of her vertebrae. They pushed against her thin T-shirt until it disappeared in the waistband of her jeans.

A hot, heavy river coursed down his own spine. He walked toward her quietly, drawn forward almost against his will by her siren's song.

**What are you doing?" He touched her shoulder.

She jerked. A swathe of goose bumps rose on the exposed skin between her hairUne and the