Rachel's Redemption (13 page)

She pulled a pillow over her face. She’d been so blind and stupid. She’d fallen for Travis, his smooth words, his polish and shiny good looks, hook, line, and sinker. In the end, it’d been her hanging. Travis hadn’t cared about her, let alone loved her. He’d only been interested in her money, or perception of it, not her, as it turned out. She found that out the hard way. Which mostly, no completely, explained her sexual drought. Why bother?

Logan had his own money and he just . . . well, that just wasn’t him. Which didn’t amount to a hill of beans because she was leaving.

Once Rachel had successfully honored the woman she held in the highest esteem, both in her mind and heart, maybe then Rachel could move on. She’d pay the vendors, put the gym back to rights, and leave. She’d give Molly a big hug, promise to stay in touch, and she’d leave Redemption.

What about Logan?

She shook her head, clearing that thought away.

“What are you thinking about?”

She’d been thinking so hard she hadn’t heard Logan return with a full plastic bag from the EZ-Mart.

She could see ding-dongs, beef jerky, a tube of Pringles, bottles of water, and a box of condoms.

“Please tell me nobody you know was at the EZ-Mart.” Then she immediately regretted her words. With his unfounded hang up, he might take her joke seriously.

Logan winked at her. “Just one of the coaches, a couple of players and their folks . . . the minister.”

“You’re kidding.”

He smiled and nodded, then he dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed. “It’s not the Ritz . . .”

Rachel eyed him, waited for him to look at her. When he did, she asked, “Do you really believe that’s what I need? What I expect?”

Logan turned away. For the first time since she’d come back, he seemed uncomfortable. He evaded her eyes and her question. Instead, he twisted open a bottle of water and passed it to her. He opened one for himself and drained it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

She accepted the water but waited for him to answer her.

“Yes. No. I did. I guess. I don’t know.” He looked at her, finally. “Should I?”

She shook her head, her eyes holding his, willing the young, under-confident boy lurking underneath to see the truth. Until he did, though, she wasn’t cutting him any slack. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself. Pass me the ding-dongs. After all the calories we just burned I deserve one of these.”

She was naked under the sheet and wanted to sit up but wasn’t entirely comfortable with sitting there naked, eating cupcakes and chips. She sat up, bringing the sheet with her and cast a glance around.

Logan pulled his shirt off and handed it to her. “As much as I’d like you bare . . .”

She gratefully accepted the shirt. Which was huge on her. If she stood, even on her taller frame, it would have come down to mid-thigh. It was white with the Arizona Cardinal mascot in the center.

“From the old days, Logan?” She pinched the bird’s face away from her chest then smiled up at him.

“Yep. The good ‘ol days.” He sat on the bed.

He uncapped another bottle of water and raised the bottle to her. “To reunions.”

Her eyes fell on his naked torso and she nearly forgot that he was making a toast. Then she tapped her bottle against his. “Is that what this is?”

He dipped a finger into the cream of her ding-dong and settled closer to her.

She could smell him. Spicy and warm. Decidedly Logan.

He extended his frosting covered finger and she opened her mouth, closing it around his finger. The sensation of his long finger in her wet mouth sent delicious sensations right to her core. She grew warm and moist there. He brought his hand up to cup her face and slowly withdrew his finger. Then he took her hand and began kissing the inside of her wrist, up her arm.

He took the ding dong and spread more frosting on his finger, then he painted her mouth with it, just a thin layer of white cream. Before she could lick the sweet cream from her lips, Logan was there, feasting on her lips, tasting both her and the frosting.

A moan escaped her mouth and he caught it in his own. He pressed her backward onto the pillows and pulled at the tee shirt, raising it up. The material bunched at her neck but his hand cupped her breast, kneading and loving the sensitive skin there. His mouth continued to plunder hers. All thoughts of it being Sunday afternoon and heading back to Denver fled. All she could think of was Logan. Logan’s firm lips molded to hers, wringing sensations from low in her belly, muddling her mind, driving her to the brink. Logan’s long fingers and large palm searing the flesh of her chest. Her nipples tight and begging for his mouth. But, oh, she didn’t want his lips to leave hers.

His hand traveled down her abdomen to cup her core.

She was naked there, her only clothing the shirt bunched at her neck and shoulders. He held her, letting the heat of his skin drive her wild. She lifted her hips pushing against his palm, needing more.

He read her loud and clear, his mouth leaving hers to place sticky, open-mouthed kisses over her chin, down her throat. He paused. “Lift up your head, baby.”

She obeyed and
swoosh
the shirt came off. Then his delectable, talented mouth was back on her heated skin, trailing kisses down between her breasts, over her tummy, pausing to rim her belly button with the tip of her tongue. His hand still cupped her, his palm offering pressure. But it wasn’t enough. God, she needed more. More.

Then he was between her legs, kissing her inner thighs. And, she no longer wondered what his whisker-rough jaw would feel like between her legs. She knew, and she would never forget. If she wasn’t so caught up in what his mouth was doing, how close it was coming to her feminine center, that his fingers were finally—finally!—parting her. He dipped one, then two inside of her, withdrawing slowly and rubbing her wetness up and over her swollen bead. Back and forth, up and over, pressing then releasing. If he weren’t doing all of these things, she’d realize that this wasn’t the best sex she’d had in her adult life just because Logan was so obviously a talented lover, but because it was Logan. Logan, who’d she’d known forever and had alternatively ached for, avoided, longed for, detested.

Logan who was fast brining her to orgasm.

He stopped the pressure of his fingers and mouth and blew on her. The sensation nearly putting her over the edge. She raised her chin, digging her head into the mattress. She couldn’t be still. Her hips were rising on their own. Her legs moved restlessly alongside his upper body.

He threw a strong arm over her middle, forcing her still, only able to accept his mouth and fingers as they drove her wild, tighter and tighter, higher and higher.

She couldn’t take it any longer and he knew it. He applied pressure to her clit with his tongue and she came in a burst of white and fiery light. Her head turned side to side on the mattress and all she could do was say his name over and over. “Logan, Logan, Logan.”

“I’ve got you, babe. Right behind you.”

She heard the rustle of paper and knew he was protecting her. Then he was there again. Not his mouth this time. And then, God, he was inside of her, filling her, taking her back to that place only higher and hotter than before.

“Look at me, Rachel. Look at me baby.”

Rachel couldn’t deny him anymore than she could stop her heart from beating. She opened her heavy eyes and focused on him. His skin was tawny and a fine sheen of perspiration made him gleam. She rubbed her palms up his corded arms to his chest, palming his pecks until his small nipples beaded under her palm. He leaned down to take her mouth with his as he pumped in and out. In and out.

She took his mouth and tasted a combination of him and her and nearly came again. She held his mouth captive while he rode high and hard over her. His rhythm changed and he was slamming harder, faster. And then he pulled away from her lips as a low groan escaped his mouth and died in the mass of tangled hair at her neck.

His breathing labored, his hard body on top of hers, their scents and juices mingling. And Rachel wondered how she could possibly leave.

But how could she possibly stay?

An hour and one very long shared shower later, Logan was dressed and Rachel was wrapped in a towel, sitting in the room’s lone armchair.

“Come on a date with me.”

She smiled. “A little late for a first date, isn’t it? You’ve already been to home base.”

He kneeled before her, his hands sliding up and down her bare thighs. “I’m serious. Come out with me.”

Her eyes searched his, probably searching for the joke, the trick, what he had up his sleeve. He waited her out, letting the sincerity in his request shine through.

“Okay,” she said. Although he noted the apprehension, he jumped on the fact that she’d agreed.

“Meet me at my house.” He checked his watch. “In an hour. And wear jeans. No sandals.”

“Anything else?” She chuckled softly.

He stood, pressing his fists into the chair on either side of her smooth, bare hips and kissed her fully, soundly, deliciously. “No, that’s all . . . well, you can skip the underwear. If you want.”

She laughed and tossed a pillow at him, which he evaded.

Then he moved away from her, or he was going to end up naked and mess up his plans for their date? He opened the door and pointed a finger at her. “One hour. Don’t be late.” Then he closed the door behind him.

Chapter 20

An hour later Rachel parked her car in front of Logan’s house. She was wearing jeans and tennis shoes and a T-shirt with tootsie rolls on the front. She remained inside the door of her car. Her eyes searched, staring at the house where Logan had grown up. Her hands gripped the car doorframe and shifted from foot to foot.

Rachel had experienced all sorts of emotions on the drive to Logan’s home, well, his father’s home. She’d only been here a couple of times and that had been in high school. She and Nana had delivered holiday care packages but they’d always left them on the porch. She’d never actually been inside the old house.

There was a huge metal dumpster at the end of the drive and she could see wooden boards and broken drywall peeking over the top. She cast a glance toward the old house. It was a single story brick home, at least fifty years old, and it had seen better days. Although, she gathered from the dumpster and new bay windows, things were looking up for this old rambler.

She closed her car door and smoothed her sweaty palms down her jean-clad legs. She stared out over Logan’s front yard as she followed the winding driveway. Thick green grass, recently mowed, surrounded an enormous oak tree that regally rose up out of the middle of his yard. The tree made her think of roots. Roots like Logan was establishing in Redemption.

A noise from the rear of the house caught her attention.

“Logan?”

“Back here.”

At the back of the house, Rachel saw three things at once: a detached two-car garage, Logan, and a motorcycle.

She’d never been on a motorcycle. She had no plans to change that. Still, her eyes stayed glued to the shiny black and chrome. It practically screamed fast and dangerous. Exciting, intimidating, powerful.

It was the anti-Rachel.

Logan crouched down next to it his back to her. He rubbed a polishing cloth over the chrome on the bike’s engine. He wore jeans, too, that nicely hugged his backside. Did
he
have on underwear?

His shirt was black with an eagle on the back and STURGIS with last year’s date scrawled underneath. The shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he worked the cloth along the motorcycle’s finish.

Logan looked back over his shoulder, squinting against the sun. He slowly stood, pushing on his thighs as he rose, then he turned to face her. She watched his gaze sweep her, from her laced up tennis shoes and jeans, to her tee shirt and, finally, her face.

She cast furtive glances between the bike and him.

“Hi,” he said. A ghost of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. He eyed her a second longer then he wandered into the open garage. He squeezed past boxes, disappearing in the back for a moment, before emerging with two helmets.

He sat one helmet on the bike’s seat and extended the other to her.

She took a step back and raised her hands, palms facing him. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.

Logan eyed at the helmet curiously. “You’ve got to wear a helmet.”

“Not to just stand here.”

“To go for a ride.”

“I don’t think so.”

Logan pulled the helmet back toward him, glanced toward the bike, then back to Rachel. His brows drew down over his blue eyes. “Scared?”

“Cautious.”

“Me, too.” He gestured toward the helmets. “C’mon.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. Anybody who’d ever worked in an ER had seen the damage riding, or rather crashing, on one of these could cause. And, that’s if you didn’t end up dead. Which happened often enough.

Logan tipped his head to the side thoughtfully and nodded. “I’ve been riding since college, I took the motorcycle safety abate course, and did very well. I always wear a helmet. Always. I obey all traffic laws. I also teach Driver’s Ed when they need me. And,” he said, leaning toward her, “I always watch where I’m going.”

She didn’t unwind her arms from her torso. She looked at him, to the motorcycle, then back to him.

“Just a little ride around town.”

She pinned him with a stare. “Why?”

He lifted one corner of his mouth and stepped toward her, lifting the helmet. “Why not?”

He had a point.
Why not?
She had no doubt Logan would be careful and safe. If for no other reason than he valued his own life. She chewed her lip and caught his eye.

Well, why not. She rolled her shoulders back and, casting one more look to the bike, she brought her gaze to Logan and nodded, taking a step closer to him. She didn’t miss his smile. It wasn’t smug—like he’d tricked her, but pleased that she’d decided to spend the afternoon with him, trust him.

He settled the helmet on her head. The weight was unfamiliar and surprisingly heavy. It didn’t cover her face but was like a big hollowed out canon ball on her head. He brought the straps together under her chin, grazing her skin, his hands lingered there. Her eyes drifted closed while he fitted her sunglasses onto her face. The weight of the helmet sent her head floating back on her shoulders.

Logan stepped toward the bike and put on his own helmet. Then he easily straddled the powerful machine. He put up the kickstand, balancing the weight of the bike between his strong thighs. He extended his hand and beckoning her forward.

She drew in another breath.
It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.
One step forward and then another, she reached her hand out and he accepted it. His touch was warm and strong and at once both reassuring and exhilarating.

She awkwardly swung her leg around the back, trying not to bump him but having to brace one hand on his shoulder for support. When she was on, she had to concentrate on holding her head straight to avoid knocking her helmet into his.

He started the bike. A deafening, throaty roar emanated from the engine and pulsed along the tailpipes. The engine’s vibrations radiated through her legs, her butt, and lady bits, which happened to be nestled up nice and snug to Logan’s backside. She tentatively brought her hands down to rest lightly against his hips.

“Hang on,” he shouted over the engine’s roar.

He rolled his hand back on the ends of the handlebars and worked his foot on what she presumed was the bike’s clutch. The bike glided forward, the motion smoother than she would have imagined. When they reached the sidewalk he slowed the bike to a crawl, the bump-bump down from the sidewalk to the road although slight, still sent her helmet into his. “Sorry,” she shouted.

He braked at the stop sign, looked both ways, then started slowly down the street. Rachel couldn’t help herself, she checked for cars, too.

Logan maneuvered the big bike up Bakers Street, shifted gears, and gently increased speed.

At the intersection of Bakers and Vine, Logan turned left, and Rachel realized he was taking them out of town.

Logan never would have guessed this was Rachel’s first time on a motorcycle. For a moment there, he didn’t think she was going to get on. Standing in his driveway, with her big green eyes the size of saucers and her lips parted as if the words “No and Way” were working their way out, he’d been certain she was going to tell him exactly that. But she hadn’t. He’d known the precise moment when she’d settled on her choice. Just like in the council meeting, and at The Spoon, in her motel room when he’d taken over her phone call, and with the belly dancers, her chin had come up, she’d squared her shoulders, and made her choice.

A part of him reveled in being the one to take her on her first ride. Maybe he could teach her how to ride.

If she’d be around long enough.

Right now, though, she was sucked up against him tight as anything. And, he liked that just fine. He hoped she’d get used to the weight of the helmet soon, though. She was butting her helmet against his with every crease in the pavement.

He was glad he’d asked her out. In spite of everything with the event, he enjoyed her company. She wasn’t the rich brat he’d accused her of being. Not once had he seen her throw a fit over less than luxurious accommodations, and, except for that time at Molly’s—that glorious day when he’d caught her in her underwear—she hadn’t done any shopping that he was aware of. In fact, as far as he knew, she was either here in Redemption planning the tribute, or in Denver working.

And, if she was in Redemption, she’d been with him.

Damn if he didn’t like that. A lot more than he cared to admit.

And, honestly, since he was being honest, he didn’t care if she went shopping or what she bought. In fact, he’d like to be the one to buy her things. Like one of Sasha’s costumes.

Too bad Rachel was leaving.

Or maybe it was for the best. She was still a Delaney-Tolbert, and no matter what she said, a Delaney-Tolbert didn’t belong with the offspring of Mean Gene Hastings.

They were heading east on thirty-four, nothing but rolling fields of pasture land as far as the eye could see. The sky was clear and the wind felt like heaven on his face, freedom.

The big bike ate up the pavement between Redemption and the Colorado state line. He was right at the speed limit. He could feel Rachel lift up a little, lean a little, and he knew she was checking the gauges. She’d never ridden before, or if she had, it hadn’t been a good experience. Her pale face and wide eyes had pretty much confirmed that. But here she was, nerves and all.

And, all that was pressed up against him, her thighs snug to his.

He may never get off this bike.

Since they weren’t wearing full face helmets, they could easily, well, fairly easily speak over the roar of the engine. He tilted his head back and asked if she was okay.

She clunked her helmet against his, which he took for yes.

They passed the state line and crossed into Nebraska, only about ten miles east of Redemption. Logan rolled to a stop at an intersection, signaled, and turned into a rest stop.

He parked the bike, leaning it slowly onto the kickstand, then he climbed off, careful not to send Rachel to the ground as he lifted his leg over the bike. She remained on the bike, locked in cruising position.

Logan reached out a gloved hand and cupped her shoulder.

She turned to him slowly, her head tipped back slightly. He couldn’t see her eyes with her sunglasses on, but he could feel her looking at him. He reached for the straps of the helmet and unfastened it, pulling it off as gently as he could, but her glasses still twisted on her face. Several strands of hair stood up with static and she had a crease from where the helmet had squished her forehead. She was magnificent, sitting astride all that chrome. Powerful. He’d love to see her sitting on his bike naked.

She righted her glasses and began smoothing down her hair, tucking it behind her ears. He waited.

“Well?” he asked finally.

She raised her green eyes to him and said, “Again.”

He waited, not entirely sure what she was saying.

“I want to do that again!” And then she smiled. Not a slow, tentative, cautious smile. But a full-out, got-the-world-by-it’s-tail grin. Something in him tightened, and it wasn’t south of his belt buckle, more like the center of his chest and he didn’t want to go there. So he said, through the smile on his own face, “Want to stretch your legs?”

She nodded and reached out a hand to steady herself as she climbed off the bike. He held her forearm, helping her to keep her balance until she was on two feet and standing next to him.

“That was
great!
Seriously, Logan.” She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears while he hung her helmet on the handle bars, next to his own. Then he opened the leather saddlebags and grabbed a blanket and a brown paper bag.

“Come on,
Easy Rider
.” Logan steered her away from the bike. “I want to show you something.

She walked next to him and before he could think anything of it, he reached for her hand and she welcomed his, giving a little squeeze.

They walked in companionable silence along the dirt path that led from the road into the pasture and up to an old barn nestled in a grove of trees.

“Who owns this?” she asked.

“The state. Used to belong to a farmer, but when he died, there was no family to claim it and ownership passed on to the state.” He unrolled the blanket, spreading it out under the trees. “Want to sit? Have a picnic with me?”

“Kind of sad, you know, not having anybody to pass family heritage on to.”

Logan shrugged. “That’s how it goes sometimes. That’s how it is for you and me.”

She studied him. “I guess you’re right. You got the house from your dad.”

She didn’t miss Logan’s sharp inhale. “Yeah, lucky for me. A dilapidated mess and even messier memories.”

She sat down on the blanket. “I noticed the new windows. Did you do those?”

“I have a contractor. I help out with the stuff he’ll let me.” He popped open a soda and passed it to her. “I’m tearing out most everything. Gutting the bastard. There’s nothing there worth saving.”

Rachel took a swallow of soda but didn’t taste it. How different the two of them were. She was trying to preserve her grandmother’s memory, her heritage and he was doing all in his power to obliterate his.

Yet, they were similar, too. They both held tightly to their beliefs and what they believed was right and true. And, they valued children and the value they gave to the world. She couldn’t fault him one bit for wanting to see his players have a successful season. But, she couldn’t give up on her plans, either, because it was for Nana.

“You got what your grandmother passed down to you. I know the home place was sold off, but you got the money from that, right?”

She listened to his words for the usual underlying distaste that typically laced his words when he spoke of her grandma and her family’s money. She didn’t hear it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.