Two Times as Hot (6 page)

“Is Emma staying here with Becca tonight?” He glanced at the house, and pictured Emma
inside.

“Nah, we had the cab drop her at the hotel then bring us home. Becca’s in Tuck’s room,
and because she won’t let him see her in the morning before the wedding, Tuck’s on
the sleeper sofa in the den. Full house over here, but your house isn’t. And your
room is all the way at the other end of the hall from your parents’ room.” Tara ran
her hand up his chest.

“Tara, listen to me. You need to turn around, go inside, and head directly for bed.
Your own bed. Tuck and your parents are counting on you to be in top shape for tomorrow.”

“But I’m not tired.” She pouted, which reminded him of a time when she was five and
he’d told her she couldn’t play baseball with the big boys.

“Then just lie down and close your eyes.” He’d used that line a few times during his
babysitting days when Tara and Tyler had refused to go to sleep. Hopefully it worked
as well with drunks as with children. With a hand on each shoulder he turned her to
face her house.

She glanced back over her shoulder, her lids sagging heavily over her eyes. “Want
to join me?”

Logan was truly in hell.

“No.” He hadn’t used the scary commander tone that he used with cadets, but it was
stern enough to leave no doubt that what she’d suggested was not happening.

“Party pooper.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She took a few steps and then called back. “See you tomorrow. Save me a dance at the
wedding.”

Logan had a bad feeling all of this—the drinking, the flirting—was going to be repeated
tomorrow and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Feeling a lot more sober now, he watched until Tara disappeared around the corner
of the house, and then he made his way to the safety of his own parents’ home unmolested.
The whole way there he envisioned Emma, back in her hotel room after the bachelorette
party, all tipsy and tempting in a big king-sized bed all alone.

Good thing Emma wasn’t spending the night with Becca, temptingly close next door.
So close Logan might have been tempted to knock on her window. Maybe invite her on
a moonlight stroll in the rose garden. Drunk as he was, he could have done it. Probably
the only thing that would have stopped him was the fear of running into Tara again.

The encounter with Tara, and now all these thoughts of Emma, had knocked the weariness
right out of Logan. That figured. Chances were he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon.
He’d be tired and hung over tomorrow for the wedding.

Resigned to his fate, he headed for bed. Logan had faced worse in his career. He’d
get through this.

“U
gh.” Emma glared at her reflection in the hallway mirror. “Becca, next time you get
married, can it be in a month when the relative humidity is less than eighty-percent?
Would you please look at my hair?”

Halfway up the staircase in the Jenkins house, Becca paused and cocked a brow. “There
isn’t going to be a next time. I’m getting married once and only once. And your hair
looks fine, just like it always does, so stop worrying. I have to touch up my nail
polish. I somehow managed to chip a nail last night.”

Probably when they all stumbled into the taxi to get home after the shots at the bar.
Emma had woken up in her hotel room this morning feeling less than stellar. The cotton
mouth, headache, and exhaustion she could handle, but not having a bad hair day. Today’s
wedding pictures would be around for decades and Emma was going to look good for them
even if it killed her.

She glanced into the mirror again and sighed. She’d been planning to leave it down,
but the weather had managed to make even her pin-straight hair do some puffy, frizzy
kind of thing she was not happy with.

It was early in the day. They didn’t need to get dressed and leave for the church
for a little while yet. She could still make a change.

Emma called up the stairs after her sister, “Maybe I should run into town and see
if someone at the salon can do a quick up-do.”

“You look beautiful. I wouldn’t change a thing.” A very male voice behind Emma had
her spinning around.

“Logan. Uh, hi.” Emma swallowed hard. She’d been caught complaining and by Logan of
all people. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you to say.”

She smoothed the skirt of the sundress she’d thrown on at the hotel to wear until
it was time to put on the official maid of honor dress that was hanging upstairs next
to Becca’s wedding gown.

“You’re very welcome and it’s true.” He held a big box in his hands, but Emma was
more interested in noticing how his dark eyes had swept her from head to toe. “So
I’m here on a very important errand on behalf of the groom, since he’s not to come
within twenty feet of this house.”

Emma smiled. “That’s right. Becca won’t let Tuck see her until she walks down the
aisle.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that. He woke me up at dawn knocking on my door after he was
kicked out of here because he’s not allowed to see Becca. So where would you like
it?”

Emma would
like it
in the bedroom, and in the shower, and maybe in that hammock in the back yard—but
Logan probably was talking about the box, not sex. “I don’t know. What is it?”

“The flowers. I took out the boutonnières for the groomsmen, so all the rest are for
you ladies here. Oh, and I also left in the corsages and boutonnières for the parents
of the bride and the parents of the groom.”

“Impressive organization. Thank you.” Emma smiled. A man who was organized and hot
was a rare find indeed.

“Eh, it’s nothing. Seems like planning a wedding isn’t all that much different from
planning a mission, and that I’ve been well trained for.” He shrugged, the brown cardboard
box still in his hands.

She cringed and glanced around the foyer, at a loss. “Sorry. You need to put that
somewhere. I guess the flowers should go in the fridge so they don’t wilt, but it’s
pretty packed with last night’s leftovers.”

“Not a problem. I can solve that. Follow me.” Logan tilted his head toward the back
of the house. He led Emma to the door that opened into the garage. “Can you just grab
the door?”

“Sure.” She swung it wide enough for him to walk through with the oversized box.

He glanced over his shoulder as she followed. “There’s an extra fridge out here and
I’m betting it’s turned on because of the party last night.”

Emma hadn’t noticed the big white fridge humming against the wall. She’d been too
busy ogling Logan’s butt. She hated to admit it, but Tara was right—Logan did look
really good in jeans. The worn denim pulled just tight enough across his ass to make
her mouth water. Then there was that kind of swagger that the cowboy boots put into
his every step.

Emma wrestled her attention away from his assets and back to what should be her priority
given her position as maid of honor—keeping Becca’s bridal bouquet from dying before
the ceremony. She skirted around him to pull open the refrigerator door and sure enough
a cloud of cold air drifted out.

“Wow. I had no idea this was even out here. You’re handy to have around.” She shot
him what she hoped was a casual and maybe a little bit sexy smile.

This flirting business required a light hand and a delicate balance. Juggling flirting
and flowers—good thing she’d had coffee that morning so she was alert enough to handle
it all.

“I try.” He laughed and put the box down on a tool chest while Emma bent to move a
few six-packs of soda and beer to the bottom shelf so the flowers would fit on the
top one.

“Well, you do a very good job.” She turned, prepared to do some more flirting while
she had the chance, when she came face to face with the bouquet Logan held out.

She stopped and stared as her throat grew tight from the sight and smell of the floral
arrangement. She and Becca had gone through dress fittings and a bridal shower in
New York together, but it hadn’t truly hit Emma until she saw those perfect white
roses punctuated by the deep blue delphiniums and dark green ivy in Becca’s bridal
bouquet. That’s when it felt real.

Her little sister was getting married today. Never again would they be the two single
sisters, banded together against the world. No more girls’ night out. Becca was Tucker’s
now.

“Emma?”

At the sound of Logan saying her name, Emma snapped back to reality. She reached out
to take the flowers and realized her hand was shaking.

“Sorry. I’m just being a girlie girl. Getting choked up about Becca’s flowers. Silly,
huh?” She forced out a wobbly laugh.

She bent to put the bouquet in the fridge and while hidden by the door, swiped at
the moisture in her eyes. There was no way she was going to cry in front of Logan.
Especially not over a stupid bouquet.

“Not at all. You know, right before I left my house Tuck was putting on his tuxedo.
Seeing him, standing there all decked out and looking like a groom, I got a little
choked up myself. I’ve seen him in his dress uniform a dozen times, but the tuxedo
and the boutonnière? It kinda got to me.” Logan shrugged and looked absolutely adorable.
“Guess I’m a girlie girl, too, huh?”

“No. Definitely not.” That idea made Emma laugh. He was possibly the manliest man
she’d ever met, even when holding a handful of flowers.

“All right. I’ll take your word for it.” His smile made her heart flutter.

She took the next bouquet he handed her and put it in the fridge, changing the subject
until she could get her emotions under control. “Tucker’s dressed in his tux already?”

Between worrying about her hair, and lusting after Logan, had it gotten later than
she’d thought?

“He is. As soon as these are safely put away, I’m going to head home and get dressed
myself. The photographer wants to take the pictures of the groomsmen early so she
can come here and take some pictures of you girls while you’re getting ready.” He
smiled. “See, told you. As many details as a military invasion.”

“I guess so.” The thought of what Logan would look like in his tuxedo was a very tempting
image. Emma loved a uniform but she had to agree with Becca’s thinking. Having Tucker
and Logan in uniform and Tyler and Jace in tuxedos might have looked disjointed for
the pictures. It seemed Becca’s obsessive compulsive disorder extended to needing
even the groomsmen to match. Uniforms or not, it would certainly be a good-looking
group of men.

Emma took the clear plastic box holding two wrist corsages and two boutonnières and
rested it on top of one of the six-packs. Beer and flowers. It made for an interesting
arrangement.

“Thank you for bringing these over.” She swung the door closed and turned to find
Logan much closer than he had been before, his arm braced on the top of the fridge.

“My pleasure.” He smiled, his lips temptingly close. “Can I just sneak past you and
grab a pop?”

Emma’s mouth grew dry. She licked her own lips and couldn’t seem to keep from staring
at his. “Um, a pop?”

His dimples grew deeper as he smiled. “That would be soda to you northeastern girls.”

“Oh, sure. Of course. Sorry.” She liked right where she was, under the arch of his
arm, but she moved out of the way so he could get into the fridge.

He opened the door and grabbed a can, glancing at her over his shoulder as he did.
“I already had a cup of coffee, but I could sure use the extra caffeine this morning.”

She nodded. It seemed the closer Logan stood, the less she had to say, and Emma rarely
found herself speechless.

“So, I guess I’ll see you later?” His eyes focused on hers.

“I look forward to it.”

He didn’t move. Emma didn’t feel compelled to, either, unless it was to step into
his arms and see if his kiss was as good as she imagined it to be.

His gaze moved away from her eyes as he reached out and brushed a piece of hair that
had fallen over her cheek. He tucked it behind her ear. The move felt as intimate
as a caress. “You’ll look perfect however you decide to do your hair for the wedding,
but I think it looks great just the way it is.”

Emma imagined Logan pushing her up against the fridge and kissing her while he tangled
his fingers in her hair. She swallowed hard. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The door from the house swung open and Tara stood in the opening. “Logan. What are
you doing here?”

“He just dropped off our bouquets. They’re beautiful. Want to see yours?” Emma answered
Tara’s questions for him, hoping her thoughts of a quickie in the garage with Logan
weren’t written all over her face.

“Sure.” Though her focus never strayed from Logan, Tara moved into the garage. She
reached out and looped an arm through his. “You’re so sweet to bring them to us. Isn’t
he the best, Emma?”

“Yup, the best.” Emma did her best to tear her gaze away from where Tara touched Logan.

Emma had to remember she had no claim on this man. Heck, she even had another date
for the wedding, so who was she to complain if Tara touched him and acted like he
was hers, the way she was doing right now as her hands remained clasped around his
muscle. Tara and Logan had grown up together, after all. They were friends. They had
a history.

None of Emma’s lectures to herself worked. The green-eyed monster still took hold
and squeezed.

Logan shook his head. “Not at all. Just doing a favor for Tuck. I, uh, gotta run now,
though. I’ll see you ladies later.”

“Definitely.” Tara shot him a wide smile even as he disengaged her hand from his arm.
“Remember, Logan, you promised to save me a dance.”

“We gotta get through the ceremony first. I better go. The photographer’s waiting
on us.” Logan’s gaze cut to Emma. “See you later, Emma.”

At least Logan wasn’t hanging on Tara the way Tara hung on him. That was something.
Emma retracted her claws. “Bye. Thanks again.”

With a nod, Logan departed and for better or worse, she was left alone with Tara.
Emma yanked hard on the handle of the fridge. “So yours and mine are the two matching
smaller ones. The big white bouquet is Becca’s.”

The door to the kitchen had slammed completely shut behind Logan before Tara would
even look inside the fridge at what Emma was trying to show her.

“Oh, nice. Just wanted to get myself a pop. See ya.” Tara reached inside and grabbed
a soda before she scampered off with her pop, probably in pursuit of Logan, if Emma
had to venture a guess.

Emma was competitive in work. Even in play—don’t get her started in a heated game
of Scrabble or the tiles might start to fly—but her love life was a different situation.
She was in no mood to compete with Tara for Logan’s attention. Just as she had never
wanted to compete with Jace’s ex-girlfriend for his time.

When it came to Oklahoma men, it seemed Emma was routinely too late. There was always
a woman from the past. A woman who drank
pop
not soda.

She would always be the interloper, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

 

Logan strode across the lawn and into the house as fast as his legs could take him.
He’d faced down the deadliest of enemies during his army career, and yet he was running
away from a twenty-one-year-old girl.

A man had to do what a man had to do.

How else could he react besides run? He couldn’t tell Tara he could no more kiss her
than he could Tuck or Tyler. If it came to it, he’d sit Tara down and explain he felt
nothing toward her except brotherly affection, but he’d rather not do it mere hours
before the wedding. That’s all he would need—a pissed off or worse, crying Tara ruining
Tuck and Becca’s day.

Meanwhile, to complicate things further, just a few moments alone with Emma had made
him crave hours more. If Tara hadn’t walked in and interrupted them, chances were
good he’d still be there, imagining kissing Emma, and late for the pictures.

Logan cleared the property line between Tuck’s and his own house without being waylaid
by Tara again, thanks to his near sprint, but it was only to see Jace’s pickup truck
in the driveway. A two-ton reminder that Emma was going to the reception with Jace.

Hell of a fucked up weekend this was turning out to be, and the day had only just
begun.

“Logan? Is that you?”