Run the Risk (9 page)

Maybe even a lifetime.

It distressed her that she couldn’t spare even a moment more.
She cleared her throat. Twice. And still, when she whispered, “Logan?” she could
hear the tears in her voice.

Without a word, he struggled up to his forearms again. He took
a moment before gently kissing her cheek, and then he rolled to his back beside
her.

It was so incredibly tempting to stay put, to turn and snuggle
into him, to kiss him.

And have him kiss her.

To start all over again.

If she stayed even a second more, the tears would get the best
of her. So instead she scuttled from the bed, slapped down her skirt, and rushed
back to his living room where she collected her purse. Seeing through a blurry
haze of regret, she opened and closed his door quietly, grateful that he hadn’t
followed, that he hadn’t questioned her, or…even seemed to care all that
much.

Choking on her own vulnerability, eyes damp with sadness, she
let herself into her darkened apartment.

Now, after Logan, the small, worn-down space felt more lonely
than ever.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
FTER
P
EPPER
LITERALLY
FLED
his bedroom,
Logan continued to lie there, sprawled out, a spent condom still in place.

Fuck.

He fisted his hands, squeezed his eyes shut. At thirty-two,
he’d had sex with plenty of partners. Younger women, some more mature. Women
looking for a good match and women just out to have a good time at a honky-tonk
bar. Wealthy women and women down on their luck. Hell, he was more than
experienced.

But sex with Pepper Yates was beyond confounding and more
satisfying than anything he’d ever known.

Clothes on—again.

No touching—again.

Mind-blowing release—again.

How did she do it? What was it about her? She’d bent over the
foot of the bed, her rump in the air, and he’d been a goner. He couldn’t see her
clearly, didn’t dare feel the soft flesh of her thighs or hips for fear she’d
bolt. And still he’d been wild for her.

Her scent made him savage with lust. Her voice stroked him as
surely as an erotic touch.

What was she hiding, damn it?

Disgust—at himself, at what he did with her, what she had him
do—got Logan off the bed. The urge to go to her clamored in his head, matching
the rhythm of his still galloping heartbeat. But he resisted and instead went
into the bathroom to take a long shower. He hoped it would help to clear his
head.

It didn’t.

If anything, the cool water against his still-sensitized body
only left him more agitated. Not just because he’d let her use him, and not just
because he enjoyed it so much.

Logan had to face the awful truth.

When he was with her, he forgot why he’d started all this in
the first place. He forgot she was a link to an unsolved murder. He forgot that
her brother could tie up loose ends and give him the means to prosecute the ones
responsible for the death of his friend.

Pepper equaled Rowdy, and Rowdy equaled Morton Andrews.

But when he was with her, he thought only about pleasure. His,
and hers.

Naked, chased by personal demons, Logan went into his bedroom
to get clothes. The second he flipped on the light, he saw her panties on the
floor.

Time seemed to stand still. For far too long he stood there
staring at them.

Black. Lacy.

A skimpy little bit of nothing with a single tiny pink bow in
the front.

Un-fucking-believable.

Like a sleepwalker, he picked them up, rubbing his thumb over
the material, thinking of them on her, how she’d look, and what other surprises
she kept from him.

From everyone.

To the world, Pepper Yates might be a plain-Jane wallflower
bullied by her brother, but deep down—
with him—
she
was as sensual as a woman could be.

Damn it all to hell, he was starting to like her.

Sitting on the side of the mattress, Logan tried to decide how
to proceed. He was in too deep to give up the progress he’d made undercover. If
he blew it now, he might never get another opportunity. Lieutenant Peterson had
given him a grace period to get things done. She had big ambitions for the
department, so her patience on resolving this had a very definite time limit.
His best bet would be to accelerate things—by utilizing his relationship with
Pepper.

He couldn’t be the only one leveled by their sexual chemistry.
Pepper felt it, too. His hand crushed her panties as he thought of how she’d
tightened around him, the rush of wetness, her broken, unrestrained groans while
coming.

Yeah, they were in this together.

He’d play off that, use it against her instead of letting it
trip him up. Then, when he finally closed the case, he’d find a way to make it
up to her.

Should he go to her tonight?

He heard the rattling of pipes as her shower started.

No. Let her stew a little. Let her think about what they’d
shared, because he knew damn good and well he’d be thinking about it.

Tomorrow he’d talk her into another “date.” She’d learn to
trust him, and then she’d confide information about Rowdy.

Logan finished dressing, stuffed the panties into his pocket,
and headed out for his truck. He needed to burn off some energy. He needed
Pepper.

But for tonight, he’d settle for a stiff drink.

* * *

A
NNOYED
, M
ORTON
TAPPED
a pen against the desk and considered his options now that he
knew of Logan Riske, a detective bent on revenge. For what, Morton didn’t know.
Could be any number of things.

That made him laugh as he eyed his quarry. “So you knew there
was a cop investigating me?” Morton waited for explanations, excuses and a rush
of assurances to avoid punishment.

All he got was a shrug and palpable indifference.

“There are always cops investigating you.” Direct eye contact
never wavered. “You own enough of the department that it’s never a problem for
you.”

He wouldn’t let it become a problem this time either, but that
wasn’t the point. “Why does Riske want me?”

“It’s assumed you had a friend of his murdered.”

Since that didn’t narrow it down at all, Morton demanded,
“Who?”

“A city commissioner.”

“Ah. The murder that Rowdy Yates supposedly witnessed.” Sitting
down, Morton tried to remember, but came up blank. “What was his name
again?”

“Jack Carmin.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Old Jack Carmin,” he
murmured. “He was a righteous prick.”

“Honest, yes. There’s no solid proof against you, but it’s
believed that you tried to corrupt him, and he refused.”

There wasn’t any proof because Rowdy Yates, the bastard, had
fallen off the face of the earth. Not before talking to a reporter—who Morton
had later dispatched to hell—but since then, nothing. “I remember thinking Yates
had promise. He was a quick learner, strong as a bull and unimposing.”

Nothing, not even a sound of acknowledgment.

“So,” Morton said, watching the cop carefully. “Now Rowdy has
turned up again?”

“Possibly. But it’s not an issue.”

“And if it becomes an issue?”

“I’ll take care of him.”

Truth rang in the words, so Morton nodded. “Perfect. I have a
new venture in the works, and I don’t need any distractions.” When the cop still
stood there, Morton flattened his expression. “Was there anything else?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll see you for the next report.” He watched the cop
leave, and damn if admiration didn’t bloom—but then, he’d always had respect for
cold, calculated ruthlessness.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
, Pepper pushed herself on the treadmill,
running hard and fast until her thighs and shoulders burned and sweat covered
her body. She could barely breathe—and still she felt needy.

For Logan.

So much had happened to her over the past two years. Awful
things. Life-changing things. She should have been immune to hurt. She should
have learned to live without dreams.

Until Logan, she’d been doing okay.

Now…now everything felt raw and new and as fresh as that first
day when she’d been forced to accept that dreams made no difference, not to
her.

She turned down the treadmill to an idle jog, letting her
heartbeat slow, giving her body a chance to cool, to adjust.

Her efforts to exhaust herself with exercise, to leave her
thoughts and her emotions empty, had failed.

They were anything but.

Memories of Logan, how he smiled, how he looked at her, how he
tasted, filled every void of her mind. For her own sake, she had to make a clean
break from him.

Rowdy was right—she took far too many risks.

No more playing with fire. No more playing with her sexy
neighbor.

No more stealing bits of a normal life.

She’d just finished a quick, cool shower when a firm knock
sounded on her door.

Logan.

Despite everything she’d just told herself, joy filled her. She
wanted to put off the inevitable, but that’d be cowardly, and it’d leave her
with lingering hope.

Dangerous.

She’d had the night and most of the morning to get herself
together. It wasn’t enough time.

“Be right there,” she called out. The walls were so thin that
she knew he heard her. After wrapping a towel around her head and hurriedly
dressing in a depressing outfit fit for the homeless, she went to the door.

Logan stood there, patiently waiting on her, again wearing no
more than shorts. Why did he have to keep doing that to her?

As his gaze moved over her, his smile slipped. “I took you from
the shower?”

“What? Oh.” She touched the towel on her head. She’d been so
focused on his thighs, remembering the press of them against her backside, that
she’d forgotten herself. “I was finished before you knocked.”

His gaze probing, he reached out and stroked two fingertips
over her cheekbone.

Yes, she remembered those fingers, as well. Liquid heat coursed
through her, weakening her spine, her resolve.

He dropped his hand. “You look different without the
ponytail.”

No, no, she did not.
She couldn’t.
Alarmed, she took a step back, away from his disturbing proximity. “I need to
go.” She gestured at the bathroom. “I have to blow-dry it…”

He stepped in.

Oh, crap. “Logan…”

“We didn’t get a chance to eat the barbecue last night.”

Because she’d rushed him to bed as a distraction so that her
brother could put a tracking device on his car.

Because she and Rowdy lived like criminals on the run.

Because they trusted no one, even neighbors with no apparent
agenda other than a sexual relationship.

Sometimes, she almost hated herself.

“I know.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shut the door behind him. “I’m not.”

Heart slamming, Pepper tried to figure out what to do.

“Having you,” he whispered, “beats the hell out of dinner any
day.”

She’d die if Rowdy found out just how involved she’d gotten, or
the methods she’d used to keep Logan occupied. That meant she had to steer clear
of him. “I… Things got out of hand last night.”

He appeared to think about that. “So have dinner with me
tonight.”

Dinner, instead of sex? “No.”

Pretending he hadn’t heard her, he said, “We’ll eat the
barbecue and then afterward…” The way he watched her did crazy things to her
insides. “Things can get out of hand again.”

So tempting. She shook her head.

Attention almost predatory, Logan shifted closer. “Then have
breakfast with me now.”

She started to refuse yet again—and he held out her
panties.

Her jaw loosened, her heart dropped into her stomach, and heat
flooded her face.
So stupid, Pepper!

Unnecessarily, he said, “You left these on my bedroom
floor.”

She already knew that! Oh, God, what had she been thinking?
Bolstering herself with a thickly indrawn breath, she muttered, “Thank you.”

But when she reached for them, he put them behind his back. Not
smiling, looking dead serious now, he said, “I think I’d like to hang on to
these.”

“No.” Palm up, arm extended, she waited.

“Have dinner with me.” Still no smile.

He was taking this all so seriously. “I don’t think that’s a
good idea.”

“Why?”

Temples throbbing, she turned away but came right back. “You
know why.”

His intent gaze steady on her face, he tucked the panties into
his back pocket. “Because there’s red-hot chemistry between us? So what? You
enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Surely she’d enjoyed it even more. “Give me my underwear.”

“I will. Tonight. After dinner.”

To keep him from reading all the emotions on her face, Pepper
spun away again. How could she resist him if he found so many ways to challenge
her?
Think, think, think.

She didn’t hear him move, but suddenly his arms closed around
her. It felt
so
good.

“You don’t have to be shy with me, Sue.”

It wasn’t about being shy; it was about self-preservation.
Please don’t do this to me.
Her resistance was
at an all-time low.

“It’s just dinner,” he murmured, not giving an inch.

“We both know it’s not.”

“That’s your decision, Sue. Always.”

And every time she got alone with him, she decided on sex. “You
know what will happen.”

At her whispered admission, he went still, and then his arms
tightened around her. “If you don’t want sex, if you’re saying you didn’t enjoy
it—”

“I did.” She couldn’t lie to him about that. “Too much.”

“Not possible,” he declared. “But if you prefer we cool things
a little, then how about if we go dancing after dinner? That’ll keep us
occupied, right?”

She almost choked. What man made such a suggestion? What man
gave up on the idea of sex to
dance?

“No.”

Keeping her back snugged up close to his chest, he said, “We
could hit up a club.”

“No!” Oh, God, she wanted nothing to do with that idea, but she
shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. No way did Logan mean Checkers. It’d take an
hour to get there, so he’d probably thought to visit someplace closer.

She didn’t know of any clubs, though.

“What’s wrong, Sue?”

She lied. “I…don’t dance.”
She loved
dancing.
As to cooling things—was it possible?

Could he honestly be content just spending time with her?
Doubtful. She wasn’t an idiot.

“Then jog with me.” He rocked her side to side. “I know you
like to run, or you wouldn’t have the treadmill, right?”

Diabolical.
The offer of jogging
was even more tempting than dance. But she couldn’t do that, either.