Eclipse of the Heart (16 page)

Of course, Logan had contacts higher up in the target
company, so he may well have heard something she had not.

She sighed as Logan unlocked his door, one of only a few on
the hallway facing them as they exited the elevator. Yeah, Rosie was probably
right.
Looked like he was loaded.
The beautiful,
well-maintained building on Park Avenue was a far cry from her sublet down on
the lower East side.

Logan led the way into his dark apartment, flipping on light
switches as they passed through a pin-neat foyer. But she was surprised to see
that the apartment, though spacious and well-appointed, was not enormous. On
the left she saw a good-sized living room, with large windows black with night.
A formal dining room seated ten or twelve people. The kitchen ahead turned out
to be utilitarian, with stainless steel appliances, plain European cabinets and
black granite counters.

But someone had softened all the coldness of the kitchen
with hints of color. A bouquet of flowers brightened the center island. Oven
mitts decorated with shiny red cherries lay on the counter next to a neat array
of serving platters.

Logan saw her eye light on them. "The
housekeeper," he said. "She says even when you keep getting the pits,
cherries are still worth eating."

Amanda laughed. "I'm sure she's not referring to
you."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "No?"

She rolled her eyes. As if he ever got the pits. "What
about the roosters?" She waved at the lineup on the window sill. Half a
dozen brightly decorated roosters marched along the ledge, and a few more stood
next to the sink, as if they'd fallen off the higher perch.

"She likes roosters." Logan lifted a platter of
steak from the refrigerator. "She says there's always a new day."

"Kitchen philosopher, huh?
Has
she had a lot of trouble in her life?"

"Enough."

Logan ducked his head back into the fridge, almost as if he
didn't want to look at her.

"What can I do to help?" She wasn't much of a
cook, but a salad should be within her capabilities.

"Everything's all prepared," he said. He checked
something in the oven. "I'll grill the steak and maybe you could carry the
rest of the food into the dining room." He waved at the lineup on the
island.

In twenty minutes, they were seated. Logan had lit candles
on the sideboard, and a modern chandelier over the table cast a low light.
Amanda suddenly wondered exactly what type of dinner this was. What had
happened to the discussion of Dallas Robotics?

Logan stood behind her chair as she sat, and then pushed it
in gently. He picked up a bottle of red wine that had been resting on the table
and poured them each a glass. After sitting down, he lifted his wine goblet and
tilted it in her direction.

"Cheers," he said. A slight smile curved his lips,
but his eyes were guarded.

"Cheers." She took a bigger gulp than she'd
intended. Should she bring up the business discussion? Did he want to eat
first? She wasn't used to work discussions held in private homes.

She needn't have worried. Logan launched into a conversation
about her interest in nutrition. In passing, he mentioned the fact that some of
his employees who'd held her current position had moved on to manage companies
they'd worked on acquiring. Without actually stating it, he implied that the
Daily Eats deal might be an opportunity for her to do the same.

Although she glowed inwardly with pleasure at his apparent faith
in her abilities, she didn't allow herself to go off-topic to talk too much
about work. He clearly wanted to relax. He'd taken off his tie and rolled up
the sleeves of his blue business shirt before grilling the steak.

Now, he leaned back in his chair, idly cupping the delicate
bowl of his crystal wine glass. He kept his gaze focused on her. She was
reminded, once again, of how intently he paid attention. It was impossible not
to feel flattered by this powerful, dynamic man, when he acted like she was the
only thing in his world.

He poured himself another glass of wine, but didn't refill
hers. The oversight was out of character, but otherwise he was a perfect host.
The food was delicious, the conversation interesting, and the view unbeatable.

She almost giggled. Of course, she meant the view of him,
but no one else would know that. It would be her secret. She picked up her wine
glass and drained it. It was delicious. She wouldn't mind a bit more.

"Ready for dessert?"
Logan asked as he stood up.

"Sure." She pushed back her chair. "Let me
help you."

Logan held up a hand. "Allow me. It will be my pleasure
to wait on you."

 He returned with a small tray holding two round,
golden pastries, a small pitcher, which she soon discovered was full of hot
fudge, and a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

"Profiteroles."
Logan
waved at the tray. "I don't do many private dinners," he said.
"My housekeeper outdid herself making my favorite dishes tonight."

"They look delicious," Amanda answered. She
watched as he sliced the pastry, tucked a large scoop of vanilla-flecked ice
cream inside, and swirled hot fudge over it all.

Next, he opened a bottle of white wine, filled his glass and
poured her half a glass. She frowned. Was he limiting her alcohol consumption?

"You don't seem like much of a drinker," he said
calmly as he placed the bottle on the sideboard.

Amanda picked up her glass with a hint of defiance.
"I'm not, but your wine is delicious." She sipped, and the liquid
burst in flavorful fragrance against her tongue.
Yum.

She placed the wine goblet on the table, careful not to
spill it. But she wasn't as lucky with the profiterole. When she pressed her
fork down on top of it, the pastry skidded off her plate. She giggled.

"Allow me." Logan took her knife and fork. Never
had he received a better opening.

Cutting a small portion, he lifted the fork. Amanda lowered
her gaze and opened her mouth. He slipped in the morsel and watched as she
savored the contrasting sensations.

Flaky pastry, cold ice cream, and warm
chocolate sauce.

"Yum," she said, licking a speck of chocolate off
her lips. "More."

Logan almost groaned. He could so easily imagine her saying
those words in a different context. His body canted toward her as he fed her
another bite.

This time her gaze locked with his. "Is cooking among
your many talents?" she asked.

"My housekeeper does the cooking."

Amanda glanced around as if she expected a person to
materialize beside them. "Does she live here?"

"She has her own condo in this building."

"Wow." Amanda took another sip of the dessert
wine. "Nice digs for a housekeeper."

He smiled and said lightly, "She's worth it." She
was an old family retainer, but he'd never told anyone in his new life that
fact. The relationship he had with Mrs. MacDonald was something he could never
discuss.

Amanda closed her lips over the next bite and chewed slowly.
"I have to agree with your assessment," she said finally. "Your
housekeeper is talented."

"Have another bite." He lifted his fork and she
opened her mouth obediently. Between her parted lips, he could see her pink
tongue.

Lord, she was killing him. All he could think about was
something else he wanted to slide against her tongue. His hand trembled and a
trickle of hot fudge slipped off the fork and onto her neck.

Quickly, he bent his head, and licked up the sweetness. Her
delicate skin inflamed him.
So soft.
So yielding.
He wanted to mark her, to use every part of his
mouth, his lips,
his
teeth, to draw sensation to the
surface, to arouse every one of her nerve endings.

Just for starters.

When he raised his head, her eyes were wide, staring at him.

He tried to smile.
"Didn't want the
chocolate to ruin your blouse."

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's an ugly
blouse."

"In that case…" He dug into the dessert, lifted
the fork again, and this time he deliberately dropped a dollop of fudge on her
collarbone.

She inhaled a sharp breath. Her eyes glazed over. But she
didn't stop him.

He licked slowly this time, allowing his tongue to wander up
her neck, and his lips to press against her fragrant skin. He could feel her
heart pounding.

"Why do you wear clothes you think are ugly?" he
murmured.

She stiffened beneath his searching tongue. "So you
won't find me attractive."

He was surprised into a chuckle. "You see how well
that's working." He nipped her neck,
then
nipped
it again. She trembled, and his cock, already as stiff as the knife, pressed
against his zipper, seeking release.

"I don't think…" Her voice wandered off as he
continued to kiss the curve of her neck.

"Try feeling instead of
thinking."
He raised his head, scooped up more warm sauce, and
dribbled it directly into her cleavage.

She gasped, and her nipples pebbled. He could see them
clearly through the white blouse.

He followed the sweet chocolate with his tongue. Down and
down, deeper into her cleavage he delved. His fingers were already busy on the
buttons of her blouse, although he expected a sharp reprimand at any moment. If
he could get to her nipples, he'd be able to get her body working against her
mind.

Buttons popped. "My blouse," she murmured. But her
back was already arched and Logan knew she was losing the battle.

Her soft, round breasts pressed against his face on either
side.

"I'll buy you a new blouse," he said.
"A pretty one.
One that shows off
your beautiful breasts."
He dropped the fork on the table and used
his fingers to caress her, exulting in the heavy weight in his hands.

Triumph roared through him when Amanda moaned and threw back
her head. He reached behind her blouse and opened her bra, certain that she
didn't even notice as he continued licking each of her creamy breasts. With the
bra loose, a feast was suddenly before him, and he took advantage. He licked up
one slope, nosing aside the fabric that protected her no longer. When he
reached his goal, he circled her pink nipple, around and around while the tight
point poked his tongue.

She tasted so good. He sucked hard, a sudden flare of hunger
almost causing him to lose control.
Harder and harder.
His entire body was clenched with the need to plunder her. He barely her her
moans until she called out. "Logan!"

He released her at once. "Sorry," he muttered.

She mashed her breasts into his face. "The other
side," she pleaded.

With a muffled laugh, he switched sides. There was nothing
he loved more than sexual eagerness. Well, a climax was better. But, after an
orgasm, he would have to withdraw completely, and be alone. So until then, he
loved foreplay and the sights and sounds of a well-aroused woman.

"I want to try something," he said, his voice
pitched low, to be soothing. He scooped up a dollop of ice cream. Before she
could wonder what he intended, he spilled the cold ice cream onto one nipple.

She jerked in surprise. "Logan!"

He latched onto her breast, licked the ice cream off, and
then sucked her nipple into his mouth.

She moaned again.

"You taste so good," he murmured. He gave her
other nipple the same treatment.

She grabbed the hair on his head. "What are you
doing?"

He glanced up to see her eyes closed, and her head thrown
back against the chair.

"I'm enjoying my dessert," he said. "And I
intend to finish every bite."

He scooped up another dollop of ice cream.

Amanda heard his deep voice talking, but she barely
comprehended the words. Her body was in the throes of a pleasure that was
overwhelming her ability to think. She couldn't be sitting here, with her
breasts outthrust while Logan played with them.

Her boss.

She started to straighten up from her leaning position.
"Logan—"

But he seemed not to hear her warning, or to see anything
amiss. He continued eating his dessert off her.

The cold of the ice cream contrasted with the warmth of his
mouth, and the sensations were heightened by the naughtiness of what he was
doing.

Cold, then hot.

The impersonal touch of the ice cream,
followed by the deeply personal touch of his mouth.
His
lips.
His tongue.

He played with one nipple, and then the other. Each time he
dropped another spot of ice cream on her, he increased the suction he used to
clean it off. First his tongue would swirl all around her nipple, then his
mouth would close over it and he'd suck.
Gently at first, and
then with increasing pressure.

Until he was pulling her already peaked
nipple into a stinging point.

She moaned as her body drew tighter and tighter. Her legs
wanted to spread wide open, and her hands clutched his head, as if he might be
her salvation, rather than her ruin. Her own head swam with both pleasure and a
slight dizziness. A small voice in her brain tried to speak up and issue a
warning, but every time the tiny voice intruded, another wave of delight
swamped it.

She told herself she was safe. Logan was only playing with
her breasts while enjoying his dessert. They were still seated at the dining
room table. He was still fully dressed.

By the time Logan put his spoon down in the empty bowl, the
clink against the china barely registered. She was tense with desire, overcome
with the sensations he'd skillfully aroused in her body. She refused to think
about sex, but she was needy and clingy and as empty as the bowl.