Blame It On The Cowboy. Delores Fossen
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But he didn’t attack.
He stepped from the shadows. Slowly. As if he had all the time in the world.
It was Logan.
And he was naked.
No, not naked. He was wearing boxers, but she had focused on the naked parts because they were more noticeable. He was sipping a drink, also slowly.
“Reese,” he said, his voice low and slightly dangerous.
Or maybe that was confusion in his tone because of the porcelain nippled boob she had aimed at him.
“You didn’t take this to the grave very long, did you?” Logan asked, and had another sip of his drink, clearly waiting for her answer.
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