Typecast by Kim Carmichael Page A

instinct he didn’t know existed, and he pulled her into his arms. “Come here.”
    “Logan.” With a sigh, she gave in and hugged him.
    “I’m here.” He ran his fingers through her hair.
    “Every time I see it, though I know how it will end, I think he’ll turn around.” Her fingers toyed with his shirt collar. “I wanted Roxy and Steven to be together.”
    “You did?” He tilted his head. Did they watch the same movie? Still, he pulled her a tad closer. “Why?”
    “I don’t know. Steven needed someone, and no one understood him like Roxy. I think she was scared to love him.” She looked down.
    “I was such an asshole.” He hooked his fingers under her chin and raised her face to his.
    “You’re not Steven. You’re Logan.”
    “Steven follows me everywhere.” Though he played the role twenty years ago, the hype and the scandal never let the movie die. Every woman wanted Steven, not him.
    “Then maybe rather than trying to outrun him, or forget him, you need to embrace him.” She pressed her palm to the side of his face.
    He moved his face down close enough to feel her breath puff against his lips. In every movie ever written, now would be the time to kiss her, but he resisted. “I don’t know if I can.”
    “I know you can. You watched it tonight, and you’re fine.” Her fingers danced along his stubble, giving him the shivers.
    “Only because you were here.” He stared at her. With her looks, she should have been an actress or a model, or maybe she was destined to be the smart girl who wanted to believe a villain could be redeemed. She believed in him, and he had to have her, be with her. “I don’t want to be the guy who drives away.”

At Logan’s words, Ivy held her breath, and as if on cue, the small bit of illumination from the projector turned off, leaving them in utter darkness, yet neither of them moved.
    She forced herself to inhale, exhale, and inhale again. Everything about him pointed to him using her and having his fun while giving her the ultimate fantasy. In the end, he would do exactly what he said he wouldn’t and drive away.
    “Logan.” She wanted to push him away, but with the way he held her, dried her tears, and whispered those incredible words, she didn’t have the strength. No, in truth, she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay right here in the little screening room with Logan, and not because he once played a role in a movie she loved, but because he was amazing all on his own. Strong enough to admit he was nervous watching his own image on the screen and man enough to tell her he didn’t want to drive away.
    Without answering, he reached down and took her hand.
    Her stomach bottomed out at the simple act. No, she didn’t push him away, but instead, she gave into her need to touch him and traced her fingers over his jawline. Sharp, Hollywood perfect.
    In turn, he raised his knees and cradled her to him, encompassing her.
    She caressed him down to the slight divot in his chin. He gently took her wrist and moved her hand up to his mouth, kissing her fingertip, but doing nothing more.
    Her heart swelled, while her skin heated. “Logan?”
    “Kiss me.” The words as simple and as deep as telling her he didn’t want to be the guy who drove away. “Now.”
    Unsure what took over her, she obeyed and, even in the pitch black, found his mouth with her own.
    Rather than a soft kiss, one that would grow slow and steady, the second their lips touched it unleashed a pent-up urgency within her, and she opened her mouth, giving him a deep kiss, taking in his taste, his tongue, anything he offered.
    He held her tight, putting one hand on the back of her head to keep her in place, and matched her actions, with a long, drawn-out kiss that only served to inflame her skin.
    She gasped, but without losing any momentum, wrapped her arms around his neck and guided his tongue into her mouth, sucking along its length, taking in his taste, a sweet yet savory combination