At Odds with the Heiress. Cat Schield

did when she returned to her suite was crank up the air conditioning. Driving a sedate forty miles an hour back to the hotel hadn’t stirred the hot June night air enough to lower her body temperature after kissing Logan.

      She stripped and stepped into the shower. The cool water made her shiver, but it wasn’t enough to fully banish the heat coursing through her at the memory of Logan’s lips moving over hers.

      Somewhat refreshed, she wrapped herself in a terry robe and sat staring out her window at the bright Vegas strip. Why the hell had he kissed her like that? Passion she could handle. That wild kiss in the elevator had knocked her for a loop, but it had been born out of conflict and chemistry.

      Tonight’s embrace had been heartbreakingly romantic. She never imagined a straightforward guy like Logan would have had it in him to kiss her so sweetly and let her go. The explosive quality between them led her to expect him to want her hard and fast. Not slow and tender.

      She felt a quiver begin in her chest and plummet downward until she was just as hot as before her shower.

      A firm knock sounded on her outside door, making Scarlett’s heart jump. Had Logan followed her back to the hotel intent on picking up where they’d left off in his driveway? If so his timing was terrible. Her hair was wet. She wore no makeup. The only thing sexy about her at the moment was that she was naked beneath the robe.

      For several seconds she stood paralyzed with indecision. A second, urgent knock roused her. She crossed to the door and flung it open.

      “About time,” Violet said, holding up a bottle of Tiberius’s favorite Scotch. “It’s been a long, horrible day and I need a drink.”

      “Ditto.” Harper eyed Scarlett’s attire, then peered past her into the suite. “We’re not interrupting anything, are we?”

      Scarlett laughed, but it had a queer edge to it. “Hardly. And you’re right about the day. It was crazy. I’ll get some glasses.”

      The three sisters settled onto the comfortable couch in Scarlett’s living room, each with a glass of amber liquid. Scarlett enjoyed being sandwiched between her sisters, treasured their closeness. Growing up an only child, she’d always longed for siblings. Now she had two.

      “To Tiberius,” Violet pronounced in solemn tones.

      “To Tiberius,” Harper and Scarlett echoed as they all clinked glasses.

      “How did it go with Logan’s niece today?” Harper asked as Scarlett refilled her glass after tossing back the first shot.

      The alcohol had left a line of heat from her throat to her stomach, a different sort of burn than she’d felt when Logan had kissed her. “She’s great. Wants to be an actress. Her family is horrified.”

      Violet frowned. “There are far worse professions.”

      “Not if you listen to Logan,” Scarlett muttered. “He’s convinced I’m going to corrupt Madison with my evil ways.”

      “Stop exaggerating.” Harper was always the voice of order and reason. “You rub Logan the wrong way because it amuses you.”

      Scarlett couldn’t deny it so she shrugged. “I’d rather rub him the right way, but he made it plain from the start that I wasn’t his type.”

      “Is that why he stares at you so much?” Violet regarded her over the rim of her glass. “Because you’re not his type?”

      Harper patted Scarlett’s hand. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’re every man’s type.”

      “Not every man.” But few were immune. Until today she’d believed Logan was one of those. Correction—until tonight. The kiss earlier that day had been about proving a point. Tonight’s kiss had been...intimate. As if the only thing on his mind was connecting with her. Scarlett shook her head and put a stop to such fancy. Turning to Violet, she said, “Something weird happened today. John Malcolm stopped by with an envelope for me from Tiberius.”