Logan hadn't moved.
For the first time in a long time, the usually self-assured actor—so used to commanding cameras and bending the world to his will—just sat there, frozen. Aurora's kiss still burned on his lips, her breath tangled in his lungs, and his mind was a chaotic storm of want, fury, and disbelief.
He turned slowly to face her.
Aurora stared straight ahead, as if the kiss had meant nothing. Her posture was relaxed, chin propped on one hand, as though she hadn't just sent him into a tailspin with the press of her mouth on his. But he wasn't fooled. Not for a damn second.
"You kissed me," he said, voice low and tight.
Aurora didn't glance his way. "You kissed someone first."
Logan's jaw flexed. "It was a scene. A script. A professional obligation."
"Ah," she said softly, still not looking at him. "And mine was just a response."
"You don't do anything without calculation," he snapped. "So what was that? A punishment? A test? Or was it your version of foreplay?"
