by Karr, Kim
Dispelling the urge to lean into him, I pulled my hair out of the collar of my trench coat. “You didn’t. I’m fine.”
I clearly wasn’t.
I hated my past.
I hated my father.
I hated my mother for putting up with him.
I hated my sister for leaving me.
But I hated myself even more.
CHAPTER SIX
LOGAN
She was anything but fine.
Yet I wasn’t any good at consoling people. I didn’t know what to say or do. Besides, I was pretty certain she wasn’t looking for comfort. She was tough, and although I understood why, I also knew what she’d told me wasn’t the only reason. There was more to Elle than she let on. Hey, I got it. She had some demons she didn’t want to let out. And I certainly didn’t want to be the one to unleash them.
I raced in front of her, taking the lead. “Come on, let’s go.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything.
Didn’t I feel like a real shit.
Melancholy seemed to swallow me whole.
Fuck.
The rain was falling harder than it had been earlier and I watched as she put that red hat on again. It was soaking wet and I was certain it wasn’t helping to keep her dry, but she seemed to like it, so although I didn’t say a thing, the sight made me smirk.
Once we were outside, we both kept our heads down. She followed me through the alley and back toward Molly’s. I paused for a moment at the corner and looked around before reaching in my pocket and unlocking the SUV. The taillights of my black Range Rover blinked up ahead. I had unlocked the doors at a good distance so when the rain started falling even harder, I moved faster, making sure she was right behind me. We reached my vehicle in the downpour and I opened her door. Elle didn’t look at me as she got in quickly. I didn’t stop to talk; I just wanted to get off the goddamn street. I ran to the other side and hopped in. When I did, I looked over at her just as she was wiping the rain from her face, or was it a tear?
Both of us were wet. Both of us were out of breath. The air in the car was cold. But the heat that rose as we looked at each other was scorching. For a second, I considered making a move on her, but then, the longer I watched her, the more I realized things between us weren’t going to be that simple.
She looked vulnerable.
It wasn’t something I could handle.
I just wasn’t expecting it.
She was a fighter.
Or so I had thought.
I had to avert my gaze. I knew then that I couldn’t see her after tonight. There were only two categories of women for me—the just fuck and the never fuck. Somehow, she didn’t seem to fit in either and that was dangerous. As if the situation she was in weren’t already dangerous enough, she didn’t need my involvement in her life fucking her up more.
Patrick Flannigan was a heartless, greedy bastard and O’Shea was on his shit list. Add me to the mix and she was in real danger. Many years ago, my grandfather, Killian McPherson, had ordered me to keep my distance from Patrick and ordered Patrick to keep his hands off me. Since I hated Patrick, I dutifully obliged. Since my grandfather was in charge at the time, Patrick was forced to obey. But Gramps was in a home now and no longer here to act as a buffer between Patrick and me. I was on my own. For that reason and so many more, I knew better than to get too close to Patrick.
My father’s well-being was one of the many reasons.
But for her, I’d have to take a risk.
I’d have to step closer.
My own consequences be damned. I was going to make sure she wasn’t a part of O’Shea’s issues. But I had to be smart about it. I had to figure things out first. For my father’s sake.
What did she know?
I was getting ahead of myself. I had to ease into the information. I stopped thinking and started the car. “Where to?” I asked. My voice sounded low and I hated the weakness I was allowing to bleed through my words.
She, on the other hand, seemed to gather strength in the silence and spoke strongly. “A small boutique on Charles, just past Revere.”
I pulled out into the traffic and turned the radio on. The Sex Pistols blared loudly. “Sorry,” I said, quickly turning the volume down.
“You don’t have to turn it down. I like it.”
Unabashedly crude, intensely emotional, and meant to exhilarate and offend at the same time, I guess it was the perfect sound for the mood we were both in.
We rode in silence and I hummed along to the lyrics until I couldn’t stand the quiet any longer. She was staring out the window and I could tell she was somewhere back in time in her mind.
I wanted to get her out of that dark place. I considered how. I thumped the steering wheel, trying to decide what to say. The car in front of me stopped and I skidded to a halt. “Sorry,” I said.
The rain was falling and she was watching it, seemingly unfazed by my sudden stop, but then she looked over. “What?” she asked.
Out of nowhere, I started blurting out things about myself I never told anyone. “When I was growing up, I hated my parents. My mother was controlling; my father was docile, always caving in to her every whim to keep her happy. Even through all the fighting, they stayed together. I was fifteen when they finally divorced and it was because of my actions. That was a dose of reality and it not only forced me to grow up fast, but it forced me to get over the hatred even faster. Everything changed for me that year. The guilt I felt over what I’d done, what I caused, was a bitch to handle, and I didn’t handle it well for a long time. It was so many years later when a friend told me that everything happens for a reason, and the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree. My parents needed to separate. They were both so unhappy together and so much happier apart.”
“So you ended up making amends with your parents?”
My laugh was dry. “I guess you could say that. Now, I avoid my mother. I can’t stand her pretentiousness and she can’t stand my unwillingness to concede to the haughty lifestyle she lives. So we’ve both agreed it’s better if we limit our conversations. “
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s for the best. And besides, my father and I have a closer relationship than I ever thought we would, so things aren’t all that bad.”
What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I spouting useless information about myself to her that I was certain made no sense?
“What happened when you were fifteen?” Her eyes were focused and sharp when she spoke this time.
I shook my head, not willing to dare go there. “It was a long time ago. It’s not something I want to talk about.”
She cleared her throat. “I get it. I want you to know, I wasn’t really honest before. I didn’t really hate my mother. I felt sorry for her but I didn’t hate her. Not when she was alive, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Like you said, it was a long time ago.”
I stopped at another light and reached across the console. I thought about grabbing her hand, but that seemed too much like pity. So instead of taking her hand, I removed her hat and tossed it on the floor behind me. “It’s all wet. You’ll get sick if you keep it on your head.”
She smirked at me. “I like that hat.”
“I know,” I said, smirking back.
The doubtful look on her face was so cute. “And how do you know that?”
“You keep putting it on. It’s obvious you’re attached to it.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m attached to it.”
I raised a brow.
“Well, maybe a little,” she said with a laugh.
The fact that I’d made her smile made me smile.
As soon as I resumed driving, I took a left onto Arlington, and she went back to staring out the window.
The brick row houses with fancy doors, decorative ironwork, brick sidewalks, narrow streets, and gas lamps told me we’d crossed into Beacon Hill. I have to say, of all the are
as in Boston, I really liked this neighborhood the most. I grew up here but never spent much time here. I was always shuffling between Manhattan’s Upper East Side and Dorchester Heights.
Finally, she spoke. “It’s up here on the left.”
I pulled into the open space just outside the boutique at the base of the hill. “The House of Sterling,” I read aloud. “Is this the place?”
“Yes, it’s mine. It opens tomorrow.”
“It’s yours?”
Her smile was bright. “It is.”
“What do you sell?”
Excitement was all around her. “Imports from all the countries I’ve been to.”
The rain was coming down in buckets. “Nice. I can’t read what the window says.”
Her spine seemed to straighten in pride. “It says, ‘The finest things life has to offer.’”
“Well, Elle,” I glanced to the sign and back to her, “Sterling, I have to assume, show me the finest things life has to offer.”
She threw me a small smile and instantly, the mood had lightened. “You assume correct, Logan McPherson.”
I liked the way she said my name. I wanted to ask her to say it again and then wanted to punch myself for thinking that.
Lame.
What was I—twelve?
And a girl?
When she reached behind me and grabbed her hat, I just shook my head.
That red hat.
It was late, and everything was closed, the street empty. Still, I moved fast, but funny, she moved even faster. As soon as I’d opened her door, she bolted around the car to a small overhang just next to the sign. She fumbled for her keys and I squeezed under the overhang behind her. I was close. Really close. Close enough that I could feel the curves of her body brushing against mine.
I couldn’t help but be turned on.
I peered over her shoulder like she might need help, in an attempt to move even closer. It was a dick move and even though I knew it was, I couldn’t help myself. It was a case of body taking over mind. Mentally slapping myself, I glanced down and noticed her hands were shaking and that she couldn’t get the key in the lock.
“Here, let me.” I could be a gentleman.
Elle turned her head and her warm breath gusted across my neck. That’s how close she was. She turned back but didn’t hand me the key, so I reached out with my hand and covered hers as I guided her fingers toward the lock. With my hand squeezing hers, I turned the key and as I did, an overwhelming desire to take her right there overwhelmed me.
The door opened but I didn’t step back.
She didn’t step forward, either.
We both stood there, our bodies aligned in such a way that it would be hard to argue that we didn’t want each other.
It would be harder to argue that we weren’t going to fuck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELLE
“Is that you, Elle?” a voice called.
With his hard body pressed against mine, and arousal flooding me in a way it never had, her voice took a moment to register. But when it did, my eyes flew open. “Peyton, where are you?”
“I’m just coming upstairs,” she called.
I was surprised she had even heard us. When anyone was downstairs it was impossible to hear anything upstairs. Peyton swore the place had been a bomb shelter at one time.
I stepped inside and the heat of Logan’s body wasn’t far behind. “Why are you still here? You said you were leaving with Rachel hours ago.”
Her heels clacked against the wood of the steps. “More merchandise arrived just as we were locking up. I sent Rachel home but decided to stay.”
“The De Bolivar soaps? I told you to call me when they arrived.”
Her crown of out-of-control shiny brown curls peeked through the banister of the open staircase. “No,” she laughed, “and I don’t know why some soap made with South American olive oil interests you so much, but what arrived is so much better. Check these out. I don’t know which one I prefer. Maybe you can help me decide.” She emerged from the stairs proudly holding a diamond ring dildo in one hand and a platinum vibrator encrusted in emeralds in the other.
My cheeks felt flush immediately. Hers turned even brighter red when she spotted Logan standing beside me. I looked at him, and the smirk on his face that said so much more than I wanted to know right now.
Surprised I wasn’t alone, Peyton quickly put the dildo behind her back. “Maybe you don’t need this one.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Logan said half a moment later.
She pulled it back around to hold it in front of her, high in the air. Her shirt lifted and the colorful tail of a peacock peeked from under its hem. She had a few tattoos; I had thought about getting one once of a dandelion but never did.
Admiring her display, she remarked, “It is pretty big.”
My mouth dropped to the floor when Peyton did a double take like she was sizing it up and comparing it to Logan.
Logan didn’t miss the suggestion. “Yeah, although I’d like to say I’m bigger, I don’t think I can.”
We all burst out in laughter.
Shaking my head, I said, “Peyton, this is Logan. Logan, this is Peyton, my assistant.”
“And best friend,” she added while her eyes scanned Logan curiously.
I could tell she thought I’d been holding out, and it almost made me laugh. “Logan and I just met at Michael’s office. I had a flat tire and he offered to drive me here.”
Suspicion loomed deep in her eyes, but still she set the items on the nearest table and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”
“Nice to meet you too, Peyton,” he said, rather charmingly I might add.
They shook hands, and then she picked the vibrator and dildo back up. “I was just leaving. Do you want these in the case or do you want to wait for the,” she paused and looked at Logan, “other items to arrive?” She was almost giggling.
Logan’s smirk only grew. “Other items like?”
“The Gold Tickler from Italy and the String of Pearls from Asia.” I just put it out there. I figured, why not?
“Oh, and don’t forget the snakeskin handcuffs from Singapore and—”
“I think he gets the picture,” I said, cutting her off.
“Oh please, keep going,” Logan teased.
She actually was about to continue.
“Peyton,” I admonished. “I thought you were leaving.”
She handed me the items. “See you bright and early.” She hugged me. “I can’t believe it’s finally here.”
I squeezed her tightly. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I hired Peyton almost two months ago when I rented the space. She has a degree in merchandising, a skill I greatly value. Ever since I hired her, we’ve spent every day together sifting through the inventory from my online boutique and searching for even more extravagant items.
Peyton put on her coat. “I hope to see you again,” she said to Logan.
He nodded hesitantly. “You never know.”
Sounded like we had the same plan.
I took the exquisite sexual items and walked toward the center of the boutique. With each step, I could feel his eyes on me. Shivering, I scanned the room and forced myself to focus on admiring the work I’d done.
The space wasn’t huge, but it was big enough. I’d refinished the ebony wood floors and purchased inexpensive wood tables, both of which complemented the simple glass fixtures and extensive shelving exquisitely. The style was shabby chic. It was eye-catching. Enticing. It was my dream come true.
“Where exactly will the sex toys be displayed?” Logan asked with a sinister purr in his voice.
Sensing I was only going to be even more turned on if I saw his face, I didn’t turn to face him when I spoke. “Over here, next to the counter in this antique Chinese glass case.”
I knew he was approaching me with that long, lean body of his when I smelled his delicious scent. “I have to ask. How m
uch do the items in your hand retail for?”
Drawing in a breath, I unlocked a drawer behind the antique counter that once sold tickets for a carousel in Vienna and set the items inside it. “Each will be tagged one thousand dollars.”
Logan gave a low whistle. “Nice. At least it’s not as much as Beckham’s gift to Posh back in their day.”
Laughing, I gave in and glanced over at him. “No, I highly doubt, even with my mad selling skills, that I could sell a million-dollar item. To be honest, I’m not even certain these will go, but Peyton insisted we give them a try.”
The smile he gave me felt electric. “Oh, they’ll sell. In fact, you might want to order a case of those.”
Discussing devices used to provide pleasure should have been awkward, yet somehow it wasn’t. “Do you know something I don’t?”
With folded arms, he leaned back against the counter. “About the wealthy residents of Boston, absolutely. And here’s a small suggestion.” He bobbed his chin toward the ornate Chinese glass cabinet beside him. “Put those items out tomorrow, and as soon as a customer asks the price, casually mention your supply is low, and I bet they buy them up.”
I raised a brow. “Experienced in high-society sexual dynamics, are you?”
His grin was devilish. “You might say that. I also have a few friends back home that as soon as I mention upscale sex toys, I’m sure will be interested.”
I tilted my head. “Will I have to pay you commission?” I was seriously flirting with him now.
There was just something about him.
We were facing each other and the noise he made from deep in his throat rumbled through me. “I’m sure we could work something out.”
My cheeks flamed and I wasn’t a blusher, or I hadn’t been before I met Logan.
“Show me around.” His tone was commanding again.
I couldn’t understand why I liked it.
I shouldn’t have.
More than happy to escape his lustful stare, I circled the counter and pointed. “To my left I have rugs from Persia, silks from China, and perfumes from France. To my right I have the finest cotton sheets from Egypt, English soaps, Wiley Wallaby gourmet licorice from Australia, Himalayan gourmet salt, and Hacienda La Esmeralda coffee beans from Panama.” I continued around the space, pointing out all the finest things I’d managed to find around the world.