by Anna Durand
"But you said you don't like secrets."
"That's why I don't like them, because I've lived with them before. But I understand sometimes secrets are kept for a good reason." She sighed heavily. "Doesn't mean I have to like it. Knowing someone must've been through hell but not being able to help them, not even knowing what they went through... It's hard."
"You're talking about your husband."
She nodded. "He was special forces. Rob went on some classified missions that he never could talk about, but those seemed to be the experiences that traumatized him the most. He never had PTSD, but I knew he'd been through something I couldn't understand, something bad."
"Why would you want to be with me? I have even more secrets, worse ones, and I can't tell you everything."
"Before I answer that, would you answer one question for me?"
"All right."
She was silent for a few seconds, considering me in a way that made my skin itch again. "What have you done that makes you think you're a horrible person?"
And there it was. The question I'd hoped I would never need to answer, but that I'd known would come up eventually. If I didn't answer, she would be upset. If I told her the truth, I might lose her.
Did I have her now? We'd spent one evening together, on a date, but that didn't give me leave to assume she was signing on for a relationship. I still didn't know if I wanted that.
I shut my eyes and let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Of course I wanted that. Why else would I have gone through all this rigmarole to give her a real, romantic date?
With my eyes still closed, I told her the truth. "I've killed men, Serena."
"Am I supposed to be shocked? You served in a war zone."
"I'm not talking about enemy combatants, though I took out some of those too." I forced myself to look her in the eye. "I've killed men, some of whom were unarmed, because they had the power to blow my cover and expose my assets. That means human beings, ones who relied on me to protect them. I had no qualms about eliminating those threats. I am a killer, Serena."
"Bullshit." She gave me her mulish look, the one I'd seen often enough to recognize it. "I notice you call yourself a killer, but not a murderer. Do you even realize you're doing that?"
"What's the difference? A killer is a murderer."
"Not necessarily. Killing can be self-defense, or defense of another person. Murder is cold-blooded." She considered me for a moment, seeming to look for something in my expression. "When you were talking about Elspeth, your face changed. You weren't so closed off, hiding behind that steely mask. And when you're trying to convince me you're a rotten bastard, I can see that other part of you peeking through. If you had murdered people for no good reason, not in self-defense, you wouldn't call yourself a killer. You wouldn't feel the need to explain at all, because you'd be a cold-blooded sociopath."
"Maybe I am."
She slanted toward me, her expression fierce. "Bullshit again, Logan."
"Why do you want to forgive me for what I've done?"
"Because I know you're a good man." She bent even closer, her nose almost touching mine. "You can't chase me off. I'm on to your game, so stop trying to play me. The reason you want to convince me you're a killer is because this thing between us scares you."
I started to object, but like I had earlier, I stopped. Maybe her claim had some merit. I hadn't tried to date a woman, much less start a relationship with one, since before I joined the SIS. Maybe I was afraid she'd eventually realize I was a monster after all, and she'd leave me. Before Serena, I'd never worried I might be a murderer.
"You're right," I said. "I'm a flaming eejit and a coward."
She straightened and smiled. "No, Logan, you're something much worse. You are a typical man."
"Christ, shoot me now and put me out of my misery. No one has ever called me typical before. It must mean I'm turning into a bampot."
"You're not crazy in the head, but you are crazy hot."
This was the kind of conversation I liked, the kind that might lead to more sex. But we had other things to talk about first.
"It's your turn," I said. "Tell me your secrets."
Chapter Twenty
Serena
Tell him my secrets. His request sounded like a no-brainer—I didn't have secrets, I didn't like them—but I hesitated on the verge of saying so. Did I keep certain truths to myself? Did I keep them even from myself? What Keely had told me the other day, about me being afraid of liking Logan, had been festering in my mind ever since. Maybe I was afraid of this whatever-it-was between us, and maybe I'd led him to believe certain things that weren't precisely true. Maybe I'd kept secrets from him because I couldn't admit to the real issue.
I was afraid, just like he was.
"You must think I'm a hypocrite," I said. "I've told you I don't like secrets and basically chastised you for keeping stuff from me. Yet I've been doing the same thing."
"Have you?" he said in a casual tone, like he didn't know I had done that. "I suppose we've both been hiding things from each other."
"But you shared your secrets, the ones you won't get executed for telling me." I drew my knees up to my chest and locked my arms around them. "It's time I confessed."
He shifted position, angling his body toward me so we faced each other, but he said nothing. He simply waited for me to start talking.
Though he gazed at me with a patient, almost tender, expression, it took me a minute to muster the confidence to speak.
"I never really hated you, Logan," I said. "But I've known from the start what you've done in your past. Not the details, obviously. Your cousins and Keely told me you'd been a spy and what you'd done for Keely and Evan last year. I didn't know until recently, when Isla told me, that you'd also been in the army."
"Does that make a difference?"
"It shouldn't, but for me it does." I shut my eyes for a couple seconds, biting down on my upper lip. Then I met his beautiful gaze. "I didn't want to get involved with another military man. You remind me of Rob, my husband, in some ways because he wanted to serve his country and protect the world from bad guys. Every time he came home, he seemed a little more different, a little more closed off."
"He was different, I'm sure. My family would tell you the same thing about me. It can be hard to readjust to home life after being on edge constantly for so long."
"I get that, I do. But after his third tour in Iraq, I begged him to get out of the army. He wouldn't do it." I shook my head, remembering those days. "He went back for another tour. Three days before he was supposed to come home, he was killed. Rob survived four tours, a total of more than five years in Iraq, without any serious injuries until the very end. For more than half of our marriage, he was gone. He hated the violence and bloodshed, but he kept going back for more. That has to mean he liked the danger, right? Why else wouldn't he quit?"
"Nothing is ever that simple." Logan rubbed his eyes, his head bowed. "After you've seen war for so long, it's hard to leave that behind. You need the sacrifices to be worth it, and for some, that drives them to keep going no matter what."
Though I wanted to ask him if he'd ever done that, I'd agreed to tell him about me right now. So I forged ahead. "Okay, maybe Rob didn't love the danger. Maybe he refused to quit because he felt obligated in some way, like he owed it to all his friends who had died over there. But if that way of life becomes a part of you..."
Logan cocked his head, studying me. "Your husband couldn't leave the army, even for you and your son, so you're afraid I'm the same. The SIS is a part of me, and I can't ever leave it behind. That's what you think."
"Isn't it true? Being in the military, then MI6..." I hunched my shoulders. "Why would you keep doing that kind of work if you didn't feel a need to do it?"
"You've got it backwards. I quit MI6 because I was tired of the constant stress. After years of living that way, I wanted out."
"But you're fed up w
ith your current job. The civilian life isn't enough for you."
He searched my face for a long moment, his expression difficult to read. Was he annoyed? Confused? I had no idea.
Finally, he scrubbed a hand over his face and said, "You think I want to go back to the SIS, or the military."
"Why wouldn't you? It's not a crazy question. You must've experienced awful things and probably feel that same obligation Rob did, to make the sacrifices mean something."
He blustered out a sigh and glanced up at the ceiling. "Serena, I was a bricklayer for three years. I wasn't bored in that work."
Okay, I'd forgotten about that. Deep down, though, I couldn't believe he'd been satisfied with that job either.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, "but I wasn't frustrated as a bricklayer. It was hard labor, and I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. The problem with the job Evan created for me is that it's nothing I know how to do. I feel like a fish flopping around on the sand."
"Are you sure it's not the danger you miss?"
He reached out to brush his fingers over my cheek. "No, lass, I don't need to fulfill a misplaced obligation, and I don't miss the danger. I miss the hard work. Being a spy used my brain and my body. Oddly, being a bricklayer did the same thing. I was always calculating what to do and when, and how to do it right. Being head of security at Evanescent leaves me with too much downtime."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted it so badly.
Logan kissed me, softly, sweetly. "The only thing I miss about my previous life is having something to actually do at work, instead of spinning round and round in my desk chair for half an hour."
"You didn't really do that."
His lips twitched up at the corners.
I couldn't help laughing. "You did? You spun in your chair because you were so bored?"
"Why do you think I kept sneaking up on you to steal a kiss? It was the only thing I could think of to keep from going insane from boredom." He ran his hands up and down his thighs. "When I'm with you, I don't feel rudderless anymore, or on the verge of slipping into a coma. You keep me sane and awake, Serena."
"Great. I'm your No-Doz and Prozac combination pill."
"No. You're more than that, much more."
I was more? For so long, way before he'd started working at Evanescent, I'd dismissed Logan as nothing but a cad. He wanted to have a poke, not have a relationship. That's why I'd been able to convince myself I hated him and keep him at a distance. He wasn't the kind of man I could ever fall for, not in a million years.
Except he was. Like Rob, Logan had served his country and lived with the daily terror of being in a war zone. Maybe that explained his behavior. He'd forgotten how to relate to civilians, even his own family. Unlike Rob, Logan seemed to have left the war behind and moved on. He might not have been satisfied with his current job, but he claimed he didn't want to go back to his old life.
Could I believe that? Should I?
I wanted to, desperately.
My hand seemed to move of its own volition, reaching out to touch his cheek, tentatively at first, then caressing his skin. His cheek was smooth, with no trace of evening stubble. He'd shaved for our date. For me. A man wouldn't do that unless he wanted more than sex. Hell, I'd done the deed with Logan before tonight when he had stubble on his face, so he hadn't needed to bother. The fact he had made the back of my throat ache.
"I get it now," I said. "You're still trying to adjust to civilian life, even after three years. It's amazing you're so comfortable telling me about your past considering where you've been."
"Don't pity me for my war experience. I got off much easier than a lot of soldiers did." He rubbed his eyes again, his mouth tight. "I watched friends get blown apart by IEDs. I saw soldiers and civilians being gunned down or killed by grenades or suicide bombers. Somehow, I survived without any major injuries."
"I'm so sorry for what you've been through, but I'm glad you survived." I took his face in my hands and kissed him. "I'm glad you're here with me."
"So am I."
"There's one thing you need to understand. I'm going to worry. I can't help that. I'm going to panic about pretty much everything, at least for a while." I frisked my hands up and down my arms, suddenly chilled by the thought of what I needed to tell him next. "I lost one man I loved, and I'm terrified of going through that again. What I feel for you, it's not love yet. I want to find out where this might lead, but I'm also afraid of what might happen if I fall for you."
"You worry I'll die. Because I've led a dangerous life, and you think I want to go back to that world."
"Maybe. I don't know."
Logan pulled the covers up over me, but they slid back down. He warmed me with his hands instead, running them over my arms, my shoulders, my back. The contact comforted me more than he could possibly know, more than I could've explained. I hadn't received this kind of comfort in a very long time, and somehow, it seemed right for it to come from Logan.
And that realization made me feel like I had been disloyal to Rob.
Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to stream down my face. I sniffled, determined not to cry.
"It's all right," Logan said. "Cry if you need to."
He pulled me into his arms and held me. His embrace was gentle, and as he stroked my hair with one big hand, I found myself relaxing into him as the need to cry evaporated. My eyelids fluttered shut. The warmth of his firm body suffused me, and I slipped my arms around his waist to cuddle closer. How strange that the man I'd convinced myself I hated gave me more comfort than I'd ever known in my life.
I'd been so wrong about Logan.
Reluctantly, I peeled myself away from his body.
He kissed my forehead, then swung his legs off the bed on my side, seeming about to leave.
I opened my mouth to ask where he was going but froze when I caught sight of the network of scars on his back. They had faded and probably weren't easily visible under normal conditions, but the subdued lighting in this room struck his scars at the right angle to reveal their faint lines. Some formed circular shapes, while others looked like slashes. I wriggled closer to skate my fingertips over the marks.
"How did you get these scars?" I asked. "And how did I not notice them before?"
Logan smirked at me over his shoulder. "I was on top of you."
"Right. I never did get a good view of your backside. But how—"
"I was tortured."
His matter-of-fact statement stopped me. While he stared straight ahead at the windows, his features devoid of expression, I examined his scars. While my mind conjured up horrific images of what might have been done to him, an invisible weight bore down on my chest.
"Jesus, Logan." I wrapped my arms around him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. "What happened? You don't have to tell me, but..."
Though his gaze stayed on the windows, his shoulders deflated. "I was a spy, gràidh. Twice I was captured and tortured in hopes of breaking me and gaining intel. I wouldn't break, and that...annoyed my captors."
I hugged him tighter and decided not to ask why he kept calling me darling in Gaelic. I'd heard Evan call Keely gràidh often enough that I'd asked him what it meant. In this moment, all I cared about was that Logan had opened up to me. "You must have escaped, right?"
"Yes. It wasn't easy."
Something in his voice convinced me he was understating the difficulty. I wanted to know the whole story, but I also didn't want to know.
He levered himself off the bed and turned toward the door.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Back to my room."
"If you want to leave, I understand. But I'd rather you stayed."
He moved only his eyes to look at me. "I assumed you'd want me to go."
I shook my head, clucking my tongue. "You really shouldn't make assumptions about what I want."
He smiled a little. "That's a bad habit of mine, isn't
it?"
Throwing the covers back, I patted the mattress. "Get that fine ass back in this bed and make love to me again."
"Again?" His brows lifted. "Aren't you tired?"
"Nope."
I stretched out on the bed.
He crawled up it to straddle my body, his face above mine. "You are nèamh, for certain."
"What does that mean?"
"Heaven, leannan. You are heaven."
I knew leannan meant sweetheart. Logan had called me darling and sweetheart and...heaven.
He kissed me, taking his time while he explored and savored my lips before diving deep inside my mouth to intoxicate me with the sweetest, hottest kiss I'd ever experienced. By the time he rolled a condom over his length and pushed inside me, I was already halfway to climax. No one kissed like Logan, and no one made love to me the way he did either.
What was this thing between us? A romance? A love affair? Neither of those adequately described the feelings that overwhelmed me when he lovingly brought me to orgasm again and again. But a word he'd spoken seemed like the perfect definition.
Nèamh.
I'd found heaven in Logan's arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
Logan
Lying beside Serena, I watched her sleep while the light of the rising sun elongated across the carpeting, creeping toward the bed. I'd woken early, feeling better than I had in a very long time. What was it about Serena? How did she make me forget about my past and think of only the things I wanted to do with her? Not just sex. I wanted to take her home to Scotland and show her where I'd grown up.
And introduce her to my parents.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I hardly knew Serena. We'd had our first date last night. It was much too soon to even think about having her meet my parents. She'd met my sisters...
Mhac na galla. I'd been initiated into the love cult by my own doing.
Evan would harass me to no end for this.
I pushed up on my elbow, gazing down at Serena lying on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek. The covers had slipped down to her waist. I couldn't resist drinking in the sight of her bonnie breasts and remembering all the ways I'd loved them last night. With my hands. With my mouth. At one point, with my toes. Aye, Serena inspired me to be extraordinarily creative. She'd been creative too, in ways that left me spent and gasping for breath, and satisfied in every way.