Could it be fate? Was there such a thing? Logan didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
Right now, all he cared about was seeing Cassie again. All he knew for sure was he and the lass were in the same city, breathing the same air. He sucked in a breath of that air and focused on the sidewalk in front of him. One step at a time, that was his motto. Don’t make too many plans, and don’t think too far ahead. Live in the moment because you never know when the whole bloody thing will come crashing down around your fecking ears.
Barely a week had passed since she’d discovered him behind a castle bookshelf, and now here he was, across the ocean, strolling through downtown Chicago at sunset, the mile-high skyscrapers of the Windy City casting long shadows across his path. As Logan walked, he soaked up the vibe of this new city, her city, trying to get a sense of the world Cassie lived in … the world that would, for the foreseeable future, be his as well.
Who could have predicted the wild turn his life had taken?
“People plan and God laughs.” That’s what Da would say.
Logan had been thinking about Da a great deal the past few days. The joke had sure been on you, huh, Da? He doubted his father would have predicted any of this. A wave of anguish rose in his chest and Logan pushed it down. He wasn’t going there. He crammed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a faded cocktail napkin. Swallowing hard, he took out his phone and started to dial.
* * *
As Cassie headed home after dinner, her mind swirled with to-do’s and tequila. She still needed to unpack, and she really needed to do laundry. Part of her acknowledged putting off these chores was her way of extending her vacation—like, maybe the vacation wasn’t really over if her bags were still packed.
Also, she really didn’t want to wash the clothes that smelled like Logan, and had in fact spent the last few nights sleeping in one shirt in particular. She had just finished brushing her teeth and was about to change into the same shirt again when her phone buzzed. She absently swiped her thumb over the answer button. “Hello?”
The familiar delicious burr caught her off guard, and she almost dropped her phone. “Logan, is that you?”
“Aye, it’s me. Look, I uh, happen to be in Chicago and I thought…”
“Wait, hold on,” Cassie demanded. “You’re in Chicago?”
“Aye.”
“Right now?”
“Aye,” Logan said again.
“I don’t believe it.” Cassie laughed, collapsing onto the pile of laundry on her bed. “Prove it.”
Less than twenty minutes later, Cassie watched from her window as a tall figure bounded up the front steps to her building. The nape of her neck prickled with awareness. There was no mistaking those broad shoulders or the tousle of bright hair.
Logan fucking Reid was indeed in Chicago. Right now.
“Holy shit.”
Cassie let him inside her apartment and closed the door. Leaning against it, she drew support from the feel of solid wood beneath her back, a welcome sensation since the rug had been pulled out from under her feet.
“Thanks for having me up,” he said, that same mischievous grin she remembered all too well tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she warned, watching as he shrugged out of his jacket. It was that jacket. The man sure had nerve. That, or he didn’t own a lot of coats. Cassie reached to take his jacket and folded it over her arm, the warmth the fabric still held from his body seeping into her skin.
“On or off?”
“Hmm?” Uncertainty rooted Cassie to the spot.
“Shoes. Do you prefer them on or off?” He quirked an eyebrow in question, one of his wicked devil brows she also remembered very well.
“Oh. Off, please.” As he bent to remove his boots, the muscles in his back and arms bunched and, despite herself, Cassie briefly considered suggesting he remove a few other things. Shoes, socks, shirt … pants. Settle down, girl.
She’d always considered her apartment’s tiny entry nook cozy, but with Logan’s broad shoulders filling the space, it was downright intimate. She swallowed hard and squeezed past him to open the closet. “You can toss those in here,” she said, as she placed his jacket on a hanger. His boots landed with a thump on the hardwood floor, and she glanced up, startled.
Behind her, Logan caught her gaze in the hall mirror. He bit his lip in a sheepish gesture. “Sorry. My mam calls them anchors.”
“For your boat-sized feet?” Cassie guessed.
“Aye.” His eyes crinkled as he grinned, and Cassie’s insides turned to porridge.
She slid the closet door shut and focused on his stocking feet. “They are rather big.” Cassie slid her foot across the floor and nudged his toes with hers, unable to resist making contact.
“Well, I’m kind of big too. What, you think I should be walking around with dainty fairy feet? I’d fall on my face for want of balance.”
“Ah, it’s a matter of proportion then.” Cassie lifted her gaze to his face, her eyes taking the long way to get there. And at Logan’s height of six foot four, it was a long way indeed.
“Proportion, is it?” he purred, one auburn eyebrow quirking.
“That’s not what I was talking about,” she protested, keeping her gaze astutely away from the area in question.
“Really?” he asked, his burr rolling, playing with the word, teasing her.
Cassie turned away from him and headed into the living room. Less than five minutes in his presence and already she was talking about his cock. Well, not talking about it, exactly, but thinking about it. She honestly had been referring to the size of his feet at first—and Lord knew it was true—the man was built to scale. It was just kind of hard not to think about his other, ah, proportions, which she recalled in vivid detail.
“Have a seat.” Cassie gestured toward the one chair in the room while she took a spot on the couch. If the temperature of her cheeks was any indication, she was blushing furiously. She considered shoving her face into one of the pillows, but figured that would likely draw more attention to the problem. She leaned back and waited for him to get settled in the chair.
Rather than sit, he strolled about. Cassie glanced around and tried to see her apartment through his eyes, wondering what would catch his attention. What story would her things tell him?
What was his story anyway? What was he doing in Chicago?
Logan finished his circuit of the room, ignored the chair she’d indicated, and sat on the couch. Right next to her.
Of course he did.
Cassie tried not to think about how his leg was pressed against hers, tried to ignore how her professional business skirt didn’t look quite so professional when hiked up her thighs as his added weight caused her to sink deeper into the thick cushions of the couch. She tugged at the hem of her skirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
His gaze followed her movement, lingering on her legs. Real smooth, Cass. If he hadn’t noticed before, he did now. Not in the mood to play games, Cassie cut to the chase. “Why’d you call me?”
“I missed you, lass.” His voice was whisper soft, and Cassie felt a tickle low in her belly. She’d missed him too, but that wasn’t the point. The problem, however, was being so close to Logan made it hard for her to remember exactly what the point was supposed to be.
She leaned away from him and gathered her thoughts. In London, he’d played her, carried that contract around with him the entire time he’d been with her. She had to remember that. “Why didn’t you post the video?” she asked. “I signed your stupid contract. Didn’t Theo give it to you?”
“Aye.” His face darkened. “Why didn’t you give it to me yourself? And by the bye, what did you mean when you said I’d earned it?”
“Never mind. I was angry when I said that.”
“No kidding.” He snorted. “I suppose you had a right to be.”
“You suppose?” She jumped to her feet, fuming. She’d been feeling bad about what she’d said, but Logan’s attitud
e stirred the ashes of her anger. “You followed me to London. Tracked me down so you could get me to sign that contract. Do you deny it?”
A bright red flush crept across his features. “No. I dinna deny it.” A muscle leapt in his jaw, and he stood as well, towering over her.
If he thought he could intimidate her with his height, he was wrong.
“Look, you damn Scot, the one thing I wanted from my vacation was a night of hot sex with a stranger. A foreign fling.” Cassie went toe to toe with the man and glared up at him. “Thanks to you, I got the souvenir I wanted.”
“Are you saying that’s all there was between us?” His voice was low, pained. “That you used me?”
Cassie wasn’t buying his hurt feelings routine. The only thing hurting this man was his bruised ego. “Oh, please, like you weren’t using me.”
“It wasna like that. I mean, aye, at first. And I meant to tell you, I did. But then…” He stopped, closing his eyes as he sucked in a breath. “Then I…”
“Then you what?” Cassie asked, her own breath caught in her chest.
He shook his head. He opened his eyes and stared down at her. They were standing so close she could see each individual fleck of gold in his green eyes, the bright shards orbiting his pupils. He bent toward her, mouth hovering inches from hers, and for a moment Cassie thought he was going to kiss her.
And she realized, despite everything, she wanted him to kiss her.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said, briefly touching his lips to her cheek before he stepped back.
His words drained the last of her anger, and in its place crept remorse. “I’m sorry too.” What they’d shared had been more than a one-night stand. At least, that’s what she’d begun to believe—until she’d found that contract. Maybe, instead of running away, she should have given him a chance to explain.
A rueful chuckle broke the silence between them. “And to think,” Logan said, shrugging his broad shoulders, “in the end I didn’t need your signature on that bloody contract after all.”
“What are you talking about? I thought you had to have it. For your show.” Cassie thought back to that day in the castle, trying to remember what his sister had said. “Something about a big important deal?”
Logan nodded and pulled her back on to the couch. “Aye, I thought I needed it too.” He rubbed his thumb across the inside of her wrist. “But the producers at Second Studios came up with a compromise, so I get my shot after all.”
“So I don’t have to be humiliated? Thank God.” Cassie sighed.
“I hardly see how getting caught winching me is humiliating,” Logan mused.
“Winching?” Cassie frowned. “What’s that?”
“Kissing.” He grinned. “With, ah, tongue.”
Cassie stared at his mouth. He licked his lips.
She tried very hard not to lick her own lips.
She failed.
He moved closer, green-gold gaze meeting hers. Intense. Focused. Knowing. “I don’t think it’s the winching that has you worried.”
“You don’t?”
“Nae. I’ve had time to consider. And I think you’re upset because I got you.”
“You … got me?” Cassie asked, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
“When you first saw me in the castle”—he lifted his chin and gazed down at her, devil’s brow arched in challenge—“part of you thought maybe … just maybe…”
“What? You were actually a time-traveling Highlander?” Cassie sat still, holding her ground. “No way.”
“Admit it, lass.” He pressed closer, speaking soft and low in her ear. “For a moment, you believed. For a moment,” he continued, his words caressing the curve of her neck, “I got you.”
Cassie shivered, his ability to read her affecting her even more than his touch, his nearness. Because the truth was, he was right.
For a split second, she had believed. Not really, not logically. Not in her head.
But in her heart … yeah.
“Fine, I admit it,” Cassie acquiesced. “You got me, okay? But only for a second.”
He chuckled, a throaty triumphant sound that ticked her off while still making her nipples tighten.
“I can’t believe you’re working for Second Studios now.” Cassie shifted on the couch, scooting her traitorous boobs away from him.
“You’re looking at the host of their new late-night talk show.” Logan grinned. “We start filming the end of the week.”
“Does this mean you’ll be staying in Chicago for a while?”
“The next few months, for certain.” Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar box. He opened the lid. “These were meant for you, lass,” he said, taking her hand and spilling the charms into her palm.
Cassie bit her lip, staring down at the miniature silver replicas of Big Ben and the London Eye. “You know, when I first found this box, I thought it might be an engagement ring.”
A strangled noise gurgled in Logan’s throat, and his eyes bulged as if he had indeed just been strung with a hangman’s noose.
“I didn’t say I wanted it to be one,” she rushed to reassure him. “That’s outrageous.”
“Bloody bonkers,” he agreed. “Especially seeing as I don’t intend to ever get married. I just meant it as a farewell gift, aye? Something to remember me by.” His voice tightened. “But you ran away before I had a chance to give them to you.”
“I didn’t run away,” she protested, but they both knew she was lying.
“You didn’t give me the chance to say goodbye.” He held her gaze with his, and the hurt she saw there was real. He wrapped his hand around hers, closing her fist on the charms. “These are yours. No strings attached.”
No strings, huh? Cassie wondered. When she’d first signed Logan’s damn waiver, that had been her intention—to cut any strings tying her to the Scot. It had been an impulsive act, one she’d regretted almost immediately. But now she was glad she’d signed it. If she hadn’t, and he’d called her, told her he was here in town, she’d have been sure it was for one reason and one reason only. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t want anything else from me?”
“Well, since you ask…” He paused.
Cassie tensed, her spine going rigid as he stared down at their clasped hands. Here it comes.
Logan squeezed her hand. “I’d like to see you again. Take you out for another drink, perhaps?”
Oh. The steel went out of her spine, and Cassie exhaled. When she’d run away from him in London, part of her had hoped he would chase after her. And in the end, he had. Regardless of motive, he’d followed her across the ocean.
In any of her romance novels, that would have been enough. The heroine would have taken one look at her hero and thrown herself into his arms. God knew Cassie wanted to do just that … but this was real life. Happy endings weren’t lurking around every corner. “Logan, I think there’s something you should know.”
“You’re not seeing someone, are you? Engaged, like your friend Bonnie?”
“Um, no. Definitely not.” She pulled her hand from his and opened her palm, studying the charms again. “The exact opposite, actually. I haven’t dated anyone in a long time. I haven’t been with anyone—present company excluded—in a really long time.” She swallowed. “The Cassie you met in Scotland was a completely different person.”
“Ah. You have an evil twin,” Logan deadpanned.
Cassie laughed. “No. But real-life Chicago Cassie is not the same person as fantasy vacation Cassie. When I was in Europe, I gave myself permission to indulge, to be spontaneous, to—”
“Fuck a Scotsman on a desk?”
“Exactly,” she said, cheeks burning.
“I dinna mean to sound crass.” He touched her cheek gently, lifting her face to his. The tender gesture turned Cassie’s knees to water. Good thing she was sitting down. “I’m not going to lie. I liked holiday Cassie…” He paused, brow quirking. “Verra much.”
The roll of
his Gaelic tongue made other parts start to liquefy. She squeezed her thighs together.
“But I’d also like to spend time getting to know Chicago Cassie,” he said, smoothing back a lock of her hair. “What do you think?”
What did she think? Logan was here, in her city, and didn’t want anything more from her than the chance to go out on some dates. Get to know her better.
For so long, she’d been focused on getting ahead at ChiChat. Meanwhile, her love life had taken a back seat … more like been stuffed in the trunk. Now, everything seemed within reach, the job she wanted, the man she craved. And she was in the driver’s seat.
Cassie laughed, giddy with possibility.
“What’s so funny?” Logan asked.
“It’s just … it all seems too good to be true.”
“Life is short, lass.” Logan winked at her, and there he was, her Peter Pan holding out his hand, offering another taste of Neverland. “When good things happen, try not to question it.”
“I do have one question.” Cassie took a breath, lifting her gaze to his. “Did you happen to pack your kilt?”
CHAPTER 21
A MONTH LATER, Logan glanced at the clock in Cassie’s kitchen and cursed. She’d be home in under an hour and everything was going wrong.
So he did what he always did when things went wrong. He called his best mate.
“Logan?”
“Hello, Theo,” Logan drawled pleasantly. “How’s things?”
“What’s wrong?” Theo demanded.
“Everything’s great,” he lied, pinching the phone between his ear and shoulder and stirring a pot of melting butter. “I’m making clootie dumplings.” He poured flour into a bowl. Trying to, anyway.
Theo snorted. “Never say you’re cooking?”
“I wanted to surprise Cassie.” Oh, she’ll be surprised, all right. He glanced around the kitchen, which looked like a battlefield, the counters and floor littered with the sad remains of his failed attempts. The hiss of water bubbling over reminded Logan he’d left the range on. He hurried to the stove and yanked the pot off the flame, cursing as hot liquid splattered his arm. “Shit!”
Getting Hot with the Scot--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 21