He opened his mouth to lie, but no words came. He was usually so good at avoiding intimate questions. When women asked about his scars, he shrugged and said, Life’s a bitch. Sometimes it leaves scars. He didn’t want to feed Stormy that line. She was sharing her secrets, and he felt compelled to share his.
“No,” he admitted.
She pressed her palm to the scar and held his gaze. “How, then?”
His breathing came harder as the night he’d tracked down his parents’ attacker came back to him and played like a horror movie in his head. He wanted to run from the memory, from the tightening in his chest. He wanted to forget the way they’d had to pry him off the man’s limp body as he pummeled him with his fists while blood poured from the bullet wound in his gut.
He gazed down at Stormy again and saw the softening of the walls that had separated them only moments ago, and he wanted in.
“Getting a bad guy out of the way.”
“Did you get shot?” She pressed closer to him, as if she thought he needed to be comforted more than she did.
“Yes.” He tried to caress the tension lines from her cheek, but the more her eyes scrutinized him, the more pronounced they became.
“Were you scared?”
He dropped his head between his shoulders and closed his eyes for a beat.
“Terrified.” The admission felt like a thousand pounds had fallen from his shoulders.
“Of dying?” she whispered.
“No.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Of dying before I killed him.”
She stared at him then for a long time, and the air between them didn’t heat with passion the way it had been doing since they met, but it shifted. In those few seconds Logan felt his world tilt, their answers tethering them together. When she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his, he let her control the intensity, pulling her closer, wanting more of her, but not wanting to put any more fear into her head than she already had. She kissed him tenderly, planting soft kisses along his lower lip. He closed his eyes and lowered himself to his back, wanting, needing to be touched. She pressed her hands to his cheeks and slanted her lips over his, deepening the kiss, until it felt like salvation. She kissed him hungrily, and he met her efforts, as if they each could provide redemption to the other. Him from his past, her for a future. He couldn’t hold back. He wanted to claim that redemption, to claim her as his own. In one swift move he swept her beneath him and spread her legs with his knees, the tip of his arousal pressed against her swollen, wet flesh.
“Condom,” he breathed against her lips.
“I’m on the pill.”
He knew he should be worried about STDs, but he wasn’t. For the first time in his life sex felt like more than just a release, and he wanted to feel every bit of her velvety heat. He wanted to possess the woman who’d kissed him like he was hers—and damn did he want to be hers.
But he needed her to have peace of mind.
“I’m clean, Stormy. Tested religiously every thirty days.”
“Fuck me, Logan.”
That stopped him cold, and he drew back, pinning her to the mattress with his eyes alone. “No.”
Disappointment flashed in her eyes. Disappointment. Not fear, not annoyance. He knew this was different for her, too.
“I want to make love to you.”
Her mouth dropped open, and for a moment he thought he’d fucked up, misread everything.
“Yes,” she whispered. She pressed on the back of his hips, guiding his throbbing cock inside her.
He pushed in until he was buried to the hilt, then stilled at their first joining. Her lips curled up in a smile, and for the first time, her smile reached her eyes. His chest grew tight at the look in her eyes, a different type of tightening than anger or regret, and he never wanted to lose this feeling. He sealed his lips over hers as they moved in perfect sync. Her hips met his deep, slow thrusts. He was in no hurry to find his release. Logan kissed her jaw, her neck, settled his teeth over her shoulder and bit down, earning him a sexy moan. Her hips bucked off the mattress. He laced his fingers with hers, holding her hands beside her head so he could gaze into her eyes as her body swallowed his hard length time and time again. Her body arched toward him. Her soft curves molded to his strength. The warmth of her soft flesh was intoxicating.
“Logan…” A heady whisper.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, nibbled her lower lip. “You feel incredible. So big. So…good.” Her eyes filled with lust, surprise, and unfathomable beauty. “I’m going to….”
With his next thrust, she slammed her eyes shut. Her legs flexed, and her fingernails dug into the backs of his hands.
“That’s it, darlin’. Come for me. Come for us.”
Her eyes flew open, and he saw confusion in her gaze, and hell if he wasn’t confused, too, but he felt something, and he wasn’t about to ignore it. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel it again.
He sealed his mouth over hers, grinding his hips in a circular motion, stroking all the nerves that kept her at the peak of her release, until she tore her mouth away with the need for air. Seeing her in the heat of ecstasy, her lips parted, eyes closed, hair spread out around her, was too much. A fine sheen of sweat between her breasts met his chest as he thrust deeper. He was lost in the pulsing heat around his cock, as they spiraled over the edge together, clawing for purchase wherever they could grab hold. Her legs locked around his waist as she mewed into his mouth, tightening around him, unwilling to set him free. Not that he wanted to be freed. Hell no. He was exactly where he wanted to be, buried deep inside the woman who finally made him feel again.
Chapter Five
LOGAN STOOD IN front of his mother’s house in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t like to think about his family’s tragedy, but sometimes thinking about it was all he could do. Memories crept up on him at strange times, and last night Stormy had stirred memories that made him want to go back and live parts of his life over. If only he’d been around when his parents had been attacked. He’d saved the lives of a woman and three children while he was out on a mission that very weekend in Afghanistan. He remembered the wide eyes of the little seven-year-old boy and the screams of his two- and three-year-old sisters, who were huddled against his frail body. He’d yelled at Logan in his native tongue, turning his back to him and shielding his baby sisters, ready to protect them with his life—at seven—while his mother lay bleeding two feet away. At that moment, as Logan sealed the room as best he could and then went back out to eliminate the remaining Taliban that had stormed the Pushkin village, Logan felt like he was doing the right thing. He was saving lives, protecting his country. What he hadn’t learned until later was that while he was saving strangers, his father lay dying in a pool of blood on his bedroom floor. Shot while trying to shield his wife from a burglar.
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets and bowed his head. When he’d left Stormy, he’d gone home and showered and tried to sleep, but sleep had evaded him. He couldn’t shake the fear he’d heard in her voice, or how similar she’d sounded to his own mother when she’d finally relayed that awful night to him.
He walked the perimeter of the old bungalow-style home. His mother had refused to move after the attack, which had driven him and his brothers nearly insane. They’d grown up in the small two-story home. Their parents’ bedroom was on the first floor in the back of the house. Logan and Heath had shared a small bedroom at the top of the stairs. They’d had bunk beds, like Jackson and Cooper had in the loft. That was all that would fit in the small bedroom. The closet served as their dresser, while Jackson and Coop kept their clothes in a pint-sized dresser in the loft. They had years of good memories in that old house—and now they were overshadowed by one terrible night.
Logan checked the locks on the windows as he made his way around to the back door. The old stairs leading to the door creaked, and he hoped his mother and her supersonic hearing didn’t wake from the noise. He checked the lock on th
at door and peered into the kitchen. Even blind, his mother somehow managed to keep the house spotless, as if she’d spent the thirty years she’d been living there before losing her sight memorizing every counter, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the place.
A light flicked on down the hall, and he knew he’d woken her. Damn. She still hit the lights when she woke up, a force of habit at this point. He hadn’t wanted to scare her. He waited until she shuffled out of the bedroom in her ancient housecoat to call out to her and unlock the door. He worried about frightening her, but Mary Lou Wild had a sixth sense when it came to her sons. She sensed each of them before they announced themselves. Logan would bet she’d known it was him standing on the porch before she’d left her bedroom, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“It’s Logan, Ma.” He watched a smile form on her lips. Her hand trailed along the wall as she made her way into the kitchen. Logan unlocked the door and walked inside.
“Logan.” She never failed to sound happy to see him, even at five thirty in the morning.
He folded her in his arms and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry to wake you, Ma. I was just…” He shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see it, but also knowing she’d somehow sense it. From what she’d told Logan, she’d sensed something ominous coming and had told their father she felt uneasy, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t until hours later, when she awoke with a start and found the man entering their bedroom, that she understood her earlier apprehension. Her gasp had awoken her husband, Bill, and he’d leaped from the bed like a true hero, ready to take on whatever had scared the woman he adored. And adore he did, every minute of every day. The family hadn’t had much while the boys were growing up. Mary Lou had stayed home with them, taking on seamstress work from the dry cleaner’s down the road for extra income, and Bill had worked at a factory. But Logan and his brothers had never wanted for anything. They’d had loving parents who’d demanded they do well in school and pinched pennies to help pay for their college.
His father lost his life for some asshole’s selfish decision to burglarize their home. He’d gotten away with a small stash of jewelry, including his father’s family ring, an old DVD player, a television, a few pieces of silver—and their family’s heart and soul. Logan’s father’s life.
Logan would never forget that his father had given his all for his children. He only wished he’d been there to give his all for his father in return. He was making up for it now. He and his brothers took turns looking after their mother, stopping by each day to ensure she had groceries, to help her with meals, care for her lawn, and take her wherever she needed or wanted to go. And on Sundays they all got together at her house for a family dinner. Everything they did was out of love for their parents, not out of pity. Save for Logan, whose love was topped off with guilt.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?” She ran her fingers over his face, and Logan held his breath. His mother would know in seconds exactly where his mind was. There was no hiding from her. She might not be able to see, but her fingers had some kind of emotion sensors. They didn’t miss a damn thing.
“You’re tense.” She reached out beside her until she felt a chair, and she pulled it out from the table. “Sit, lovey. I’ll make you some tea.”
“Ma, you don’t have to do that.” He didn’t try to stop her because he knew it would do no good. She doled out love through tea and talks, always had. And right then, maybe he needed a little comfort more than he cared to admit.
“Tsk. Sit, baby.” She moved with the familiarity of sight, pulling mugs from the cabinets and setting the kettle on the stove. She must have heard Logan walking to the pantry to retrieve the tea, and she waved him off. “I’ve got it. Please, baby, sit.”
He smiled as he sank into a wooden chair. Baby, lovey, sweetie. She rarely used their given names. He’d long ago given up on claiming not to be a baby. He and his brothers knew that to her, no matter how big or how old they were, she’d always dote on them as if they were youngsters.
She set their tea on the table and settled into a chair beside him with a sigh.
“I’m sorry I woke you, Ma. I was just checking things out.”
“Logan, baby, you don’t have to do that at all hours. That was a crazy onetime thing. I’m fine. Lord knows you and your brothers make sure of that every day.” She patted her dark hair. She’d always been pretty, and even though she looked as though she’d aged ten years since his father’s death, she was still beautiful. The fine lines around her eyes told of her age, or maybe of her loss, but her olive complexion and once blue, now slate gray eyes gave her a Mediterranean look. Although Mary Lou was about as far from Mediterranean as a woman could get. His parents had met when his mother still lived in Weston, Colorado, where she’d grown up on her family’s ranch. His father had grown up in Trusty, Colorado, not far from Weston. He’d been working as a trucker and had stopped in at the diner in Weston where Mary Lou happened to be sitting at the counter alone, waiting for a girlfriend to meet her for lunch. His father had spent the next few months wooing her. Seven months after they met, they’d married and moved to New York, where Bill had been offered a more stable position with no travel. Logan’s mother always said that he had a little bit of his father’s Weston charm in him.
He sipped his tea. “How are you, Mom? Heath is coming by tonight to take you out to the market.”
“Yes, Heath’s a good boy. He told me about your friend.”
“Did he?”
“You know Heath. He likes to fill me in. He said he saw something in the way you looked at her.” She lifted her eyes to his, and even though he knew she couldn’t see him, he felt as though she saw right through him. He’d never been able to lie to her, not as a kid, when lying would have saved him from being grounded, and not as an adult, when it might have saved him from a lecture or two.
At least, he’d never been able to tell her an outright lie. He’d never told her that he’d killed the man who’d attacked her and killed his father, but he’d told her that she was safe and the guy had been taken care of. Had she asked if he’d killed him, Logan would have answered truthfully, but she never had.
He’d tracked the bastard down using the contacts he’d made as a private investigator and had tailed him until he had a chance to nail him. Logan had caught him casing a house and had reported it to the police, but the police weren’t all they were cracked up to be. They didn’t make it in time. The woman’s scream drew him into the house with one goal in mind—making sure that asshole never hurt another person. He’d completed that mission with a mixture of pride, guilt, and remorse, and that strange baggage had remained a constant companion ever since.
He pushed those thoughts away when his mother’s hand covered his.
“Lovey, what is it? You seem conflicted.”
“How do you do it, Ma? How do you know what’s in my head?” He’d asked her a hundred times before and knew he’d ask her a hundred more, because her non-answer was always the same.
“I’m your mother. Mothers know these things.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, dear, but you’re avoiding my question.”
He laughed, sipped his tea. “You never did let me off the hook easy.”
“What good would that have done? We own our feelings in this family, Logan, and it seems to me that it’s been ages since you had any feelings toward a woman to own.”
Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s running from a guy.”
“Oh, Logan.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “And that’s got your heart all tied up in knots. You’re a savior at heart, sweetheart. That’s why you fought your father so hard to join the navy. You always needed to be saving someone. He was so proud of you.”
Tears stung Logan’s eyes while guilt settled heavy and hard like lead in his gut. There was a time he wouldn’t have believed his father wa
s proud of him because of the way he’d argued with Logan about his desire to join the military. But in his heart, and now a world away from his rebellious youth, Logan understood that his father hadn’t wanted to risk losing him. He knew now that his father had always been proud of him.
“Be careful, Logan.” She’d called him by his name several times, which meant she wanted him to listen carefully to what she was saying. “Some women are magnets for trouble. They thrive on drama, never really looking for an escape, but rather putting themselves in harm’s way. Damsels in distress and all that. While others find themselves in a bad situation and do everything within their power to find their way free from the nightmare. It’s the latter that are worthy of your love.”
“I’m not talking love, Ma.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sipped her tea with a soft nod.
He hated when she did this, acted as if she listened to what he said but knew better.
“Ma, really.”
She patted his hand again. “Okay, lovey. Where are you headed so early in the morning?”
He clenched his jaw. He was heading over to have a talk with the guy who’d attacked Stormy last night—Mike Winters—to ensure he’d never go near her, or near NightCaps again. He’d done a quick search on the guy when he’d gotten home. Married, two kids, stay-at-home wife. A little threat of exposure should nip him in the bud. But he wasn’t going to burden his mother with that knowledge. The minute she found out he was protecting Stormy, she’d say he was already stepping in too deep.
Maybe he was, but he didn’t have to admit it.
“Work.”
She raised her brows in that uh-huh way she had. “Okay, well, you be careful at work, and remember what I said. Metal to magnet is dangerous.”
Logan always felt lighter after seeing his mother, and today was no different, although the closer he got to his destination, the heavier the air became.
Driving the streets of New York was a little like riding the bumper cars at a carnival. Lanes ceased to exist, and there was no place for common courtesy. It was an adventure in every-man-for-himself, and this morning was no different. Logan found Mike Winters’s office and parked in the garage. He checked the collar of his white button-down in the rearview mirror, ran his fingers through his hair, and sank his father’s Stetson on his head. He’d look like a buddy in out of town having a chat with Mike. Not a threat. Not a threat at all.
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