The elevator was crowded with tired-eyed bankers holding steaming cups of caffeine and dark briefcases, and eyeing a sexy blonde in a red dress. The business world was a curious one to Logan. It seemed to be filled with wannabes. Wanna-be single, wanna-be rich, wanna-be anywhere else but here. Logan had never experienced the wanna-be scenario, except when he’d received the news of that attack on his parents. A burglary gone bad, that’s what they’d called it. Fucking police couldn’t track down his father’s killer. Logan had to do everything himself.
He followed two suits out of the elevator and eyed the brunette behind the large, curved reception desk that read METRO FINANCIAL across the front in big blue letters.
“Hey there, darlin’.” The Midwestern twang played out in Logan’s voice when he needed it. Though he wasn’t from the Midwest, he and his brothers had lived and worked at their parents’ friend Hal Braden’s ranch in Weston every summer from the time they were kids until they went away to college. His father insisted that working on a ranch for a few weeks each year would build character. Logan had enjoyed the work, and he’d enjoyed the friendships with Hal and his six children even more.
“Hi. Can I help you?” The pretty receptionist’s eyes grazed over Logan’s chiseled features to his broad chest.
Logan leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’m here to see an old buddy of mine, Mike Winters.”
She typed something into her computer and fluttered her thick lashes up at him. “And your name is?”
“I’d rather not be announced, if you don’t mind.” He lowered his voice again and lathered on his best country-boy twang. “We’re old college buddies and I’d like to surprise him, if it’s all the same to you. Of course, if a beautiful, important woman like yourself wants my name and number, well...” He threw in a wink for good measure.
“I…Um…”
“My, my. You are sexy when you’re flustered.”
She fluttered her lashes again and pointed to a set of double glass doors off to the right. “You can…um…find Mr. Winters through there, second door on the right.”
“Thank you, darlin’.” Logan tipped his hat with a nod and went in search of Mr. Winters. The interior offices were set up like a bullpen, with glass-walled offices lining the exterior walls and cubicles filling the remaining space. Logan found Mike Winters’s name on a plaque beside the second door. Logan watched Winters through the glass as he took a phone call. His hair was neatly combed, his suit finely pressed. To a stranger he’d look like a clean-cut businessman. Logan had seen the wolf behind the mask, and as he pushed through the glass door and Mike lifted his eyes, Logan counted the seconds until recognition hit. Mike’s eyes widened, and the blood drained from his face. He stood from his plush leather seat, taking a step back with the phone at his ear.
“I’ve…I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back.” He fumbled as he set the receiver on the cradle and held his hands up, palms out. He was going to need more than that if this talk didn’t go well. “What do you want?”
“Sit down,” Logan commanded, all traces of Midwestern hospitality gone.
Mike stood stock-still. Apparently he wanted to do this the hard way.
Logan took two determined steps around the side of his desk, and Mike sank into the chair.
“I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
Mike’s jaw snapped shut.
“Now…” Logan began in a calm voice with a threatening stare as he sat on the corner of the desk. To anyone looking through the glass wall, he’d appear to be an old friend, just as he’d planned.
“This is how we’re going to play this game. I visited your home this morning over on Garden Lane. Saw your sweet little blond wife and two towheaded adorable girls.”
Mike’s jaw clenched, but his trembling limbs gave away his weakness.
“Unless you want that lovely family of yours to find out all about your cheating, raping ways, you’re never going to go near NightCaps, or that waitress, again.”
“F…fine.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder, then slowly drew his gaze across Mike’s desk and picked up the picture of his family. “It would also be a damn shame if you visited any other bar, alley, or otherwise unfit environment for a husband and father of two, and threatened another woman.” He ran his finger over the image of Mike’s pretty young wife, then slid his suit coat to the side and flashed his gun.
Mike gasped, his eyes trained on the black metal handle.
“I’ll be watching you, Winters. I’d hate to have that wife of yours become a widow, but if you can’t keep your claws to yourself, I think I’d be doing a disservice to womankind by letting you roam the streets.” He set the picture down on the desk and leaned in so close he could smell fear on Mike’s breath. “You only get this one warning. The next time, my bullet will do the talking.”
Logan rose to his feet and smoothed his suit coat. “Oh, and if you contact the police and say I threatened you? Wifey will get a quick visit from the woman you attacked last night, along with the police. Your life will be over quicker than you can say, Oops.’”
He tipped his hat and left Mike to figure out how to leave his office with piss-wet pants.
Chapter Six
STELLA AWOKE FEELING refreshed, less stressed than she’d been in ages, and sore. So damn sore. The kind of achiness in her hips and the back of her thighs that only came from great sex and multiple orgasms. God, it had felt good to be with a man again. To be in Logan’s arms, to feel his strength and revel in his touch, to feel him stroking emotions and sensations she’d long ago forgotten. The way he’d claimed her lips with demand and passion—just thinking about being with him made her body hum. She’d been conflicted when he’d left in the wee hours of the morning. She’d felt herself warming to him and wanted to ask him to stay, but she was in no position to wake up in that man’s arms. She was a broken woman, on the run from a guy who would get out of jail in a few short days. No, leading Logan on was the last thing either of them needed.
She showered and dressed, then stripped her bed to wash her sheets before she had to leave for work. She had only one pillow, and last night Logan had used it and she’d rested her head in the crook of his arm. She brought the pillowcase to her nose and breathed in his fresh, masculine scent, allowing herself a rare moment of reflection. That’s it, babe. Come for me. Come for us. The look in his eyes when he’d said it—dark and sensual, with a hint of surprise—had turned her on and confused the hell out of her. She’d felt something between them that was definitely more than a quick hookup. She loved the way he’d taken control and the way he’d checked in with her before taking his mouth to her, before entering her, searching her eyes, making sure they were still on the same page. They were on the same page, all right. They were in the same damn novel.
Logan was nice, and she wasn’t used to nice.
Ugh. What on earth was she doing? Who had sex with a guy after being attacked by a psycho? Maybe she was really messed up after all. Maybe Kutcher had ruined all the normal things about her that she’d once relied on. She glanced up at the calendar hanging on the wall beside the pantry. Her stomach felt queasy as she lifted the red marker from the counter and x-ed out another day. Three more days until Kutcher was released.
Three more days until her veil of safety would be shredded to pieces. Survivor used to be a term that went along with television shows and hot alpha men in thick leather boots and fisherman type vests, or people who had fallen ill to disease and fought their way healthy again. Now survivor was a term Stella likened to herself. She was a survivor, and she had every intention of continuing to fit the definition.
She threw her sheets in the washer, then went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Her kitchen was small, with one long counter, a small sink, and two hanging cabinets on either side of a small window. She liked small areas. There weren’t many places a person could hide, unlike her old house, where every room was like a burgla
r’s playground. Or rather, Kutcher’s playground. She shivered with the memory of stripping down for her shower and catching the closet door opening out of the corner of her eye. She’d been lucky he’d only stabbed her twice before a neighbor came over because he’d heard her screaming. Kutcher had escaped out the back, and the next afternoon, Stella had escaped Mystic for good.
It had taken her a solid six weeks to heal. She pushed the painful memories away, and her mind drifted to Heath. He’d been so kind to her, so gentle and professional when he was examining her. She thought about the questions he’d asked when he’d seen the scars. How did you get these scars? They look fairly recent. And her ridiculous answers. Car accident, a few months ago. She’d been shocked when he didn’t press her for more information, and now she wondered if he’d mentioned the scars to Logan.
She couldn’t worry about that. Not now. She had bigger things on her mind. With a deep inhalation, she focused on cleaning up the apartment.
An hour later, with the bed freshly made and a to-go cup in hand, Stella walked out of her apartment and locked the door behind her.
“Good morning, Stormy,” Mrs. Fairly called from the balcony above Stella’s door. She was a stout, kind woman in her late sixties who always greeted Stella with a smile. After spending so much time avoiding friendships, Stella found Mrs. Fairly to be a bright light in her otherwise lonely days.
“Good morning. It looks like another beautiful day.” Stella hoped she hadn’t heard her and Logan last night. She’d hated lying to her about her name, and she didn’t want to keep piling lies on top of that one, but if she asked about Logan, Stella would have to make something up. Having hot, loud sex was one thing, but admitting it to her sweet landlord was another.
“Yes, it does, and it looks like your handsome gentleman suitor is back.” She gazed over the railing of the balcony and pointed toward the street.
The hair on the back of Stella’s neck rose. Her mind raced back to the calendar. She had three more days! Ice ran through her veins as she turned, looking past the crooked metal fencing to the black car parked out by the curb.
No, no, no. Please God. I have three more days. She whipped around and looked up at Mrs. Fairly, her heart shattering in her chest. If Kutcher saw Mrs. Fairly, he could hurt her, too.
“Mrs. Fairly, you should go inside.” Fear strangled her words, and she wondered if Mrs. Fairly could hear her.
She heard footsteps behind her. She was not going down without a fight. No fucking way had she survived this long only to be killed in front of her sweet landlord in this rundown neighborhood. With trembling hands, she gripped her keys in her palm, the longest sticking out between her knuckles. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. She clenched her eyes shut and spun around as she swung her arm back, ready to strike, and prayed that her brain wouldn’t go blank the way it had behind the bar.
“Whoa!”
A strong hand gripped her wrist as her knee came up and clipped him in the groin. Her eyes flew open as Logan doubled over in pain.
“Oh no. Logan!”
“Stormy? Why?” Mrs. Fairly peered down at her in horror.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. Oh God. I’m sorry.” Fear made her shake as she apologized to Logan repeatedly and tried to reassure Mrs. Fairly.
“He’s teaching me self-defense. It’s all in fun,” she said to Mrs. Fairly, hoping she’d buy the explanation.
Logan grimaced as he waved to Mrs. Fairly.
Mrs. Fairly shook her head. “You kids have strange ways of having fun.”
After Mrs. Fairly went inside, Logan turned pained eyes toward Stormy. “Why didn’t you do that to the attacker last night?”
“I don’t…I…” Tears stung her eyes as she tried to pull herself together.
The muscle in Logan’s jaw bunched. He drew her into his strong arms and held her tight.
“It’s okay. You did good,” he assured her through his obvious discomfort.
“Good? I probably broke something down there.”
“Well, there is one way to find out.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the tease. “What are you doing here? I thought you were Kutcher.” She cringed. She didn’t mean to say his name, and by the way Logan’s hand had stilled on her back, she knew he didn’t miss a beat.
Still a little shaky, she pushed from his arms and tried to distract him from what she’d said. “Why are you here? You scared the crap out of me.”
“I came to take you to work.” The pain in his eyes receded, giving way to the seductive pools of blue she’d fallen into last night.
She looked at his white button-down and cleanly pressed jeans. The cowboy boots he wore were curious, after his polished businessman image of the night before. Come for us. Her body heated with the memory. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t bring him into the nightmare that was her life.
“I can walk.”
“Stormy.” He followed her out front. “All right, then I’ll walk you to work. I want to talk to you.”
“We talked last night.” What was with him? Why was he zeroing in on her?
He moved closer, placed a hand on her back. “We did more than talk, darlin’. That’s not what I had in mind for the way to work, but now that you bring it up...”
“Tsk.” She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing and stopped short of the corner, planting her hands on her hips and staring at too-damn-handsome-for-his-own-good Logan. He really was beautiful. Her mother would call him a real panty-dropper. She’d be right about that. He hadn’t shaved, and the thick stubble that had abraded her thighs in the most delicious way last night had grown even thicker. She unleashed the insides of her cheeks and let her smile roll with the memory.
“What?” He cocked a brow, and she could tell he was enjoying teasing her just as much as she was enjoying being teased. When you’re hiding from the world, teasing didn’t come around often, and when it did, it was usually met with fear. His teasing was met with a fluttering in her stomach that she was trying hard to ignore.
“That was a onetime thing.” She was pleased that she sounded serious even though she didn’t feel it.
“Uh-huh.” He guided her across the street.
“What’s with the cowboy boots?” Did he really intend to walk her to work like a sixth grader carrying her books?
“Going back to my mama’s roots.” Mischief filled his baby blues.
When they reached the main road, the sidewalks were crowded. Stella scanned the crowd, looking for Kutcher. Would she ever be free from his threat? She stole a glance at Logan and realized he was scanning the crowd as closely as she was.
“So your mom is from out West?” His hand felt like it had seared his brand into her skin.
“Colorado. Where are you from?”
“Mysti—” She stopped herself from revealing the town she was from. Unfortunately, the glimmer in his eyes told her she wasn’t quick enough. She blew out a frustrated breath as they waited for the next light to change, and lowered her voice.
“Look, Logan, I’m not really a one-night-stand girl, but aren’t they supposed to be one night? I don’t get why you showed up at my house, or why you’re walking me to work. Shouldn’t you be out doing important PI stuff?”
They crossed with the crowd. “I am doing important PI stuff.”
“No, really. Why are you doing this? I’m fine. I’ve been walking to work since I moved here. I think I can handle it.”
“Oh, I know you can.” He slid her a serious look. “Stormy.” He stopped walking. “Listen, after what we did last night, don’t you think you can tell me your real name?”
So that’s what this was all about? “Why? Are you keeping a log of the women you’ve slept with?”
He stepped in close, their bodies grazing from knee to chest. Stella’s pulse quickened.
“I’m not keeping a log. I’m trying to keep you safe. That’s it. That and the fact that I like you. I feel a connection to you.
You can deny it, but I saw it in your beautiful eyes last night.”
My beautiful eyes?
He ran his knuckle slowly down her cheek, and she felt her nipples harden at the intimate touch. She fought hard to push the desire to kiss him down deep, tried to avert her eyes so she wouldn’t be sucked into his, and was unable to do either. He stepped closer, and she breathed in his fresh, masculine scent. She needed to try even harder to push away the rush of emotions his scent evoked.
“Feel that? That’s not one-night-stand heat you’re feeling. Trust me. I’ve had enough of them to know. One-night stands end after one night. This is lingering, babe, in the best kind of way.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “Make no mistake. I want to linger inside of you, all day long.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Felt herself go damp and her knees weaken, and grabbed ahold of him to keep from dropping to the sidewalk.
“And from your grip on my arm, you want to wrap those pretty long legs of yours around me. Me, Stormy. Not some other random guy.”
He pressed his lips to her cheek and guided her forward. She had no idea how her legs were carrying her. People pushed past in a blur of movement while she tried to get her brain to start firing again. He was right. She wanted Logan so badly that just the thought of him brought back memories of him perched above her, his muscles straining against the pleasure, holding back his release until she achieved hers. She could still feel every inch of him moving in and out of her, and if she thought hard enough she could remember the feel of his impressive girth in her mouth, taste the saltiness of his come as it covered her tongue and slid down her throat.
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