by Lacey Alpha
“You think you know me so well.” He folds his arms, his eyes finally moving up from my cleavage.
“I know exactly the type of guy you are.”
“Oh yeah? Do enlighten me, sweetheart. 'Cause I doubt you know a thing about me.” He shifts his weight onto his other foot, awaiting an explanation.
I give him an assessing stare. “Tell you what, I'll give you three facts about yourself and if even one of them isn't true, I'll admit I don't know shit about you.”
“Fine.” He waits.
“Number one: you've slept with a lot of women. As in, a lot of women. Probably more than you can remember.” That one's gotta be true. The way he holds himself, it's like he could have any woman he wants at the drop of a hat. It's enraging.
He shrugs, eyes to the sky. “Alright. One point to you.”
I survey him again. “Number two: you haven't seen a single one of those women more than once, unless it was because you knew you could get another no-strings-attached night out of them.”
He rubs his chin, with a sounds-about-right expression. I jut up my chin triumphantly and he winds his finger through the air, encouraging me to move onto my final statement.
I take a breath, thinking about it. I bet this man doesn't only disrespect the women he sleeps with. “You haven't called your mother in over a month.”
His face drops heavily and I think I've actually struck a nerve.
He glowers at me. “You don't know me.”
I shrug, giving him an airy smile and heading back into the changing room, sharply pulling the curtain across.
Ha. That brought him down a peg or two.
I pull on my jeans, leaving off my jumper and coat (feeling self conscious about them thanks to Logan) and returning to the shop in my vest top.
Logan is moodily sliding dresses across a rack, but snaps his head up when I appear, taking hold of my arm and guiding me to a till.
Shit. I didn't even look at the price. I lift the tag on the dress, halting in my tracks at the outrageous number on it. No no no no no. And a-hell no.
Logan takes it from my hand. “Don't worry your little coin purse about it, I'm buying.”
“Oh.” I follow him, not feeling particularly bad thanks to the coin purse comment. Plus, he's a thief trying to get me involved in a crime. If he wants to dress me up for it, then that's entirely up to him.
I spend ten minutes waiting for him to finish flirting with Chardonnay again, noticing her sliding a piece of paper into his jeans' pocket (the front one – her hand slipping all the way in) before he finally returns to my side.
“Ready?” he asks and I roll my eyes, heading out of the store.
“Shoes and underwear next.”
“I don't need new underwear,” I insist but I certainly don't have any shoes to match that dress.
Without warning, Logan reaches into the back of my jeans, dragging up my knickers.
I gasp in horror, stumbling away from him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Checking out your ugly boxer briefs by the looks of it.” His mouth tugs up at one corner, maddening me further.
I try to subtly rearrange my knickers, feeling very much wedgied by his actions. Christ, he has absolutely no boundaries.
“Alright I'll get new underwear,” I mutter, my cheeks flushing hot.
“Good,” he laughs heartily and I shake my head at him. “You looked pretty fuckable in that dress by the way.”
“Oh yippee. My life long wish to be thought of as 'fuckable' has been fulfilled.”
“You always this sarcastic?”
“You always this big headed?”
He laughs again. “You think you've got me pegged, sweetheart. And if you want a cocky arsehole, you've got it.” Just as we enter a lingerie store, he smacks my arse hard, making me leap forward.
“Hey!” I snap but he takes my waist anyway, continuing to be overly touchy. He guides me to a wall where lacy black underwear is hanging in rows.
“This-” He picks up a tiny g-string which is barely more than dental floss. “-will dust off the cobwebs on your vagina.”
My mouth falls open and I tug away from him. “How dare you?”
“Oh come on Darcy, anyone can tell you've not been fucked in a long time.”
My mouth widens, my cheeks scorching. Oh my god. He cannot say that to me. And the worst thing of all is how horribly, embarrassingly true it is.
I splutter a non-response and he tilts his head to the side, his mouth curving up into a smirk.
“You can dish it but you can't take it.”
“Uh, yes I can,” I insist, recomposing myself.
Come on Darcy. Give him hell.
“Fine. Here's my three facts about you. You haven't been fucked in...hm, I would guess at least a year. You haven't touched yourself either or you'd be about half as strung up as you already are, and you've had a stick up your arse ever since some douchy boyfriend of yours dumped you and your boxer briefs.”
My blood chills. I feel completely laid bare. I take in a shallow breath, saying the only thing that comes to mind. “I dumped him actually.”
“Hm, good for you.” He turns back to the lingerie, picking out a push-up bra. “What are you, a D?”
“Double,” I murmur and his eyebrows lift.
He picks out a double D and hands it to me with the dental floss g-string. “These will do.”
“Right,” I mutter, taking them.
“Touched a nerve, have I?” he says quietly, with not as much bravado as before.
I shake my head. “No,” I lie.
We head to the checkout and he pays, handing over his credit card. I notice a picture printed on it of him with his arm around a younger guy's shoulders.
“Who's that?” I ask as the attendant hands him it back.
“My brother,” he says, tucking it away in his wallet.
“Is he your only sibling?” I wonder aloud as we exit the shop.
“Yeah, why?” he sounds defensive but I'm not sure why.
I shrug. “Just curious.”
“You hungry?” he changes the subject, pulling me toward a pizza place with large red lettering above the booth.
We grab a couple of slices and walk side by side along the quiet corridors, soft music echoing around the space.
Guessing I'm stuck with Logan for a while yet, I decide to try and build some bridges.
“It's nice here on a weekday,” I remark and he nods.
“Don't you work?” he questions.
“In a bar...my next shift is tomorrow evening.”
“That's all you do?” He glances me up and down and I shrug, not wanting to go into the reason for why I work there.
“What bar?” he questions.
“Vodka Revolution.”
“Nice.”
I roll my eyes at his sarcastic tone. “It pays the bills.”
“Not like my job does.” He winks at me.
“You don't have a 'job'. You're a thief.”
He shrugs casually, making my anger rise. “Don't you feel guilty at all?”
He takes a large bite of his pizza. “Not really,” he says through a mouthful and I grimace at him.
“Ergh.” I stride away, finishing my slice of pizza and heading into a shoe shop. The brittle bridge I was building gets swept away in a storm.
I realise too late that I've not walked into just any shoe shop, I've walked into a Manolo Blahnik shoe shop.
The three women in the room whip around to look at me, their eyes scouring my clothes. They know I'm in the wrong place, I know I'm in the wrong place. And all that's left to do is the awkward 'back out of the shop' dance and I'll be on my way.
Before I can finish said dance, Logan's arm snakes around my waist.
“Ladies,” he says to the girls as we walk further into the room. “This girl's feet need help.”
I cringe internally but cling to his side all the same, knowing I'm only safe in a place like this with him here.
How embarrassing.
“What size are you?” Logan says into my ear, his breath hot on my skin.
“Er...five.”
“Size five, something black, strappy, hot,” Logan orders and one of the girls with ebony hair rushes to obey.
Logan seats me on a bench, dropping down beside me.
I gaze at my Topshop boots, my neck heating up. Oh god. What socks did I put on today?
Nothing with holes, nothing with holes, nothing with holes.
I kick off my shoes, thankfully finding a clean pair of white ankle socks in place. Pulling my feet free, I press my pink nail-polished toes into the cool tiles.
“Why do you make your feet look nice but not the rest of you?” Logan asks curiously, poking at my old jeans.
I used to dress nice. Real nice. But since I left Daniel, I found myself despising being looked at by men. I hated the whole lot of them. The whole damn gender. And Logan's a prime example as to why.
I shrug, glancing away, glad when the attendant brings me some strappy heels to distract me. I slide my feet into them and they fit like a dream. They're the most beautiful shoes I've ever worn, the delicate straps tying up high around my ankles, my painted toes looking extra pretty poking out of them.
“Oh,” I sigh, standing, admiring them in the mirror around the edge of the bench. “Ohhh.”
“You like?” Logan questions and I nod profusely, feeling strangely emotional. I've not worn anything like this in years. And certainly never anything as expensive.
“Let's get them.” He stands and I nod excitedly, rocking from side to side in the shoes.
Oh no. I've sold out to Manolos.
He grins at me and it's such a broad, boyish smile that I simply have to return it.
“Thanks,” I say, biting my lip to stop my smile from growing.
“You're welcome. I'll put you to work in them tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I say in alarm.
“Yep.” He heads to the till to pay and I tug off the shoes, giving them to the ebony-haired girl to box up for me.
We head to the car and the valet brings it round, passing the keys to Logan. It's practically glittering from the fresh wash it's been given and I feel like a movie star as I drop into it. Minus the nice clothes, of course.
Logan shifts the gears, speeding out of the car park and pulling onto the road. My hair is tugged back by the wind and I can't help but enjoy the drive as we sail through London, heading over Chelsea bridge towards Logan's home.
“Are we really doing this 'job' tomorrow?” I ask, feeling nervous.
“Yep. But don't worry, I'll get you ready for it tonight.”
“Tonight? At your place?”
“Yeah. You can stay over. There's plenty of room.”
Ha. Yeah right.
“I can just meet you in the morning,” I insist.
“It'd be easier to have you ready to go. Plus, I know you won't back out of this if I keep you in my sight.” He shoots me a wicked grin.
“No.” I set my jaw.
Logan drops his hand onto my knee, slowing the car. “This isn't up for debate, Darcy. You work for me until the job is done. And if you want to even get a whiff of that fifty grand, you better play by my rules.”
My skin tingles all over like my body's been doused in that numbing cream the dentist uses.
I start to cave, unsure what else to do. “I should probably go home and get some clothes...a toothbrush.” A weapon, I add in my head.
“I've got everything you need at the house. Besides, I'd rather not see any more of your frumpy jeans.”
I glare at him. “You're a real arsehole, you know that?”
“You think every guy is an arsehole,” he states.
“I do not,” I retort.
“Pff. It's obvious. Just 'cause your ex was an arsehole, doesn't mean every man in the world is one too.”
Damn. How does he read me so well?
“Not all of you, but I can spot the ones that are.”
“Like me?” he says dryly.
“Exactly like you.”
“Christ, Darcy, give it a rest. What did this guy do, cheat on you or something?”
I fall silent, hating that he's hit the nail right on the head. I fold my arms, glaring out the window, blinking hard.
“Shit,” he mutters.
I remain silent, swallowing the lump in my throat. I'm not going to get upset. It's in the past. And I should definitely be over this by now.
“For what it's worth, he sounds like a cunt.”
I glance around, cringing at the term. “I hate that word.”
“It's valid for someone like that.”
I survey his expression curiously. “Cheating bothers you?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Cheaters are cowards. Someone who isn't man enough to decide what they want.”
“Oh,” I say simply, my opinion of him increasing by a fraction (like a 0.00001 percent). At least he's got some morals.
We arrive back at his luxurious house, sailing up to the sky garage in a spiral around the outside. “This place is beautiful.”
“My brother designed it. He was an architect – is an architect.”
“Oh, nice.” I wonder vaguely how he and his brother went on such different life paths. Why did Logan turn to crime? How long has he been doing this for?
He parks up and we head downstairs, past the sparkling pool to the bottom floor. He leads me to a vast lounge of plush white sofas and the largest television I've ever seen in my life hanging on the wall opposite.
He hands me the bags containing my new clothes and points to a door. “Bathroom's through there. Go put it all on.”
“Really?” I say doubtfully. To say I'm not comfortable giving this caveman a private viewing of all this sexy attire would be the understatement of the millennium.
“We have to be sure it all works together.”
“Okay...” I head into the bathroom, finding myself in a ridiculously elaborate white and grey tiled room. There's a water fountain at the heart of it which I think is actually supposed to be the sink. A group of stone otters hold the basin in place, water spurting from the fish they're chasing. Is he kidding me with this shit?
I use the toilet which happens to be one of those self-washing ones I've heard about. After being thoroughly inappropriately touched by its washing mechanism, I stand, stripping and pulling on the new clothes.
I tug the heels on last, eyeing myself in one of the four full-length mirrors fitted around the walls.
Wow. I look seriously good.
Fluffing my hair, I grab my bag and immediately apply some extra make-up. Part of me wants to rub in Logan's face how hot I can be. I hate that he's been ridiculing me all day. Time to show him what I can look like.
Taking a breath, I march from the room, stepping onto the hardwood floors of the lounge.
Logan sits up straighter in his chair, his eyes like saucers.
A smug feeling fills my belly. “How do I look?”
His Adam's apple rises and falls. “Good,” he says stiffly, standing. “Hot. Seriously fuckable. Like-”
I raise my hand to halt him, not wanting to hear how far his not-so-sweet compliments could escalate.
“Good enough to distract someone for an hour?”
Logan slips a hand into his hair, walking over to me. “Well you've got the look, but I bet you haven't successfully flirted with a guy in a long, long time.” He grins down at me, ridiculing me again.
I inhale slowly, trying to keep a handle on my frustration. I know how to flirt, dammit! I may not have done it in a while, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable. And I'm damn well going to prove that to him.
I step into his personal space, glancing up at him through my lashes. “I dunno, Logan. I think I remember how...” I run my finger in circles on his chest. Shit, he's ripped.
“Oh yeah?
” he teases but there's a slight weakness to his tone.
I move in closer, grazing my knee against the inside of his thigh. Tracing my finger lower, I run it all the way down to his waistband, my eyes locked with his the whole time.
“You bought me a lot of things today. That was very sweet of you.” I tiptoe, tilting my chin up and he clears his throat.
I run my finger back up between his abs, all the way to his sternum.
“I'd like to show you how grateful I am...” I wet my lips before parting them.
“You would?” he asks in surprise, his voice low, his eyebrows raised.
I nod, batting my eyelashes, running my finger lower again.
He dips his head and I let him get within a millimetre of my mouth before shoving him away. “See. I can flirt.”
His mouth falls open. “You played me!”
“Yeah, like the fool you are,” I say airily, grinning and heading back to the bathroom, swishing my hips.
That showed him.
ADAM
Five years ago
Kira's in my bed, lying beneath me, squealing like a banshee.
“You're an animal!” she growls, a little beast herself as she claws at my back.
Nothing like a fuck with Kira to release some tension. And I've got tension, in bucket loads.
Logan's footsteps pound down the hall and I cover Kira's mouth, grinning at her.
We have a rare free house since Mum took a trip to visit our grandparents in the west country. Course, she said I needed to stay here because of my studies. But was pissed as hell when Logan refused to go because of his job. I dunno why he does it. Working long hours as a mechanic when he can make his yearly wage in a day with one little theft.
Logan bashes his fist against my door. “Going to lectures today, prick? Or are you planning on staying in bed all day fucking your girlfriend?”
Shit.
Kira giggles and I huff my frustration.
“Hi Kira,” Logan says through the door. “Tell my brother to clean his dick and go to school. Thanks, love.” His footsteps sound away and I'm so angry that my hard-on goes dead on me.
“Fuck!” I roar, dragging myself out of bed and walking butt-naked through the hall into the bathroom.