by Zoe Blake
Bob raised his eyebrows. “That’s all. You don’t want more money?”
“Nothing I ever do is about the money. This is worth far more to me. See that it gets done.”
Bob nodded as he tucked the folder into his laptop bag. Logan was confident it would be. No one double-crossed a man of his reputation.
“Good.” He kicked back the last of his coffee. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Logan said with a smile as he rose to take his leave.
“Wait. The burner number you gave us. It doesn’t work anymore. The contact we used to find you also said he can’t get a hold of you either. How do we reach you if we need you for another job?”
“You don’t. I’m retiring,” said Logan.
He turned and left the diner, anxious to get back to his babygirl.
The whole fucking mess had been cleaned up. His job was over.
It was time to start thinking about a future with Chloe.
He returned to the room to find her gone.
Walking over to the desk, he picked up the purple Crown Royal bag and upended the contents into his palm. It looked to be over a 100 large cut diamonds. He shifted his hand and watched how they glittered in the soft lamplight. Low-grade cloudiness aside, they were still diamonds.
He picked up the note beside them. The words might have explained that she couldn’t bear to repeat her past mistakes by falling in love with a dangerous man, and how the diamonds represented how close she had come to succumbing to that dark life before, but he saw the true meaning behind the note.
His bedeviled angel had just grown wings.
Logan picked up the phone with his free hand and instructed the front desk to have the valet bring around his truck. He was checking out.
Looked like he wasn’t retiring after all, he thought as he poured the diamonds back into the bag. He had one more job to complete.
And his new client had just paid him in advance.
Chapter 13
Montreal, Canada
One month later
* * *
“Celui-là est mon préféré!”
Chloe looked up at her friend Marianne. “All of them are your favorites,” she laughed.
Chloe went back to arranging her jewelry inside the display case. She rented out the case at a cute jewelry boutique inside the Marche Bonsecours. It was a nice arrangement. The historic market was located on St. Paul Street in the heart of the tourist district of Montreal. On her own, she would never have been able to afford a shop in such a prime location, but she could afford to rent a display case inside of one and, who knew? Perhaps one day she would have her own little shop. It would be just what she needed. A business to focus all her energies on. A business to fill the void.
Giving herself a mental shake, Chloe tried to force away thoughts of him. It had been an entire month, and not one day, or truth be told, not one hour, had gone by without her thinking of Logan. The way he used to brush his knuckles down her cheek or teasingly pull on one of her curls. How sexy he’d looked dressed in only jeans with his bare, tattoo-covered chest on display as he’d moved about the cabin’s small kitchen making her that apple pancake. It was pathetic. Even the scent of coffee brought back memories of his large, tanned hands cupping a mug as he leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb.
Then, of course, thoughts of his hands brought back thoughts of him bathing her in the shower, of him holding her down as he fucked her, of the feel of his hand as he disciplined her. She even missed his spankings. The feel of his leather belt after she had done something bad. The other day she had said the word fuck out loud, and tears had pricked her eyes when she realized no one cared if she used bad language. It was such a silly little thing, but still. It hurt to think no one cared.
She missed him.
For a few weeks, every time she heard a knock on a door, which was usually for the apartment next door and never for her, she thought it might be him. She would catch a glimpse of a tall man in a crowd, and her heart would skip for just the barest of moments till she realized it was not him. Even the ring of the little shop bell would always cause her stomach to flutter.
Now that a month had passed, she had to come to terms with the fact that he was not coming after her. She realized now that that was one of the reasons why she’d run. True, she’d needed to prove to herself that she could create a life without anyone’s help, that she was capable of not making a hot mess of everything. Still, there was a small part of her that had hoped he would follow. That he would find her like he had done before. That he would prove that she hadn’t been just a job. That she could see pride in his face when he saw her pretty jewelry case.
“Non! Non! Dites-le en français,” admonished Marianne, bringing Chloe back to the present.
Chloe groaned. “Non! When I asked you to teach me French, it was because I thought everyone spoke only French here, and I would be lost. They don’t! Everyone speaks English too. I get along just fine.”
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You are a very stubborn girl,” said Marianne as she wagged her finger at Chloe. “You need to learn your French if you are truly going to become a Montrealer.”
“I will. I will,” placated Chloe.
“How about a drink after work? There is someone I would like you to meet, yes?”
Marianne had tried to fix her up with countless friends, friends of friends, customers, even one man she’d met in a shop the other day. Chloe always said no. There was only truly one man for her, and she’d ruined it.
Chloe shook her head. “No thank you. I think I will just head home early tonight.” Chloe locked her display and began to gather her things.
“Oh! How silly of me! I almost forgot. There was a handsome man in here while you were on the lower level chatting with the owner of the bookshop. He admired your jewelry. I tried to sell him something, but he said he wanted to meet the artist of such beautiful pieces and buy from her directly. He will be back tomorrow,” said Marianne.
Chloe nodded and thanked her before leaving. A week ago, maybe even a few days ago, a message like would have had her wondering, but not now.
Chloe rubbed her neck as she looked forlornly at the contents of her fridge. Indian food was Montreal’s counterpart to American Chinese take-out. She stared at the containers of samosas, chicken tandoori and shrimp vindaloo. She turned her nose up at it all. Again, as frequent as her own heartbeat, a thought of Logan came into her mind, unbidden. She could hear his voice chastising her for eating junk food and ordering her to eat a vegetable. Closing the fridge, she went into the bedroom to change out of her skirt and blouse and into a pair of jeans and T-shirt. Perhaps doing a little gardening would cheer her up. She rented a little apartment that was one of four in a small building on a quiet cul-de-sac. Her favorite part was the cute common garden in the backyard that all the renters worked in. It couldn’t replace the beautiful lake and surrounding woods of her uncle’s cabin, but it was a small piece of nature inside the city, and it was one of her few comforts.
Chloe was kneeling in the dirt when she heard a car pull up in the cul-de-sac. In Montreal, it was very popular to bike or walk. Cars were not as common as in America, so the sound of one in the gathering dusk struck her as odd. Rising, she brushed the dirt from her knees and made her way into her apartment. As she was crossing through the kitchen, there was a knock…on her door this time. It was a deep, strong knock. The kind that rattled the door on its hinges.
She took a step back, gripping the metal heart charm around her neck.
“Chloe. Open the door.”
She stared at the door with wide eyes. He had found her. Oh God. He had found her. She suddenly couldn’t breathe. Her heart started to race. Chloe stood there frozen.
There was a long, excruciating pause.
Then.
“I know you are in there. I need you to open the door, babygirl.”
She had missed the dark command of his voice.
“Baby, I’m losing my patience. Trust me. You don’t wan
t that.”
Snapping out of her shock, Chloe leaned over and turned the lock before taking a fidgety step back again.
She watched as the doorknob slowly turned.
The old, wooden door swung open.
Logan.
Dressed in faded jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, she could see hints of his tattoos peeking out from the edges of his collar and sleeves. Rough stubble covered his jaw, and it looked like he hadn’t cut his hair in the month they’d been apart. Slightly longer, it fell in soft waves over his forehead and a little over his ears, but it was the dark focused look in his blue eyes that arrested her.
“I’m home, babygirl,” he growled before kicking the door shut with his heavy motorcycle boot and dropping his black duffel on the floor.
Chloe backed up a step as she raised her hands protectively before her.
“I can explain!”
“Really? You can explain why you would run away from my protection? Why you would leave nothing but this note!”
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a well-worn, folded piece of paper.
Chloe’s heart lurched. He had kept her note.
“I needed to be on my own. To actually experience a real life, not one filled with chaos and blood or isolation and boredom, but just a normal life. I needed to feel that balance to know if…if what I felt for you was real and not just a rush from the passion and danger.” Chloe twisted her fingers in the hem of her T-shirt. Her voice wobbled a bit as she admitted, “I also needed to know if… if you would… well…if you….”
Logan took a step forward and cupped her jaw, tilting her face back. “If I would come after you? Is that what you are trying to say, babygirl?”
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “I began to lose hope,” she said forlornly.
Logan took a lock of her hair between his forefinger and thumb and ran them down the silken length, giving it a tug at the end. “Baby, I was on your six before your taxi even got to the car rental place.”
Her brow wrinkled as she tried to understand what he was saying. “What do you mean?”
Logan ran his knuckles down her cheek. “How do you think you were able to get into Canada without a passport?”
“I…I didn’t know they’d changed the rules after 9/11 but the border agent took pity on me.”
Logan shook his head.
“You?”
“Me. And you think you just found this apartment in one of the safest neighborhoods in Montreal with an easily defended cul-de-sac and a landlord who didn’t need a background check?”
“No! I met my landlord in a coffee shop! She said her granddaughter had just gotten married, and she needed a new renter, and she thought I had an honest face.”
Logan shook his head again. “Sorry, baby. She’s CSIS.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“Language,” he admonished sternly. “Canadian Secret Intelligence Service.”
“My sweet old lady landlord?”
Logan shrugged his shoulders. “It’s what makes her so good.”
Her lower lip shot out. “What about the jewelry case at the market? I suppose that was you too?”
Logan placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “That was all you, baby. Hand to God. All you. And I am very proud of you.”
She beamed under his praise.
“So you’ve been here the whole month? Why… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you—”
“Like you said, you needed to do this. I just couldn’t let you do it completely alone. I had to protect my baby.”
Chloe’s cheeks pinkened. She’d missed him. She’d missed this.
Logan reached down to unbuckle his belt. “Do you know what else I have to do?”
Her stomach flipped as she squeezed her thighs tight. She shook her head as she slid her right foot back one tiny step.
“I have to punish my baby for lying.”
“I didn’t lie!”
Logan picked up the note she’d written. “’I can’t fall in love with you. I can’t repeat my past mistakes,’” he read. Holding the note up between two fingers, he raised an eyebrow at her as he accused, “Lie.”
“How is that a lie? I was telling you how I felt,” she complained.
Logan put down the note and unhooked the top button of his jeans. Chloe took another step back as her eyes widened in anticipation. He then pulled his T-shirt over his head, exposing his cut abs and inked skin.
Chloe licked her lips without thinking.
Logan took another step forward. “It’s a lie because we both know you were already in love with me.”
Chloe’s mouth fell open.
Logan kicked off one boot, then the other. “Say it. You know what I want to hear.”
It was time. No more running. No more wondering if she was making a mistake. No more living under the shadow of her past. It was time to face her future. A future with Logan.
“I love you,” she responded shyly.
Logan smiled. ‘Now we are going to make sure you never forget it.”
Chloe bit her lip as he picked up his duffel bag and grabbed her by the upper arm, walking her through the apartment to the bedroom. For half an instant she wondered how he knew his way around but then realized who she was dealing with.
Leading her inside the room, he turned and shut the door. “Strip,” he ordered as he walked over to the bed. With one sweep of his arm, he discarded the coverlet, blankets, throw pillows and stuffed animals she had displayed, leaving the bed bare except for the fitted sheet.
With shaking hands, she pulled her T-shirt over her head, self-conscious about her lack of a bra. She raised nervous eyes to him as her arms hovered over her middle, ready to cover herself at the slightest sign of disapproval. His appreciative gaze gave her confidence to reach for the zipper on her jeans. Pulling on the brass tab, the soft, pale skin of her lower abdomen came into view with just a hint of her pink lace panties. Grasping the waistband, she pushed the jeans over the swell of her hips and bottom, letting them slide to the floor.
“The panties too,” he ordered gruffly.
Dipping her thumbs into the lace edge, she slowly lowered the flimsy fabric till the faint curls of her pussy were visible. The delicate fabric fell over the bright yellow nail polish covering her toes before she kicked them aside.
“Lie back on the bed and close your eyes.”
Chloe hesitantly did as he ordered. The building anticipation for whatever unknown punishment he had planned was twisting her stomach and making it hard for her to breathe. The sheet felt cool against her heated skin as she laid on her back, her arms stiff at her sides.
“Close your eyes and open your legs.”
Chloe bit her lip. “Please, please don’t…don’t use your belt on my pussy,” she begged.
The bed dipped as Logan placed a hand on either side of her head and leaned in close. His breath smelled of coffee, his skin the astringent bite of his aftershave. “If I want to take my belt to that pretty little pussy of yours, I will. You have earned this punishment, babygirl, and I won’t have you dictating how I deliver it.”
“Yes,” she whimpered as her fingernails anxiously scraped at the tight-fitting sheet.
“Now open your legs wide.”
Chloe reluctantly opened her legs, fighting the urge to place her hands protectively between them. There was a long stretch of silence, then she could hear him moving about the room. The sound of his duffel bag being unzipped. The scrape of a chair. The soft whoosh of his belt being pulled from his jeans belt loops. The hollow metal jangle of the buckle. He must be folding it in half getting ready to punish her, she reasoned as a tear escaped her closed lids. Her apprehension increased with each passing second. It was as if she could feel her heart thudding and thumping in her chest. The blood pumping to every heightened nerve in her body. She dreaded the punishment but craved the absolution through pain it would bring.
Chloe gave out a startled gas
p when the cool, silky feel of liquid hit her stomach. “Oh! What?”
“Shhh…” he admonished as the liquid continued to pour over her stomach, the top of her thighs, her breasts and over her pussy.
The sweet smell of baby powder made her realize he was pouring baby oil on her body.
“Now touch yourself,” he commanded.
“Where?” she obediently asked. Her body already responding to the idea of him watching her touch herself as he poured oil over her skin.
“Start with your breasts. Rub the oil in. Test their weight. Pinch your own nipples.”
Chloe did as he charged, dipping the edges of her fingertips in the skin-warmed oil. Sliding her fingers through it, she moved her hands in sweeping circles over her flat stomach, edging toward her breasts. Cupping them from the underside, she ran a hand over each breast, coating them in the baby oil, spurred on by the subtle increase in his breathing, a harsh masculine sound in the quiet room. Gently rolling her nipples between her forefingers and thumbs, she felt the nubs harden and become even more sensitive with her touch.
“Move lower. Touch your cunt.” His voice raspy and thick as he uttered the dark command.
Instinctively raising her knees, her hands glided down her middle to rest between her thighs. As her fingers began to play over the folds, she could feel warm oil drip down on them.
“That’s it, baby. Tilt your bottom up. Display that cunt for me.”
Chloe raised her hips, tilting her bottom as she opened her knees wider. Flattening her fingers, she ran her right hand over her pussy, using the top edge of her palm to apply pressure on her clit. She could feel the bed dip. It felt as though he had just knelt between her open legs. Her suspicion was confirmed when she felt his warm hands on her inner thighs. Running them over her, one hand rested on her abdomen, the other over her pussy.
“You look so beautiful. Your creamy skin catches the light and sparkles from the oil as you wait for my next command,” he murmured as he pressed the tip of his finger between her folds, circling and teasing her clit.