Green Suit got a better grip on my arm and pulled me to a stop just outside my door. “Are you certain you’re alright, Miss? You don’t look well.”
How could I explain to the kind stranger that I was sick to my core of this whole exercise? That every time it became apparent that Logan wanted me even less than I wanted him, I died a little inside. How did I explain the snarl of emotions that came from loving Logan Farraday?
I swallowed past the lump in my throat with difficulty. There was no explaining it. Whatever fucked up connection I still had with Logan would need about twelve licensed psychiatrists to sort out properly.
“I think I’ll be fine after a little rest, Mr...?”
“Dennison,” he said with a grin. I frowned as the name tickled something in the back of my mind. “Antony Dennison. I do hope you feel better Miss Mason. I’d hate to miss a chance for a dance with you later in the week.”
I slid my arm out of his with a prickle of unease. “I don’t recall introducing myself, Mr. Dennison.”
His smile slid easily into a knowing smirk. “Believe me. Everyone is eager to meet the woman who could tie down Logan Farraday, Miss Mason. Your arrival has been heartily anticipated.”
Great, just what I needed. More eyes watching me on this fool’s errand.
I slid the key card I’d been given into the door lock and slipped into my room without another word to my escort. The unease blossomed into full-on panic as I shut the door and locked it. Not caring to take in the luxury of the cabin, I went to the bed and flopped into its softness.
How the hell was I going to do this?
Six months ago, I would have said that Logan deserved whatever was coming to him. I still believed that he deserved a good, swift kick in the pants. But six million? How was I going to justify it to myself? And what were the logistics even if I could manage it?
I could swipe his card. Identity theft would go against my loyal hacktivist’s moral code, but weighed against the possibility of murder, I was pretty sure I could convince Tucker to deduct the balance from Logan’s accounts.
But that method was incredibly low and would lead to questions. With a limited suspect pool, I’d almost certainly be suspected. Logan would track me down and he’d want answers. What could I possibly offer him in return?
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, face buried in the down comforter, spinning donuts in my mental parking lot before a sound penetrated my mood.
When I finally raised my head a fraction, I heard the distinct sound of a knock on my door. My knee-jerk reaction was to tell my visitor to piss off. I was trying to have hysterics in peace.
“Mina?” Logan’s rumbling voice made me shiver, even muffled as it was by the door. “Mina, I’d like to speak to you.”
I scrubbed at my face, grateful I’d thought to pack waterproof mascara. I’d probably have resembled a raccoon without it. After I checked the mirror to be sure I was presentable, I padded to the door and opened it.
The sight of him waiting outside the door in his casual dress knocked the wind out of me. I hadn’t seen him in anything less than a three-piece suit since we’d met the night of the party. The long-sleeved gray shirt hinted at the musculature beneath it, and the skin of his forearms bared below his pushed up sleeves made me shiver. Paired with the low-rise jeans, he looked like the Logan I remembered. Ready to spend an afternoon in the backyard, me cradled in his arms, as we watched my brother and his friends make incredibly strange concoctions on the grill.
Nostalgia punched me in the chest and silenced the sharp retort I’d been about to fling at him. An inarticulate sound of pleasure escaped me.
It didn’t escape his notice, either, because his lips quirked up into a small smirk and his eyes twinkled with mischievous good humor.
Where had this Logan come from? And how did I install him permanently in the place of the moody monster I’d been forced to deal with for the last couple days?
“I’ve brought something for you.” He gestured to something just beside him and I belatedly realized he was gripping a cart handle in his right hand.
I took a step back and Logan angled it through the doorway. The unmistakable scent of garlic wafted up to greet me.
“You didn’t eat much on the plane,” Logan said in way of explanation. “I thought you might be hungry so I asked the cook to prepare something you liked. At least, I remember you liking it. If I’m wrong, you can send it back and request something else.”
I sank back onto the inches-thick comforter and allowed him to wheel the cart to me. Talk about a complete one-eighty. I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around this new, mercurial man. My pride was still throbbing and I wanted to reject this gift on principle. But my stomach told my pride exactly where to shove it.
Logan lifted the lid to the silver tray and revealed a lobster tail, claws, and a side order of curly fries. A little plastic cup full of cocktail sauce sat just to the side of the plate.
A startled laugh wrenched from my throat. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you remembered.”
The combination had become a comfort food favorite of mine when Mom and the Senator went away on trips. An attempt at expanding my palate had gone disastrously wrong and I’d ended up falling in love with this odd combination. When I’d told Logan about it years later, he’d laughed his ass off.
Logan’s smile finally reached his eyes. “How could I forget? You’re the only girl I’ve ever met who dips curly fries in cocktail sauce and butter.”
“It tastes good,” I insisted, seizing one of the curly fries from the plate. I liberally coated one in cocktail sauce and then swiped it through the pool of butter beneath the lobster. I offered it to him. “Come on. Try it.”
Logan frowned at the fry doubtfully. For years and years, I’d tried to coax him into eating my favorite dish with no success.
“It’s your food.”
“Try it, please.”
To my shock, he sat next to me and the warmth of his lips closed around my fingers. All I could think about was how much I’d like to have that sweet, dexterous tongue elsewhere. Then he pulled back, chewing my offering.
He swallowed and made a face. “Yeah. That was about as disgusting as I thought it would be.”
I sniffed, crossing my legs to ease the throbbing ache between them. “More for me.”
Seizing another fry, I repeated the process, popping the crispy, golden brown morsel into my mouth. The garlic butter and cocktail sauce washed across my tongue and I nearly groaned, reveling in the riot of flavors with almost hedonistic glee.
I polished off the curly fries in record time and set upon the lobster, prying the soft, delicious meat from the shell with practiced movements.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he said, watching me devour the meal with amused disgust. “I was being an ass.”
“Yes, you were.” He flinched and I paused for a moment, wincing at my tone. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Truce? We need to get along in order to make this work. I can bury the hatchet for now, if you can promise to do the same.”
Logan nodded. “That’s what I was going to propose, actually. I wasn’t sure you’d be game. I figured I should apologize anyway.”
I resumed my attack on the lobster with gusto. I wasn’t eating in a ladylike manner, and didn’t really care. My only audience was a man I couldn’t make heads or tails of. He’d brought me this meal, and if he expected me to eat it like a dainty princess, he had another thing coming. The stress that had stolen my appetite for the last few days finally crumbled beneath the onslaught of hunger.
If the senator could have seen me at that moment, the messy state of my hands, clothes, and hair would have scandalized him. I couldn’t force myself to feel bad about any of it until a large glob of cocktail sauce dropped on my dress.
Logan chuckled and offered me a napkin.
I glanced down at myself. “I don’t think a napkin is going to cover it,” I said with a rueful laugh.
I’d mana
ged to drip sauce over the bodice of the dress. Well, no one had ever claimed eating lobster was a clean business. I sighed. Nothing for it, I supposed. Reaching back, I unzipped the sheath dress as far as possible, pausing when I reached the extent of my arm’s reach.
“I knew you could zip it yourself,” Logan said, a quiet, triumphant note in his voice.
I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want to perform this contortionist act.”
Somehow, I managed to reach the zipper again and pull it down the rest of the way. Ignoring the fact that Logan’s eyes had followed each click of the zipper, I stepped out of the dress. Which left me in only the purple thong and matching bra set I’d been gifted by Heather last Christmas. I knew that she’d secretly been hoping I’d show them off to some lucky man at a Christmas party. She’d been pushing me to date since we met, and was disheartened by the lack of hot-man-loving in my life.
A man was certainly getting an eyeful now.
A cursory glance revealed Logan frozen on the bed, eyes sweeping over the newly bared flesh with a hunger that rivaled mine. I hadn’t intended to put on a little striptease. But now that it was happening...well...this was as good a time as any to begin my mission.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I announced, bending to undo the strappy heels. The end result of which was my ass on full display as I stripped out of the ridiculous footwear.
Logan muttered a low, husky curse word and I’d have bet money he was trying hard not to palm my ass.
Kicking off the shoes, I let my hips sway as I sauntered toward the shower. Though I desperately wanted to peer over my shoulder to gauge his reaction, I couldn’t ruin the carefully crafted nonchalance. He would join me or he wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure whether I should hope for the former or the latter. One would be better for the mission, the other better for my fragile heart.
The bathroom was easily as big as the Hustler’s sitting room back home, boasting a marble sink and hardwood floors. I bypassed the mirror, not eager to get a glimpse of myself. I was a mess, and if my physique was any less impressive than I imagined, I was going to lose my nerve.
I crossed over to the glass shower doors and slid them open. Whether or not he came in after me, I wanted a nice, scalding shower. I twisted the temperature knob to its highest setting and waited for the water to heat.
Every little sound made me jump, sure that an arm was about to wrap around my waist and pull me into a broad chest. Steam poured into the bathroom as the water temperature rose, and still, no Logan.
My throat tightened and tears welled in my eyes. My skin felt clammy, despite the heat. He wasn’t coming. He’d probably ducked out the moment I’d come in here. He wasn’t an idiot. He had to have caught the silent invitation. He just wasn’t interested.
A lone tear streaked down my cheek and splashed onto the bathmat just outside the shower entrance. I slapped a hand to my face, rubbing the traitorous tears away before more could fall. Stupid. It was so stupid to feel disappointment.
I shimmied out of the bra and panties, flinging them as far as I could in my fit of pique. I stepped under the searing spray, and a large hand shot out and stopped the sliding glass door from closing behind me.
Logan appeared in the gap, shirt already off.
My eyes popped wide, and despite the roiling emotions inside of me, I couldn’t help but stare.
He’d been fit when we dated six years ago. He was some sort of bodybuilding god now. Every single one of his muscles had clear definition, and covered lightly in steam, he looked absolutely lickable. A tattoo in graceful black lettering on his chest read, “My angel always with me.”
The thought came to me, just who was his angel?
“Logan, I—”
He lunged through the open shower door, not seeming to care that he was still half-dressed. Dragging me to him, we met in a clash of skin beneath the spray. His mouth came down hard on mine and his biceps curled around me, caging me against his body, as though afraid I’d bolt.
He needn’t have worried. There was no place I wanted to be more than in this man’s arms. All the fear, the doubt, the harsh sting of rejection washed away beneath the pounding water and the warm slide of Logan’s mouth.
Seconds later, my back hit the wall of the shower and Logan slid a hand up my spine to tangle in my hair. His mouth pressed searing kisses onto my cheek, my throat. I pressed into him, whimpering his name when he set his teeth against my clavicle.
“Fuck, Mina,” he groaned. “Why do you have to be so goddamn beautiful?”
“I thought you didn’t want me,” I panted.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment you crashed into me at the Ritz-Carlton.” He paused, considering. “No. Before then, even. I’ve been wanting this for six years.”
Heart lodged somewhere around my ears, I decided to ignore that statement. If he’d really been pining after me for six years, there was no way he’d have released the tape. So we both knew that was bullshit. If I allowed myself to brood too long, go down that path, I’d only get angry with him. I didn’t want to be angry. I wanted to see, feel, and taste only Logan.
His belt came off easily enough and landed with a clatter just outside the shower doors. The pants were trickier. The denim was heavy, wet, and clung to him like a second skin. There was no way I was going to get them off without the full use of my arms.
I pushed away from him. He didn’t let me go easily, trying to wrap himself around me again, but the water gave me an edge and I squirmed free. Dropping to my knees, I got a good grip on the jeans and tugged, bringing the material to rest around his ankles. I was immediately distracted by the fact that he wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath.
A small part of me wanted to roll my eyes. Was it some sort of rule that you had to forgo underwear to prove your masculinity? I imagined that would chafe after a while.
A larger part of me was transfixed. It wasn’t as if I’d seen a lot of dicks in my life, so I wasn’t the authority on them. I still thought that Logan Farraday had the best in the Western Hemisphere. Long and thick, with a head that I wanted to wrap my lips around.
My lips twitched up into a small smile. Well, as long as I was here...
I palmed his hard length experimentally. He felt as full and warm as I remembered.
Logan stilled midway through stepping out of his jeans, letting out a small sound of pleasure.
“Oh, God...Mina, you don’t have to—”
His protest cut off with a gurgle when I licked the underside, tracing the vein that ran from the base to the very tip of him. I wrapped my lips around the velvety head of his cock, savoring the familiar texture on my tongue. He slid into my mouth easily, and the thick weight of him in my mouth was welcome.
He groaned and his hand found my hair, twining his fingers into it and yanking almost to the point of pain.
My lower abdomen muscles clenched in anticipation, and I found myself embarrassingly wet. God, how sad was it that a blowjob was getting me so hot?
I pulled back, drawing my lips tighter around the shaft. He pulled my hair again, sending a prickle of pain along my scalp, guiding my mouth just the way he wanted it. I could have fought his grip but the only thing on my mind was giving him pleasure.
He fucked my mouth eagerly, panting my name.
A moment later, he withdrew from my mouth, and I rocked back on my heels, stunned.
He was still hard, still panting, his crystal blue eyes blazing down at me with scorching intensity.
“Logan, what are you—”
“I’m not coming inside that pretty mouth of yours.” He slid an arm around my waist, drawing me up into his arms.
My wet, naked flesh pressed against his, and the utter rightness of it made me want to sing.
He lifted me, bracketed my legs around his waist, and pushed me up against the wall of the shower.
“I’m not missing an opportunity to do this.” He punctuated his words with a hard smack of his hips, thrusting himself against my en
trance.
Then he was inside of me.
A moan started somewhere around my toes, and once it reached my mouth, echoed through the bathroom. My back impacted the shower wall with a wet slap of flesh. He let out a soft growl against my mouth, thrusting hard into me again, setting a rhythm that was steady and driving.
Winding one arm more security around his neck, I used the other to reach between us, pressing my trembling fingers where I needed them most.
Too long without male contact, my body was coiled and ready, embarrassingly responsive to the smack of his hips into mine. The occasional orgasm I’d been able to achieve with the help of my vibrator was nothing compared to the sensations I was getting now.
That orgasm built with the speed and strength of a tidal wave, crashing over me with such force I couldn’t breathe. My back arched, pressing me impossibly closer to his chiseled torso. My mouth opened in a silent scream as the orgasm sent me into convulsions around him.
Logan hissed, stilling for just a moment while I rode out the climax.
My nails bit crescents into his shoulder and he cursed.
“Fuck, Mina, you’re so goddamned tight,” he breathed into my neck.
I wished I had a snarky comeback to throw at him. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been almost completely celibate since we’d broken things off. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that the few fumbling attempts I’d had at bringing men home had ended in disaster or tears. He’d be even more insufferable if he ever found out that I’d always compared the other men to him, and found them lacking.
By the time I was through, I realized it was probably a good thing he was holding me upright. There was no way I’d have been able to support my own weight.
He was still hard inside of me, though he’d waited patiently, giving me enough time to catch my breath.
“Think you can stand?”
“No,” I panted, shaking my head emphatically. “I’ll fall and then you’ll have to explain to our host why I cracked my head on the shelf.”
He chuckled. “Alright then.”
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