by Ella Frank
Tate laughed as he put his napkin in his lap. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. But why else would you fire her?” Logan picked up his fork and pointed it at him. “Did she hit on you?”
“No, she didn’t hit on me.”
“Hey, it’s not that strange of a question.”
Logan was joking, of course, and Tate rolled his eyes. “She was the part-time manager, yes. But I’d been thinking about hiring on someone full time. I offered her the position but she’s going back to school next semester and handed in her two weeks’ notice instead.”
“That bitch,” Logan said with a smile as he put his fork down and brought his napkin to his mouth. “Didn’t you tell her that education rots the brain?”
“Says the lawyer at the table.”
“Hang on, let me get this straight. You want to hire a full-time manager so…?”
“So I can get into bed at a decent hour with you.”
The expression that crossed Logan’s features was a mix of surprise and pleasure. Tate could see that Logan was happy about what he’d just said, but was also unsure if it was what Tate really wanted. It was.
“Are you sure?” Logan asked as he picked his knife and fork back up.
“I am.” When Logan took another bite of his food and glanced at him, Tate smiled. “Business is doing great. The staff are all reliable and well trained. It runs like a well-oiled machine, minus the fact I’ll have to train a new person. But Logan, it’s time.”
Once Logan’s plate was empty, he sat back and contemplated Tate with narrowed eyes. “And you’re not just doing this because of what’s been going on recently? Because that was a one-off—”
“Was it?” Tate asked, genuinely wanting to know if Logan’s taste of the big cases, the glory, had made him want more of it.
“Yes, it was. I was just telling Cole how exhausted I am.” Logan shook his head. “I sound like an old man.”
“Thirty-seven is not old.”
“Shit, don’t remind me,” Logan said, wincing. “But the truth is, this case sort of stumbled its way into my lap. It started with Renate and then snowballed.”
“But now more people with similar cases will seek you out. Are you sure you don’t want—”
“Tate?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sure. I don’t want that. Yes, it was an incredible feeling sticking it to Berivax and Paul Bishop in his horrible tweed suit. Actually…” Logan leaned over and fingered the hem of his vest. “Is this tweed?”
“It is.”
“Okay, I’ve changed my mind. Not all tweed is horrible, this is really…” Logan seemed sidetracked as he played with one of the four black buttons running down the center of Tate’s body.
“Logan?”
“Oh, right.” Logan sat back and removed his hand. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime case. One I don’t wish to repeat anytime soon. But Cole and I need to talk about a few things regarding the business, and then we’ll sit down with you and Rach. But trust me, I don’t want that to become the regular.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You aren’t the only one who missed this. Missed us.”
“Glad to hear it,” Tate said as their plates were cleared away, and Logan reached for the bottle of wine and refilled each of their glasses. “So, okay, if you’re not going to be working any more crazy-big cases, I won’t work past…eleven.”
“Someone else will close for you?” Logan asked.
“Yes,” Tate agreed. “And every other weekend off.”
Logan’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“So Monday through Friday you’ll be home before midnight, and every other weekend off?”
“Yeah. That’s the plan. Is that all right with you?”
Logan appeared completely gobsmacked, and when he finally recovered, he said, “In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never had you on the weekends.”
“Now that’s not accurate. I’m pretty sure you’ve had me on every day of the week at some point.”
Logan’s lips curved. “True,” he said, and then took Tate’s hand. “You really mean it, though, don’t you?”
“Yep. We’ll be just like normal people.” As soon as the word normal left his tongue, Logan frowned and Tate interlaced their fingers. “There’s nothing wrong with being normal, you know.”
“I never said there was.”
“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face. There are certain words that make your warning bells go off.” Tate laughed. “And that’s one of them.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan said, and freed his hand.
“Yes, I do. Remember, I know you.”
“Oh yeah. Then what are the others?”
Tate was about to answer when Sergio arrived with their main course, so he waited while their plates were placed in front of them, and then he turned to Logan and said in much the same manner one would check off a checklist, “Settled. Domestic. And committed.”
Logan held Tate’s gaze for one, two, three seconds, and then reached for his wine and swallowed it down. A loud laugh leaving Tate. Ahh, there’s my little commitment-phobe.
“Eat your damn food, Tate.”
That only made him laugh harder. Because while those three words made Logan nearly hyperventilate, Tate knew that Logan loved him more than anyone ever had or would. He’d proven it time and time again in his actions, even if the words still freaked the guy out.
But, for now, Tate would let him think on it and eat his dinner, content in the knowledge that whether Logan wanted to admit it or not, he was extremely pleased with the new normal that was about to become their lives.
THE ENTIRE WAY through dinner, Logan could feel Tate’s gaze on him. After their little discussion, he had decided it best to keep quiet for a while. He was caught somewhere between fucking ecstatic that he would finally be able to plan things to do with Tate on the weekends, and having an anxiety attack over the fact he liked the idea of the two of them finally settling down. Jesus, that even sounded weird in his head.
As he finished the final mouthful of his steak, Logan rubbed a hand over his stomach and sighed. “That was delicious.”
Tate was still finishing off the last couple of bites of his gnocchi, but he nodded in agreement.
“I can’t believe we’ve never been here before.”
“I know,” Tate said, tossing his napkin by his plate now that he was done. “The food was amazing.”
“It sure was.”
Just as they settled back against the cushioned booth, Sergio arrived at their table and looked at the empty plates. “I see you’ve both finished.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Logan said. “We were just saying how delicious dinner was.”
“That’s what we like to hear,” Sergio said as he stacked up the plates and then dug a small menu from the pocket of the long black apron he had wrapped around his waist. “Do you have room for dessert?”
“Oh God,” Logan said, and looked over at Tate, who’d taken the menu.
“Yeah, let us take a look and see what you’ve got.”
Sergio smiled. “Take your time.”
As he rushed off, Logan said, “You’re ambitious.”
Tate waggled his eyebrows as he scanned the menu and then turned it Logan’s way, pointing. “That’s what Cole and Rachel were talking about.”
Logan read the description of the Torta Opera. An Italian-style opera torte with salted caramel gelato, namelaka, and gold leaf accents. Yep, that sounds right up Cole’s alley.
“Share a piece?” Tate suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” Logan said as Tate turned the menu back to himself, then, right before he closed it, he spotted something, opened his mouth, and then shut it again before looking over at Logan.
When Tate didn’t say anything, Logan asked, “Something wrong?”
“No,” Tate said, and shook his h
ead. “I just saw bianchi on the menu and it reminded me of something you said last night. That I’d just missed a Mr. Bianchi when I got to your office.”
“Oh,” Logan said, remembering his own surprise from the brief meeting he’d had yesterday. How had he forgotten to tell Tate about that? “When I got back from court yesterday, Sherry said someone was waiting in my office for me, and you’ll never guess who it was.”
Tate frowned. “Who?”
“It was Robbie.”
Logan could see the wheels turning, and then Tate said, “Sucks-like-a-Hoover Robbie?”
And Logan lost it, a booming laugh leaving him before he could stop it. “Yes,” he said, trying to control his hilarity at Tate’s blunt recollection of a certain barista. “That Robbie. Except he goes by Robert now.”
“Robert,” Tate said, still trying to put all the pieces together. “Robert Bianchi?”
“Yes, and he’s…” Logan paused as he tried to think of how to say what he was thinking.
“He’s what?” Tate asked before Logan could come up with anything, and the slight edge to Tate’s voice made Logan laugh all over again.
Boy, does he have the wrong idea. If only he could stop laughing long enough to tell Tate so. Finally getting himself under control, Logan said, “He’s changed a lot since we last saw him.”
“Changed? How?”
Logan pictured the well-dressed man who’d been waiting in his office and said, “He’s…grown up, I guess.”
“That’s not very specific,” Tate said. “And what is he doing looking you up?”
Logan scooted over on the seat until their thighs bumped, and then placed a hand on Tate’s leg under the table. “I forgot how pissed off you used to get over Robbie. Hmm, maybe I’ll keep talking about him.”
“I thought his name was Robert now?”
“It is,” Logan said, and placed a kiss to Tate’s cheek. “You should see him. I almost want you to stop by in the morning so you can.”
“Stop by? So, he’s coming back? What does he want?”
“A lawyer,” Logan said. “Well, he doesn’t need a lawyer. His cousin does, and he said the first name he thought of was—”
“Yours,” Tate said. “How nice.”
Logan’s lips twitched, and he couldn’t stop himself from playing with Tate a little. “I thought so. It was nice to know I left such an impression on the young man.” The frown on Tate’s face morphed into a scowl, and Logan continued, “He’s a lot more subdued now than he used to be, though. I didn’t even recognize him until he turned around. The platinum hair’s gone, and so is the eyeliner, and he was wearing the most outrageous shoes I’ve ever seen.”
“Glad you took such a long look at him,” Tate said.
Logan opened his mouth to inform Tate that he’d only spent five minutes setting up a meeting for Friday and then sent Robbie on his way. But before he could, dessert arrived and they were thanking Sergio, who also placed the check on the corner of the table and told them there was absolutely no rush.
Logan bit back a grin at Tate’s stiff shoulders but decided it was time to forget about everything other than why they were there. This discussion could wait until tomorrow. Tonight was about them reconnecting, and what better way to do that than— Hmm…touching, Logan thought, as he slipped his hand down the inside of Tate’s thigh and watched him shift in his seat.
“Logan,” Tate said, but Logan didn’t care. He was on a mission now, and that mission involved getting his man home, naked, and under him.
“Yes, Tate?” He angled his entire body toward Tate’s side so he could lean in and nuzzle his nose against his curls. He pressed a kiss to Tate’s temple as he slipped his hand higher on his thigh and whispered, “I’m done with food for the night.”
He heard a soft groan leave Tate, and when he turned his head to face him, Logan flattened his palm over the erection Tate was now sporting and licked his lips. “There’s something else I want in my mouth instead.”
With a nod, Tate reached beneath the table to still Logan’s wandering hand. “Go and pay, then, so I can get myself under control enough to walk out of here.”
Logan’s entire body heated at the gruff order, but then he was sliding out of the booth with the check in hand. It was clear both he and Tate were of the same mindset. They didn’t want to wait around for the time it took Sergio to come back to their table, and suddenly neither of them were interested in the exquisite dessert sitting untouched on their table.
“Don’t make me wait,” Logan said, as Tate stared up at him. “If you’re not at the front door in five minutes, I’m coming back to drag you out.”
Tate’s eyes sparked at the words. “I’ll be there in four.”
And Logan left to pay the bill.
Chapter Four
TO SAY THE cab ride home was an exercise in restraint would be an understatement. As if the two of them had come to some kind of arrangement when they’d left Spiaggia, they each sat in the back of the cab in silence as it wove its way through the city toward home.
Tate was situated with his back half against the seat and half against the door, so he could keep an eye on Logan, who had one hand on his thigh drumming out an impatient rhythm, and the other oh so casually resting on the back of the seat. But there was nothing casual in the way Logan was watching him.
When they’d slid inside the vehicle around five minutes ago, Logan’s eyes had invited him to come closer, but Tate had only just managed to get his body to cooperate so he could walk from point A to point B. There was no way he was going to let Logan get his hands on him again until he was somewhere he could do something about it. So for the moment, that meant he’d have to settle for the intense eye fuck Logan was subjecting him to. And hell if that wasn’t just as dangerous to his peace of mind as Logan’s hands, mouth, or words.
The lights from the city glittered and reflected off the glasses that framed Logan’s heavy-lidded eyes as he trailed them all over Tate. And when Logan caught the direction of his gaze, he scraped his teeth along that full lower lip, and it was all Tate could do not to dive across the back seat so he could lay Logan out flat on it.
The arrogant expression that crossed Logan’s face did nothing to bank the fire he’d just lit, as the cab finally pulled to a stop at the front of their building and Tate realized he had to actually move. As a chuckle left Logan, he pushed open the passenger door and climbed out as Tate reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and paid the cab fare. Then he got out of the car and found Logan waiting for him.
With his jacket buttoned and his hands in his pants pockets, Tate knew right then that Logan was having just as much trouble keeping his hands to himself as he was. He tugged the hem of his vest into place, and when Logan caught his breath, Tate slipped his hands into his own pockets and strolled toward him. Oh yeah, he’s as on edge as I am.
“Something wrong?” Tate asked, as he stopped opposite Logan just outside their lobby door.
Logan leaned in, careful not to touch him, and said in a ball-tingling voice, “Yes. We’re still standing outside.”
Tate grinned as he stepped around Logan and opened the door for him. “That’s not my fault. You’re the one who lingered.”
As Logan went to walk by him, he stopped, looked Tate dead in the eye, and said, “I wasn’t lingering. I was making notes in my head.”
Tate narrowed his eyes, but followed Logan over to the elevator, which, thankfully, opened immediately. They each got in, taking opposite sides, the silent agreement still in place. Then Tate pressed the button to their floor and said, “Notes?”
Logan nodded, his eyes once again dipping down to what Tate was wearing. “Yes,” he said, shoving off the wall. “I was making notes on the best way to get you out of this sexy fucking outfit you’re wearing tonight.”
The modicum of self-control Tate had managed to keep throughout the cab ride vanished at Logan’s words, and as he pushed off the wall to reach for him, Logan took two s
teps back.
“Oh no. Not yet,” Logan said, his eyes darkening with all kinds of illicit intentions. “You put the no-touching rule into play.”
“No, I didn’t.”
The elevator dinged as it hit the floor, and Logan winked. “Yes, you did. Now you get to wait for it.”
As Logan left the elevator, Tate palmed the erection Logan had teased to attention by merely being in his breathing space. Then he stepped out into the hall and went in search of the man who was without a doubt going to make this night one he wouldn’t soon forget.
LOGAN HAD JUST placed his glasses on the table by his side of the bed when he heard the front door shut. He smiled at the loud slam, knowing that Tate was on a mission and didn’t care about anything other than getting in the same vicinity as Logan. And he was right, because only seconds later, Tate strode through their bedroom door and scanned the space until he spotted Logan.
Logan had tossed his jacket over the arm of the couch when he’d gotten inside, and as he held Tate’s stare, he unbuttoned his cuffs and tugged his shirt out of his pants. Tate walked farther into their room, and when he stopped at the foot of their bed and reached for the buttons of his vest, Logan said, “No. Don’t do that.”
Tate’s fingers stilled. “No?”
“No,” Logan said, as he removed his wallet and tossed it on the table. “I told you, I made notes.”
“Can I at least take my shoes off?”
“If you make it quick.”
Logan did the same, and then he walked barefoot around to the end of the bed, where Tate was waiting for him. “It’s been a long time since we got into bed at the same time. Even longer since we spent the night tearing up these particular sheets.”
“It has been.”
Logan touched a finger to the top button of Tate’s vest. “Let’s make sure that never happens again.”
“Deal,” Tate said, his voice a raspy promise.
“Good. Now that that’s decided, how about you turn around and remind yourself what our bed looks like? Because you’re about to become intimately reacquainted with it when I fuck you in it all night.”