by Maisey Yates
“Logan, logically you have to know that none of this is your fault.”
Rage poured through him, at her, at himself. She wasn’t supposed to believe in him. He didn’t deserve for anyone to believe in him. “It was my boat. My responsibility. I didn’t check a damn thing. Didn’t listen when the crew expressed concern. That’s on me, Addison, always. I’m not trying to outrun it. I’m not trying to deny it. And I won’t, ever. Because I don’t deserve to walk away from it clean. I’m going to say something,” he said, “that I’ve never said out loud. And after I say it, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. After I say it, we won’t talk about this again. You won’t try to convince me it wasn’t my fault. And I won’t tell you any more horror stories.”
“I’m listening,” she said, her voice sounding far away to him, disconnected. The ocean was roaring in his ears now, closer than the sound of the Manhattan streets.
“I talked to the family members,” he said. “When I got back. Because they all wanted to know. Because I was back and I was alive, so…they all wanted to know what happened. They all hoped their loved ones were alive. Having me back…it raised the dead in their minds. I talked to wives, I talked to mothers, to fathers. To adult children. And I lied to them.”
“What?”
“I told them it was so fast that no one even knew what hit them. I told them that their loved ones didn’t suffer. I told them…the waves overtook them and that was it. No suffering. No pain. That drowning is like falling asleep. It was a lie,” he said.
“It was dark when the storm hit,” he continued. “The waves broke the boat apart. It was so violent. Furniture coming unbolted and flying everywhere. Breaking bones. And then…and then once the water overtook the boat…well, you wanted off because rooms were filling up and if you got stuck in them…you were just going to drown faster. And drowning is not like falling asleep. I nearly drowned that night. It hurts, Addison. Some died quickly. Others not so much. But you know shipwrecks and bodies and injuries bring one thing.”
“Logan…” Her voice was choked. “Don’t—”
He lifted his hand, looked down at the trail of crimson staining his shirt all the way up to his elbow.
“We had sharks to contend with. And those that survived the night heard all of it. Waited to see if they’d be next while they clung to pieces of the boat. I lied to the families. Every single one of them. And that is why I believe I survived. Not for a higher purpose. Not because of a miracle. Because someone had to come back and lie.”
Chapter Eight
Addison was in too deep, and she knew it. Panic attacks were one thing. Watching him pierce his own skin with a fork was quite another.
Then there was also his admission about the night the ship had gone down. About how everyone had died, horribly, in terror. About how he blamed himself for all that death, all that pain.
It made her wonder if she was better off going back to just being a shiny, smiling Treffen, not pushing, not trying to help Logan out of the mire of anxiety he was sinking in. He wouldn’t throw her out if she did stop trying to help him. She could probably happily exist in the private bedroom on his floor. Answering phones, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t wearing shoes, that he wouldn’t be leaving the hotel that day, or the day after that, or the day after that.
Yes, she was sure that would be better. Better than this splintering feeling of helplessness that was spidering through her chest. Making her feel inept, making her ache. Making her care. She wasn’t supposed to care about him, and yet she found that she did.
Really, in a situation like this, there was one rule. Don’t get attached to your emotionally unstable boss. It seemed like a simple directive. And yet it was one she didn’t seem able to follow.
Because she did care, whether it was because he was hot and she was just that shallow, or because he was hurting, because he was lost just as she was. Oh, sure, she wasn’t unable to go out; she wasn’t crippled by anxiety. But she had lost her vision of the world she’d believed in. Had lost her reality.
On that level she related to him. She too had found today a bit of a trial. Leaving the hotel and going out in public, unsure of what she might face. Media, friends who were no longer friends, she’d had no idea.
Thinking about Logan had been easier. Much easier than thinking about her own issues. Than what it meant for her to be seen in public for the first time in a while.
She felt so exposed now. As if everyone could see beneath her makeup and down to all her insecurities and flaws. Flaws she’d kept covered with the enhancement of the Treffen name. A name that now afforded no protection.
So she’d kept her focus on him. On his problems. That only intensified the feeling of connection between them. It was, in fact, the primary explanation for any feeling of connection between them.
Because otherwise the only thing she had in common with Logan was the tax bracket their parents fell into.
Addison looked around the empty office, feeling completely at loose ends. She hadn’t seen him since they left the restaurant yesterday. Since he made that horrible admission.
Could nothing be normal? Could she have no template to follow?
She sighed, twisting slightly in the office chair. Then a very strange urge overtook her. She’d seen kids in movies spin in chairs, but she’d never done anything like that before. Because it was undignified.
But who would care now? And why should she?
She lifted her feet off the floor and spun in a circle, a strange thrill—completely disproportionate to the act—shooting through her. And when she stopped, facing the door, she saw her boss standing there, staring.
She cleared her throat, smoothing her hair, her skirt. “Good morning, Logan. I wasn’t sure when to expect you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you weren’t. Expecting me, that is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The fact that you’re treating my office chair like a merry-go-round.”
She did her best to shake off her embarrassment at having been caught in something so juvenile. “Someone should have some fun in here. And since you aren’t going to do it, I thought I might test it out.”
“You don’t really seem like someone who has a lot more fun than I do.”
“What you talking about? I have tons of fun. Shopping, really boring parties, dating a guy who’s more into my family name than he is me. Tons and tons of fun.” Her words rang false, and they both knew it.
“Yes, it sounds like you could teach a class on having fun.”
“How’s your hand?” She probably shouldn’t ask, because he probably wouldn’t want to answer. Probably wouldn’t want to acknowledge what had happened in the restaurant. But she found she didn’t really care what he wanted. And she found she wasn’t afraid of his wrath either.
If there was one thing she’d learned about Logan Black, it was that he was far more dangerous to himself than he was to anyone else.
“Fine.”
She tapped her fingers on the desk, her nails making a clicking sound in time with the motion. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
He looked at her, his eyes blank. “What do you think, Addison?”
“I bet you don’t want to talk about it. However, you did ask for my help. And I’m discovering that I can be extremely stubborn. It’s interesting, because I didn’t realize that. Because my goals have always been tied to the goals of other people. I wanted my father’s approval, so I set about to become the daughter that he wanted me to be. I dated the man I knew he wanted me to date, and I did my best to be the girlfriend that man wanted. Then I lost everything, in a glorious hailstorm of reporters and bullets. Well, bullet. Either way, I lost everything that day, including, the person I thought I was. I think you and I have more in common than you might think. Anyway, I’m busy trying to figure out who I might be. Stubborn is one of the first words to add to that list.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “The pain was
a distraction. I needed to use it to keep myself from…I’m not sure if they’re flashbacks or just anxiety attacks.”
“There’s no just about it. If they are so bad you’d rather stab yourself with a fork than experience one, I think you can drop the just.”
“It’s only a distraction, Addison. Nothing more masochistic than that.”
“If you need a distraction, can’t you find something else? Find your happy place, remember?”
“And I told you I don’t have one. Remember?”
“That can’t be true.”
He lifted his shoulder, the gesture casual maddening, considering what they were talking about. “I’m sorry the truth bothers you so much.”
“Can’t you find another way to distract yourself? Something other than pain?” Suggestions flooded her mind, nothing she could possibly speak out loud, because she could hardly understand them even as they were. Unspoken, half-formed.
Pleasure. The word echoed in her mind. If he could use pain, why not something positive?
Her eyes locked with his, need twisting her stomach. What did he do to her? Okay, that was stupid, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know. She knew attraction. She knew desire. And while both of those things had been sharply mitigated for most of her life, it wasn’t as if she’d never felt them.
Still, for whatever reason, this thing she felt for Logan seemed a whole lot more intense. A lot more dangerous.
She was about to break every rule ever set before her. Things were going to get uncomfortable. She was going to make it awkward. She was going to do something very unsocialite. Something very un-Treffen.
“You need something else to focus on.”
“Such as?”
Addison took a deep breath. “Me.”
*
That word, spoken in Addison’s cool, crisp voice, sent a shock wave through Logan’s body. What was it about this woman that challenged four years of self-control? Of self-denial that was almost perfect?. Cold, numb.
Until her.
All of this, this deep, wrenching need in his gut, had been gone for so long. And now she’d come and ripped the lid off the well he kept so carefully sealed.
In the past four years he’d had erections, sure. He’d jacked off.
Here, and on the island. But just like hunger, the need to regulate his body temperature, he’d divorced himself from the true depth and breadth of the need.
When he’d satisfied his hunger with a piece of sour fruit, he never let himself think of how much better it was to have steak and potatoes. When he found shelter and warmth by a fire after a rainstorm, he didn’t let himself remember how much more satisfying it was to be dry, in a soft bed instead of on the dirt.
And when he took himself in hand and brought himself to orgasm, he didn’t let himself think of how it had been to be inside a woman. To have her skin against his. To kiss her lips and feel her tremble beneath his touch.
He had forgotten why arousal was something good. Why it was something he’d once enjoyed.
He had forgotten why life was something he’d enjoyed. It had become sparse, bleak. A long, cold walk that only ended in one place. Death.
Life, and all the appetites that plagued the human body, had become things to endure. To satisfy at their basest level, just enough, to keep on going. To keep on breathing.
Addison, her face, her beauty, her softness—softness he could never be allowed to test for himself—reminded him that there was more to arousal than quick, simple alleviation of it.
Addison made him want. Far beyond the necessary. He wanted to see her pale skin flushed pink with pleasure, to hear that perfectly cultured voice grow thick with need, to hear her say his name as he buried himself deep inside her, brought her to completion.
Damn, it had been so long since he fantasized about bringing a partner pleasure. It had been so long since he fantasized at all.
“Perhaps you should be more specific.” His voice sounded rough even to his own ears, his blood roaring south of his belt. “It’s very likely that I might mistake your offer.”
He didn’t know why he was pressing her. He wouldn’t touch her, no matter how much he wanted to. He hadn’t mistaken her offer. But some part of him, wanted to see her reaction. Wanted to force a reaction. Wanted her to see him as he saw her.
An exercise in futility. Because even if she wanted him, he would never touch her.
“What exactly did you think I was offering?” His gaze was drawn down to the base of her neck, to the pulse that was throbbing there. Steady, hard, alive. He fought the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch her there. To place his thumb right over that undeniable sign of life.
You really are a sick bastard, aren’t you?
Not new information. Just another moment of confirmation.
“You’ll have to come out and say it,” he said. “I’m not guessing.” He wouldn’t say the words, and this would give her a chance to back out. She would. She wouldn’t press. He was certain. She was trained not to make waves.
Then her blue eyes met his, her jaw set, her determination evident. And he knew that he’d underestimated her. “If you think putting your hands on me instead of a fork would help, Logan, you should just say so.”
Heat shot through him, pooled in his gut. “You don’t want to play this game with me, little girl.” His throat was so tight he could barely speak, barely breathe.
“You have no idea what game I want to play, Logan Black.” She took a step toward him, her shoulders tight, her stress evident, but even so, she showed no signs of giving. “I barely know what I want. At least I haven’t for a long time. Right now? Right now things actually seem clear.”
He looked at her, at the glittering determination in her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Sex, right?” Her cheeks blazed with color, her gaze never leaving his as she took another step toward him. And in his veins, coursing through him, he felt every bit of weakness he thought he’d left at the bottom of the ocean. “I’m not that naive.”
She tilted her head, and her hair slid over her shoulder, glinting in the light like spun gold. He wanted to touch it. Wanted to sift his fingers through the silken strands. Wanted to curl his fingers into a fist and hold her tight. Hold her steady while his lips crashed down over hers. While he showed her why she needed to stay away from him, while he showed her just what it was she had to be afraid of.
He wanted to push her away and pull her close, all at the same time. And if that wasn’t a special kind of screwed up, he didn’t know what was.
“Is that what you want, Addison? To be my sexual therapy? Sacrifice your body on the altar of my issues? What could I have possibly done to deserve that?”
“You make it sound like it’s something you don’t want.”
She said the words with tremulous insecurity, the icy facade cracking for a moment, revealing soft, enticing vulnerability beneath. Her vulnerability should not appeal to him. It was that vulnerability, that softness, that reinforced the need for him to turn away.
But damn him, he wasn’t repelled by it. He was attracted to it. Desperately. Insatiably.
You have no right.
No, he had no right. No right to look at her. No right to want her. But that didn’t stop the unquenchable fire that burned through his body.
“Life is about a lot more than want.” Logan took a step toward her, feeling every inch the predator advancing on his prey. And why not? It was a good idea really. Corner her, frighten her, and then, when she realized how badly she wanted to escape, he would let her. “If want was the only thing that mattered, my want, I would have had you on my desk the moment you walked through the door that first day.”
He could see her resolve wavering, could see the comfort she felt with him beginning to drain away. He’d shaken her. Which was just what he wanted. Already regret was tearing at him, which was a good sign.
Because if he was fighting his nature, it meant he was doing a good thing
. His conscience was seared past the point of feeling, and he honestly had no other way to gauge it.
Still, in spite of her wariness, she didn’t shrink, didn’t back down as expected. “Has it occurred to you that I might’ve liked that?”
He moved closer to her, testing his own limits. She smelled like the jungle after a rainstorm. Like flowers, and clean air. Damn, he wanted to lean in, to drink her in. To devour her completely.
“Why, Addison? If what you want is a quick screw, there are easier ways. Easier men. Men who don’t panic at the thought of going outside.”
Color suffused her cheeks. “You’re implying that one man would be just as good as another to me. I think I’m offended by that.”
“Don’t waste your time taking offense to anything I say. You’ll spend far too much time being upset.”
“I’m not going to beg you to touch me, Logan. But I am going to beg you to let me help you. My father was…a waste of space who thought he ruled the world. Who never wasted one moment feeling bad for anything he did. He was defiant to the end. Blaming the people he’d hurt for the pain they were in. And here you are, shouldering the blame for everything. Crippled. Unable to live your life. You’re killing yourself by inches, and I won’t allow you to do it anymore.”
His chest tightened. He could hardly breathe. “Why does it matter to you? Have I given you something so that you feel indebted to me? Have I given you anything, any reason, to think that I deserve your compassion? Your help?”
“No,” she breathed, the word stark. Honest. “Is it so hard to believe that I just want you?”
The conversation had morphed into something entirely different. They were no longer skirting around the sexual tension between them. They were facing it head-on, unwrapping it and examining in the cold light of day. He had no clue why they were doing this. It was a terrible idea. And it would not end well.