by Shelly Bell
She lifted Walter off the ground and into her arms. “We overheard a conversation between two FBI agents and Rinaldi right before one of them shot Rinaldi in the head.”
Joe rubbed his chin. “Explains who’s behind the phony story being fed to the media.” He motioned to the house with a tip of his head. “Let’s go inside. I’d hate for this conversation to get picked up by some CIA satellite.”
The three of them walked toward the house, the dog still in her arms. Hopefully, Joe wouldn’t mind her bringing an animal into his home.
On closer inspection, the two-story farmhouse looked as if it should be condemned. Maybe it had been nice in its day, but Joe obviously hadn’t maintained it. There were wooden boards nailed over some of the windows, missing pieces of siding, and cracks in the wraparound porch. She could almost imagine how peaceful it would’ve been for a couple to sit on one of those gliders at the end of a hardworking day, drinking an ice-cold beer and watching the children playing in the yard. She wondered if Joe had ever been married or if his brand of crazy had kept him isolated and alone all these years.
Joe grabbed his shotgun then opened the front door, ushering them inside with a wave of his hand.
“Does the word Leopold mean anything to you?” Logan asked as soon as the door closed.
Rachel blinked in disbelief as she took in the interior of the home. It was as if she’d stepped into an alternate universe. Joe may have not updated anything on the outside, but inside, everything was immaculate from the crystal chandelier hanging over their heads to hardwood floors beneath their feet. The walls were painted a soothing pale yellow, and as they progressed farther, she noted the gray leather furniture and massive flat-screen television in one of the rooms. He may not get out much, but somehow he’d appropriated the modern items. Not what she would’ve expected from someone living off the grid, but what the hell did she know? Maybe there was an underground network for people like Joe. She filed that away as a question to ask. Just because she was running from the law didn’t mean she couldn’t pick up a story or two for later.
“Leopold,” Joe repeated. “Someone’s name?”
“Possibly. I’ll need to use your computer to see what boats are coming into Port Everglades this Friday and then hack into the cruise lines to check their passenger lists.”
“If you live off the grid, how do you have electricity and Wi-Fi?”
“I generate my own power through a combination of solar, wind, and micro hydroelectricity. It’s fairly simple and a lot cheaper than the energy the government mandates you use. Here in Florida, lots of municipalities make it mandatory to hook your home up to an electrical grid, but I know my constitutional rights. They can’t make me. Besides, they don’t know I’m here anyway, and I plan to keep it that way. Wi-Fi was a bit tougher, but I managed to hook into a satellite and now I have both Wi-Fi and ten thousand television channels from all over the world.”
She’d heard about a couple of different companies trying to start up something they termed the “Outernet,” which would provide international access to Wi-Fi for free, but she hadn’t known the capabilities were already available. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get discovered and thrown in jail?”
Joe laughed, his teeth stained yellow and a couple of them missing toward the back. “Been living like this since the seventies. Feds haven’t discovered me yet. Doubt they will now. According to their records, I died in Vietnam in a helicopter crash, my body never recovered. Not quite sure how they missed that I’d never been in the helicopter in the first place. Could have knocked me over with a feather when Logan’s dad, whom I’d listed as my next of kin, had showed me the letter he’d gotten from the government notifying him of my death.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I figured I might as well remain dead.” He moved closer and whispered to her, his eyes wild. “You’re talking to a ghost.” Leaving her spooked, he backed away with a smile and headed toward a staircase. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room. You both look like you could use a good night’s sleep.”
It was only nine at night, but they’d been on the go for twenty-four hours and Logan hadn’t slept at all in that time. She’d slept a couple of hours that afternoon as was typical for her. In fact, she wasn’t tired at all.
They followed Joe up the stairs, and it was then she noticed that he walked with a bit of a limp. It didn’t seem to slow him down at all though. He led them past a couple of closed doors before bringing them to the spare bedroom.
“You both can stay here. I’ll take the dog with me. Give you two some privacy,” Joe said, giving them a wink as he took Walter from her arms.
Privacy? That’s the last thing she and Logan needed. “That’s kind of you, but we don’t need—”
“Thanks, Uncle Joe. See you in the morning.” Logan hugged his uncle, who left, shutting the door behind him.
There wasn’t much to the room, but then again, why did he have an extra bedroom at all when he lived out in the middle of nowhere by himself? The room had a tropical feel to it, decorated in teal and tangerine colors with artwork of ocean scenes and a ceiling fan with blades resembling palm tree leaves. The queen-size bed in the center of the room was covered by a seashell-themed comforter and matching throw pillows.
Heat bloomed in her core and her muscles tensed.
One bed.
She may have fucked plenty of men, but she’d never slept with one. Bad enough she had insomnia, but to have someone sleeping next to her while her mind raced all night long . . .
“We can’t share a bed,” she said.
“Why not?” Logan smirked as he prepared for bed, pulling down the blankets and tossing the decorative pillows on the floor. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?” He clutched the bottom of his shirt and, in a single move, drew it over his head.
“I just don’t . . . ” She lost her thought, distracted by the sight of Logan’s bare chest. Her heart began to flutter and her throat went dry. Dear God in heaven, the man was cut for being so lean. Her fingers itched to play with the light patch of hair sprinkled over his sternum and to explore the chiseled planes and contours of his abs.
Logan’s brows furrowed as he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his thighs, leaving him clothed in only a pair of tight navy boxer briefs that did nothing to conceal what hid underneath. “Don’t do what? Share a bed?” He dropped onto the mattress, putting his hands under his head.
Before she did something she’d regret, she sat on the edge of bed, linking her fingers together on her lap and keeping her gaze focused on them. “Couldn’t you ask Joe if there’s somewhere else you can sleep? I mean, he probably just assumed we were together since the media made it seem that way. Just tell him the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Yes.” She refused to look at him. “That we can hardly stand one another.”
The ensuing silence made her uncomfortable, something she wasn’t used to feeling. What was it about Logan that set her on edge? She was balls-to-the-wall Rachel Dawson, Detroit’s number one investigative reporter. Nothing fazed her. She didn’t get camera shy or stage fright. She’d interviewed foreign dignitaries and cold-blooded murderers. So why couldn’t she handle sleeping next to Logan?
And why did it bother her that he hadn’t immediately repudiated her claim that they couldn’t stand one another?
“Rachel, I’m tired,” he said on a sigh. “It’s been a long forty-eight hours, and before I start figuring out why a couple of FBI agents are trying to frame us for murder, I’d like to get some rest. I promise I won’t touch you. Now get in bed.”
She jumped up, nearly stumbling over her own feet, and hurried toward the door. “I’m not really tired. Maybe I’ll go see if I can find Joe’s computer and start on our research.”
“Get. In. Bed.”
A full-body shiver stopped her cold at the deep tone of his voice. She twirled around. “Is this how you usually get women to sleep with you? You just order them?”
Hu
mor lit up his eyes. “Only the ones who want me to.”
Exasperated, she turned off the lights. She wasn’t going to win this battle. She was trapped for the next eight hours without her phone, computer, or even a book. Forget waterboarding. This would be pure torture for her.
She stomped across the floor and tugged her pants off before climbing into bed and pulling the comforter up to her neck. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she watched the fan whirling around and around.
He rolled to his side, facing her. Her body shivered from the awareness of him, practically naked, lying next to her. Although she didn’t look for confirmation, she could feel the heat of Logan’s stare. “Good night, Rachel.”
“Night, Logan.”
It wasn’t thirty seconds before his breathing evened out. Typical man.
She flipped to her side and forced herself to relax. Following advice she’d gotten from a sleep specialist a few years ago, she tensed all her muscles for ten seconds then relaxed them one by one, beginning with her neck. By the time she got to her toes, she’d identified every noise in the room. The ceiling fan, while pretty, made a whooshing sound; the house creaked; and she was pretty sure she could make out the ticking of a clock from another room.
Huffing out a sigh, she closed her eyes and replayed the past twenty-four hours in her head, beginning with the conversation she’d overheard between Rinaldi and Cole DeMarco. Something hadn’t sat right with her, and it bothered her even more now. Why had Rinaldi come to Benediction when he knew he’d never get past the front door? And how had those agents known he would be there? It was possible they’d followed him or perhaps they’d placed a tracker on his vehicle, but her intuition told her there was a reason he’d shown up at Benediction as soon as he was released from prison.
If only she was back home, she would have access to her computer and she could investigate the story. She’d start with the FBI and find out which office and which division those agents worked for. She rolled onto her back again and interlaced the fingers of her hands together, over her chest. Eyes open again, she drew her knees up, pressing her feet into the bed. Were those agents even assigned to Rinaldi’s case? They must have been if they needed a legitimate reason to be at the scene of his murder.
“What’s wrong?” Logan asked, his voice startling her from her thoughts.
“I can’t get comfortable.”
He rested his head on his hand. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. It’s always like this.”
“When you sleep in a new bed? Or when you sleep with someone else?”
Not wanting to respond to that last loaded question, she kept it simple. “I don’t sleep.”
He sat up, leaning against the headboard. “What do you mean you don’t sleep? You slept in the car.”
She mirrored his action. “Right. That’s it. I got my two hours.”
“That’s all you get? Two hours?” he asked incredulously. “No one can survive like that.”
“It’s been that way for me since I left home.” Her old therapist said it was caused by guilt and the inability to feel safe outside the strict structure she’d grown up in. But Rachel called bullshit, figuring it was because she’d suddenly woken up for the first time in her life and didn’t want to miss out on all the possibilities. She quit going to therapy after that session.
“You’re telling me you’ve been running on two hours of sleep a night for more than ten years?”
Why did he care? Despite not sleeping much, she was physically and mentally healthy. Her doctor figured she’d sleep if she needed it, but two hours was enough for her. “Yes. It’s not a big deal.”
“Have you tried sleeping pills?”
“I’ve tried everything.” And she had. Not because it worried her to go without sleep, but because she wanted to be normal. “Nothing works.”
He shifted his legs and angled toward her. “What about sex? Does that help?”
She laughed, ignoring the tingles racing through her at Logan’s mere mention of sex. “I don’t know about you, but I like to be awake when I have sex.”
He nudged her with his foot. “I mean after, when you and your partner have exhausted each other from hours of hot and sweaty, mind-blowing, animalistic sex. After you’ve come.”
She let out a shuddered breath as she tried to visualize what animalistic sex would look like. Had she ever had that kind of sex? Not that she could recall, and let’s face it, that wasn’t something she was likely to forget. Whatever sex she did have never resulted in an orgasm. But she couldn’t blame the men. She was obviously one of those women who couldn’t come during sex.
“Rachel?” Logan edged closer. “I’m assuming you’re not a virgin.”
She laughed nervously. “Of course I’m not a virgin. I’m twenty-nine years old.”
“Then why the silence? If you’ve had sex . . . ” Stopping, he must have noticed her head hanging in mortification. “You’ve had an orgasm, right?”
She really didn’t want to discuss this with him. Or anyone. “I’ve had orgasms. They’re fine.”
“Fine? What the hell kind of orgasm are you having?” he said, sounding outraged.
She snapped up her head. “I’m guessing the same kind that everyone else has. I just don’t see the appeal. I mean, sure, it feels good for a minute or two, but it’s not worth getting sweaty over. Not that I make myself sweaty.”
“Yourself?” His voice cracked. “Don’t your partners give you orgasms?”
“You say that like it’s a crime that I can only come through masturbation. I’m not alone. One-third of women can’t come during sex. Eighty percent require clitoral in addition to vaginal stimulation while other—”
“No wonder you can’t sleep. Does that brain of yours ever stop?” He suddenly rolled out of bed and crossed the room. “I’ve got an idea, but you’re going to have to trust me.”
She exhaled a loud breath. “Logan, we’re in the middle of nowhere with a couple of rogue agents who want us dead and your uncle, who probably has a shed filled with enough weapons to arm a small country, is down the hall. I have no choice but to trust you.”
“Great,” he said, flicking on the lights, giving her another view of Logan in nothing but his boxer briefs. This time, she didn’t bother averting her eyes, raking her gaze over the toned muscles of his abdomen and following the trail of hair down. “In that case, I’m going to blindfold, gag, and tie you up. And then I’m going to show you what a real orgasm feels like.”
Chapter Nine
HER HEART WAS beating so quickly she was sure it would fly out of her chest. Did Logan just offer to give her an orgasm? It was one thing to let him tie her up at Benediction, where things couldn’t go too far, but she couldn’t do it here. “Logan, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Too bad.” Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned his back against the door, the muscles of his forearms rippling. “Because I think it’s a great one. Otherwise, you’ll just keep me up all night, and we both need to rest if we’re going to get ourselves out of this mess.”
She bunched the comforter in her hands. “So you’re taking one for the team and having sex with me to get some sleep?”
“Hell no.” He pushed off the door and stalked closer, heat banked in his eyes. “First of all, if I fucked you, I’d be doing it because I wanted to and not because I wanted to get some shut-eye. And second, the last thing we’d get was any sleep because if I fucked you, I’d do it hard and all night long. We don’t have that kind of time.”
All night long? The room suddenly seemed a lot smaller. “Then I’m confused. I thought you said you were going to give me an orgasm.”
Now beside her, he braced a hand on the wall over her head and leaned toward her, his scent doing wicked things to her insides. “There are other ways for me to do that for you.”
She couldn’t count the number of times a guy had thought he had a magic to
ngue, and she was tired of faking her orgasms to conserve a man’s ego. “It won’t work. I’ll get frustrated and you’ll get mad—”
He scowled, tilting up her chin with two of his fingers. “Has some guy made you think it was your fault he couldn’t make you come?”
Although only one of them had actually called her a frigid bitch to her face, they’d made it clear they’d done the same moves on other women with a 100 percent success rate. Most of them didn’t care so long as they got off. And she always got what she wanted too—information. “It is my fault. These guys, they knew what they were doing. A couple of them had a reputation for it, you know? So it had to be my fault. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Somber, he shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a strong woman. You require someone stronger than you who can shut off that brain of yours for a bit.”
Comprehension of what he was suggesting slammed into her. “Oh, God. You want me to submit to you.”
“I bet you always stay in control during sex. Am I right?”
What was wrong with that? She was the one who knew what felt good and how to move to get the right things stroked in the right way. “So you’re saying it is my fault they can’t make me come.”
He picked up a piece of her hair and slid it between his fingers. “I’m saying it’s time you let someone else be in charge for once. You and me, we’re in this together. I don’t know how long it’s going to take or what’s going to happen in the future. All I know is we’ve been skirting around this attraction between us for more than a year.”
Attraction? Sure, he might get her motor running, like now, with him standing so close, gently fondling the strands of her hair, which for some reason she felt all the way to her clit. But all they did was argue. “We hate each other.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “I don’t hate you, Rachel. I never have,” he said softly. “When Kate first introduced us a few months after you two became friends, I didn’t want to like you. She’d told me previously about how you’d met during the Alyssa Deveroux murder investigation. That you were just one more reporter who’d vilified Jaxon because he practiced BDSM and that you’d do anything it took to get your story. I didn’t care that Kate had forgiven you. I still held a grudge.” He paused. “But even though I didn’t want to like you, I did. And it pissed me off because I liked you a lot.”