Matter of Time

by Alannah Lynne

“I’m in the kitchen.”

  Aside from reheating leftovers or fixing boxed dinners like Hamburger Helper, she’d never cooked a meal in her life. She sighed as she dumped the mushy mess from the colander back into the pan. After giving it her best shot tonight, that statistic still held.

  “It smells good,” Logan said, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He leaned over, peeked into the pot, and wrinkled his nose. “Uh, what is it?”

  “It was supposed to be spaghetti.”

  He took the fork from her hand, jabbed it into the pot where she’d dumped it after straining off the water, then burst into laughter. “Jesus, did you cook it all day?”

  Normally, she would’ve burst into tears at having failed such a simple task as fixing him a home-cooked meal, but Logan’s laughter was infectious and she found herself laughing with him rather than crying like she wanted. “No, but it was obviously too long.”

  He nuzzled her neck, kissed her cheek, then stepped to the side and lifted the lid on the sauce. It was Ragu, not homemade, but considering she hadn’t been able to pull off the spaghetti, it was good she’d started with baby steps.

  “The sauce looks fantastic. We’ll just start over with the pasta.” As he spun in a slow circle, he checked the countertop, opened a few cabinets, then turned back to her. “Where’s the box of spaghetti?” When her only reply was to twist her mouth around and bite her lip, he said, “You used the whole box?”

  His incredulous expression and tone made her feel stupid, and this time, his laughter couldn’t pull her back from the brink of a meltdown. She diverted her gaze and started to run from the room, but before she could withdraw from him, he closed the space between them, picked her up by the waist, and sat her on the counter. “Hey, don’t you dare cry on me. It’s not that big a deal. It’s just spaghetti.”

  “I know, but spaghetti is supposed to be the easiest thing in the world, right? If I can’t even manage that, how am I ever going to learn to do the hard stuff? I’ll never be able to take care of you and our—” She almost said children, but since they’d never discussed kids, she cut off the words and held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t catch the near slip.

  That was, of course, asking too much, because he rarely missed anything. He swiped away a tear with his thumb and cupped her cheek in his palm. “Our what?”

  From the love shining through his eyes and the hope-filled expression on his face, he already knew what she’d been about to say, and he was more than okay with continuing the conversation.

  She sniffed. “Everything our kids eat will have to come from the freezer and be heated in the microwave.”

  A wide grin spread across his face. “I’m sure, with practice, you’ll get better. And I’m not opposed to helping.” He caressed her cheek and studied her eyes. “How many kids do you want?”

  “Two… maybe three. And I want them close together. The big age gap between Miranda and me is too much. I don’t even really know my baby sister. Shoot… I’m about to graduate college, and she’s not even started high school yet, so we have nothing in common.”

  “Yeah, that’s gotta be tough. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to grow up without Lucas. Okay, so three kids, ten months apart—”

  “Whoa!” She slapped his shoulder and laughed. “I didn’t mean that close together.”

  “I guess we can figure all that out later.”

  Lizbeth cleared her throat and wiped away a rogue tear as the memory died a slow, painful death. At the time, neither of them knew Logan was already on his way to having those three kids with someone else.

  She refocused on the scene playing out before her as Mathew stabbed a piece of fruit with his fork, then leaned over and tapped it against the woman’s lips. She opened her mouth like a baby bird waiting for food from its mother, but rather than feeding the woman, he grinned and said something that made her blush and drop her head bashfully. Lizbeth had no way of knowing what he’d said, but the lopsided tilt of his mouth and the glimmer in his eyes told her he enjoyed this woman’s company, and he also liked teasing her. Much the way Logan had been with her.

  She ran her hand over her forehead and drew in a deep breath. Being here, in this crazy club, was torture. It brought up too many memories, and while she appreciate Lucas’s efforts to get her out of her hotel room, her heart couldn’t take any more. She took a step back from the window and turned toward the bar as a harsh exhale, like someone had been punched in the stomach, caught her attention and an all-too-familiar raspy voice said, “My God, Lizbeth… you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Chapter Four

  Lizbeth threw her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as she jumped back and crashed into the door of Mathew’s room. She cringed as the loud thud echoed through the hallway, but her concern over breaking the only rule that really mattered was eviscerated by the wave of shock crashing over her. When Lucas opened Kevin’s door at Christmas, she’d had to take a couple of seconds to discern which twin stood before her. But now, with both men standing side by side, there was no denying she stood less than five feet from Logan.

  Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head while muttering something about slow and easy assholes, but Logan stood statue still, blazing eyes locked on her.

  Everything about the men’s physical appearance was identical except for the length of their hair and the scars on Logan’s face. But their inner fire and spirits were very different, and Logan’s intense passion was the thing that always drew her to him like the proverbial moth to a flame. As he stared at her now, with a possessiveness similar to that of years ago, an invisible fist wrapped around her throat, constricting her air.

  She batted her eyes to blink away the flashing black spots, pressed her hand to her forehead, and gripped the casing of the door she was still plastered against. When Logan’s expression filled with concern—no doubt afraid she was about to go down like a wilting flower—she removed her hand from her forehead and threw it out like a crossing guard holding a bright-red stop sign.

  “No. I… I just need a minute to breathe.”

  She also needed a little space, so doing the only thing that seemed logical in the moment, she turned and practically ran to her new safe place. Catching Jason’s eye as she approached, she said, “I need a drink. I don’t care what it is as long as it’s strong.”

  He cut his eyes to the hallway, probably searching for whatever monster sent her running, then returned his attention to her, nodded, and set a prefilled shot glass on the bar. She stared at the red liquid, then looked at him questioningly.

  She couldn’t see a blush on his cheeks in the dim light, but he smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Master Lucas told me to have it ready for you.”

  Weakened with disbelief and exasperation, she flopped onto a barstool and muttered, “Bastard,” before tossing back the shot. She licked her lips as the warm cinnamon concoction slid down her throat, and her nerves scaled down from a twelve-point-two on the Richter scale to an eight. “At least he had the decency to plan ahead. She lifted the glass and rolled it around in the light of a nearby sign, then sniffed it. “I don’t know what that’s called, but I like the cinnamon schnapps a lot. I’ll take another.”

  He bit down on his lip to squelch his laughter as he placed another glass in front of her. “It’s called a tomahawk.”

  “That son of a bitch thinks he’s so smart, doesn’t he?” She’d meant for the remark to come out with angry bitterness and enough vehemence to knock Jason back a step, but it seriously lacked bite, and the twitch tugging at her lip didn’t help. Lucas always did have a wicked sense of humor… Too bad she couldn’t appreciate it more right now.

  Jason grinned. “Yes, ma’am, he does. But…” He glanced away, seemingly trying to decide if he should finish the thought. When he turned back, his face and tone were serious. “He is smart. And it’s been my experience he’s usually right about these things.”

  She
absently swirled the liquid around in the glass before tossing it back, then narrowed her gaze on Jason as her mind replayed some of Lucas’s earlier comments. All I want is for you to trust me.

  She’d obviously been set up, brought here for the purpose of reconnecting with Logan. But why? Lucas wasn’t cruel—at least he hadn’t been in college—and she didn’t believe that could’ve changed. So why had he set her up to see Logan again after all these years?

  Jason obviously knew more about her situation than he let on earlier, so she decided to press him for more information. “Lucas is normally right about what things?”

  She thought Jason seemed uncomfortable before, but the way his body stiffened and he sucked in a harsh breath, you’d think his ass was connected to jumper cables and she just juiced the motor.

  “C’mon, Jason. Don’t clam up on me now.” She slid the empty glass across to him. “Do you have another one stashed back there?”

  He rolled in his lips and scratched the back of his ear as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No. Two is all you’re allowed to have.” When her eyebrows exceeded never-before-seen heights, he cleared his throat and said, “At least not until after you talk to Logan.”

  She wanted to be incensed, to throw the biggest fit Myrtle Beach had ever seen and demand he hand her over a third drink. But a niggling sensation deep in her chest, somewhere near the vicinity of her heart, kept her mouth shut.

  At the first sight of Logan, her heart, recognizing the immediate and present danger, curled into a tight ball to protect itself from another vicious attack. After the shots and several moments of processing the situation, she felt it beginning to crack open, like a turtle peeking out of its shell. She also felt it tugging at the edges of her brain, suggesting she’d be foolish to pass on this opportunity just because she was scared or angry about being set up like a chump.

  The men were standing off to the side, watching over her while respectfully giving her the space she needed. With one last death-ray glare to Jason, letting him know she still didn’t approve of the tactics, she fisted her hands in her lap and turned to face Logan.

  His effects on her system were ten times stronger than the shots, and her breath started and stopped as she drank him in. Wary green eyes filled with concern studied her as he cocked his head and dipped his chin, seemingly asking if she was okay.

  If not for the stranglehold on her emotions, she would’ve laughed at the absurdity of being anything close to all right. But if she let the laughter go, who knew what kind of messy emotional discharge would rush in behind it? The hardened veneer she’d spent fifteen years building over herself had been stripped away in a matter of moments, and she was back to the same broken, barely breathing twenty-year-old she’d been the last time she saw him.

  He hadn’t changed much over the years. He was more muscular than before, filled out in all the right ways and places a man should be, and his face was more rugged with a few additional scars. But all that only made him more appealing—something she wouldn’t have believed possible—and a fresh wave of agonizing longing enveloped her.

  She tore her eyes away from Logan long enough to meet Lucas’s gaze. She still didn’t have a good handle on her breathing, but she was able to make her head work well enough to nod once, indicating she understood he wanted her to talk to Logan and she would grant that wish. A smile curved his lips and he closed his eyes like a man saying a prayer of thanks. Then he squeezed Logan’s shoulder and slipped off into the club.

  Switching her attention back to Logan, she swallowed her heart, which was wedged in her throat, licked her lips, then swallowed again. “Hello, Logan… What are you doing here?”

  *

  What are you doing here?

  Logan assumed Lizbeth meant other than trying to shake off the cold sweats that took over the second she turned and ran from him. He recognized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth, even without Lucas’s muttered curses for emphasis, but he was so taken aback by her presence he couldn’t keep himself in check. However, he’d learned his lesson, so taking Lucas’s solid advice to tread carefully, he slowly, cautiously made his way to the end of the bar, a few feet from where she sat eyeing him warily like one would a wild animal.

  Which sort of made sense given he probably looked rabid with his rapid-fire pulse and the desperation he imagined burned in his eyes. He hadn’t been lying when he said she was still the most beautiful woman in the world, and trying to keep his distance from her was like trying to stop ocean waves from rolling on shore. Her gravitational pull was undeniable.

  As he moved a couple steps closer, he watched a series of indefinable emotions dance across her face. Her beautiful chocolate eyes were no longer narrowed or pinched at the corners, but she continued to blink rapidly and occasionally rolled them to the ceiling, trying hard to keep the shimmering moisture from spilling over.

  His heart clenched in response to what he assumed were tears of pain and not joy—since she hadn’t flung herself at him while announcing how great it was to see him—and if so much as a single tear slid down her cheek, he wouldn’t be able to keep his distance.

  Her teeth sank into her bottom lip so hard he feared she’d draw blood, and her breathing sharpened and shoulder muscles went rigid as he took another step closer. If he examined her tightly clenched fists, he expected he’d find puncture wounds in her palms.

  Lucas better be right about this, or Logan would beat the shit out of him for putting Lizbeth through this.

  When he was close enough to speak without yelling over the club’s thumping bass, he said, “I’m here to see you.”

  One more step, then he sat on the barstool two down from hers. The seat put him close enough to comfortably talk, but not touch, because damn him, it was all he could do to keep from brushing that stray hair from the corner of her eye or holding her hand to massage her punished palm.

  After a moment, she nodded and said, “I guess the next question would be why. Why, after all this time, do you want to see me?”

  After shifting over one stool closer, he rested his elbow on the bar, laced his fingers together to keep his hands occupied, and said, “Bobbi Jo and I are finished.”

  Holding his breath, he watched her face, measuring every blink, muscle twitch, and deep swallow, trying to gauge her reaction. He’d never seen someone hold themselves so tightly together, and the complete lack of reaction had him wondering if Lucas might’ve been wrong after all.

  Just because she still cared didn’t mean she would give him another chance to eviscerate her—something he’d never let happen again, but she didn’t know that. All she had to go on was past experience, and…

  He blew out a breath and his shoulders slumped as he began to prepare for the worst. He still hadn’t gotten to the meat and potatoes of why he was here, and while he wanted to lay it all on the line, to tell her he still loved her and beg for the chance to start over, he needed to heed Lucas’s advice.

  Forcing himself to take a more casual approach than he wanted, he said, “How would you feel about catching up with an old friend?”

  Chapter Five

  As Logan stared at her, green eyes filled with hope and apprehension, Lizbeth could only stare back in dumbfounded silence. What did that mean? Sit at the bar, have a few drinks, find out how she’d been doing, then tell her, “It’s been good seeing you. We should get together again in another fifteen years.”

  His throat jumped as he swallowed roughly and the muscle in his jaw tightened with tension. The fear in his eyes increased as hope waned, and God help her, she couldn’t stand to see that inner light extinguished.

  She couldn’t logically think through something that was ninety-nine percent emotional, but what if she took the emotion out of it? What if she reduced them to a baser, primal level, like animals circling each other in the wild?

  A dog in heat didn’t study the neighbor’s Doberman and wonder if he would be around the next day. The bitch rolled over, allow
ed him to take what he wanted, and enjoyed the hell out of it. Comparing her and Logan to dogs seemed ridiculous, but that was the only way she knew to cope with the overwhelming magnitude of the situation.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly, tentatively reached out to him. With a barely-there touch, she pressed her index finger to the edge of his forehead, drew it across the unfamiliar scar at his temple, then down to the one intersecting his upper lip. He closed his eyes and moaned as a shudder shook his torso and his head fell back on his neck.

  Seeing him respond to her touch as strongly as ever gave her the courage to continue her exploration. Using a whisper-soft touch designed to drive him crazy, she traced the outline of his upper lip, then pulled a long, slow sweep along the bottom one.

  Her breath caught in her throat and she gasped in surprise as his lips parted and his teeth latched onto her finger, capturing her in the velvety heat of his mouth. His tongue wrapped around her and he sucked once… twice… a third time. The force of the suction shot through her arm, into her chest, and dropped into her sex with the heat and intensity of an atomic bomb.

  Good, so freaking good, just as always with him. Simple caresses and touches were more powerful and intimate than full-on sex with anyone else, and she closed her eyes and allowed the carnal energy swirling between them to carry her away.

  As the room spun and she grew lightheaded, like being caught in a massive vortex, a terrifying thought jumped into her brain. What if the past fifteen years hadn’t been a nightmare, but this was nothing more than a dream?

  If so, it was the best, most realistic dream she’d ever experienced, and she prayed she never woke up.

  She cracked her eyes open and watched his nostrils flare as the heat continued to build between them. She needed to be closer. To taste him. To feel him pressed against her. Scooting to the edge of her seat, she pressed her knees between his legs and smiled as his eyes flashed hotter and his chest rose and fell rapidly. His mouth was masterful, and while the suction on her finger did crazy things to her entire body, it wasn’t enough.