by Nikki Chase
“You told me you don’t know where you were born.” Harper pauses. “Also, I’ve seen you shaking hands with Robert Foster.”
I frown. This girl keeps coming up with more and more surprises.
“You know him?” I ask.
“I work for him.”
“You work for him?” I repeat, not quite believe what I’ve just heard.
Somehow, I find it hard to believe that such a sweet, innocent-looking girl could work for that man.
“Yeah. At the office of Foster Inc. downtown.” Harper tilts her head as her intelligent eyes study me. “What did you think I mean?”
Of course. She’s not involved in Robert Foster’s shady business. She’s just an office worker.
My mind conjures up an image of her in a skin-tight pencil skirt that shows off the flare of her hips. High-heeled shoes to make her long legs appear even longer. A shirt with one too many buttons undone, giving me a glimpse of her lacy, black bra . . .
She walks up to my imaginary desk in my imaginary office and places her palms on the wooden surface, bending down to show me her smooth, creamy tits.
She opens her mouth. Fuck, I can just envision those lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue darting all over my shaft and her . . .
“What is it that you do for Mr. Foster?” Harper asks, jarring me back to reality.
Harper
Logan stares at me, but somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s looking at me. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but he’s not here with me.
I take the opportunity to get a good look at him. Seriously, the only thing that makes him look different from Mark is the fine lines on his face. Well, that, and his facial hair.
There’s no way they’re completely unrelated. If Mark were here today and they were standing side by side, even I would have difficulty telling them apart—by sight, that is.
If I could kiss each of them before determining who is who, I’d make the correct guess ten times out of ten.
Mark’s kisses were slow and sensual. Sweet and loving. He made me feel treasured.
On the other hand, Logan kisses me like he wants to own me. Like he’s trying to consume me. He started a fire in me that, if I were being honest, is still burning in my core.
As I gaze at him now, I can’t resist the urge to let my eyes wander to the front of his jeans. He’s got an impressive bulge, which makes me wonder what he’s packing inside.
I shake my head.
Focus, Harper.
Yes, it’s been a long dry spell, but I have a job to do right now. This is not the time to be entertaining dirty fantasies.
Logan’s probably too preoccupied with whatever dangerous thing is happening to even think about the kiss he gave me.
It’s not my job to worry about that. Even though I barely know the man, I get the feeling he’ll take care of me. I just need to get the information I came here to learn.
Logan obviously doesn’t like to talk about his past. It looks like I’ll be staying here for a while, so I have time to circle back to that.
And maybe, answers about his present will help shed light on what it is that connects him to Mark.
“What is it that you do for Mr. Foster?” I ask.
Logan blinks a few times like he has just remembered where he is.
Poor guy. What kind of danger has Mr. Foster put him in that he zones out like that? And it happens right after the funeral of someone dear to him, too. His head is probably full of grim thoughts of death and danger.
“I told you, I’m a doctor,” Logan says.
Despite his troubles, Logan appears completely relaxed. His arms are draped over the back of the couch. But something about his sharp, alert eyes tells me he’s ready to jump into action if something were to happen at any time.
“So you’re, like, what, a private doctor for Mr. Foster?” I ask.
“Something like that. Mr. Foster and his friends.”
I observe Logan’s facial expression. He may not be the friendliest guy I’ve ever come across, but he’s telling me the truth.
Rumors I’ve heard about Mr. Foster’s shady dealings flood my mind.
Supposedly, he’s involved in businesses like illegal gambling and drug trade. I think he tries to separate that world from his legit work, but sometimes I see big, brawny, scary men walking into his office.
I guess those men are who Logan means when he refers to Mr. Foster’s friends.
“So, do you . . . I don’t know. You treat Mr. Foster and his friends when they can’t go to a hospital?” I’m worried I’d sound dumb because I have no idea how things work in the mafia world, but now Logan’s got me curious about him—not just about how he’s related to Mark.
“You can say that, although sometimes they come to me even when they can go to a hospital.” Logan takes a deep breath and gets up from his couch. “I don’t feel like answering more questions. It’s been a long day. I’ll show you your room.”
Disappointment pangs in my chest. As I get up to follow Logan up the stairs, I wonder if that’s because I was hoping to ask him more questions or if it’s because I wanted to sleep in the same room as him.
Ah, geez. I thought my sex drive had died when Mark did. But now, it’s coming back with a vengeance. I can’t decide if I’m horrified by my lack of loyalty or glad that it still exists at all.
The second floor of Logan’s house has an interior balcony from which I can see the living room and the front door.
He stops by the second door and opens it. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”
That sounds like an order, which normally annoys me. But coming from Logan, I don’t mind it. In fact, I find it kind of hot.
I peer inside the room. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle, a couple of nightstands, and a dresser.
“Behind that door is the bathroom,” Logan says. “There are no clothes in here but you can wash yours downstairs in the room adjacent to the kitchen. I forgot to show it to you but it should be pretty easy to find.”
“How long should I stay here?” I know he’s no longer taking any questions, but surely this one doesn’t count.
Logan shrugs his broad shoulders. His indifference to my schedule makes me want to strangle him although a part of me wonders if maybe I’m just looking for excuses to touch him.
“I have to call my office and let them know,” I say.
“You should’ve thought of that before you followed me home.” It looks like he takes some sick satisfaction from reminding me of the way I screwed myself over. “The doors won’t open without my secret code. Don’t try it because the alarm will sound and I’ll have to get out of bed to turn it off.”
“Maybe I want to make you get out of bed and turn it off,” I challenge him.
“Don’t try me,” Logan threatens. “I only helped you because I was feeling charitable after the death of someone close to me. I’m not as nice as I may seem. You will regret testing my patience.”
A chill runs down my spine.
I chafe at the way he speaks to me. I’m not a little girl, after all.
But at the same time, I can’t deny he’s also stoking the flame inside me with his words, making my imagination run wild.
What’s he going to do to me if I test his patience?
Will he lay his hands on me? Will he pin me against the wall and hurt me? Will he push me down on the floor and have his way with me?
“Okay,” I simply answer, even as dirty thoughts continue to plague my mind.
“Logan!” I yell out as I hold on to the railing of the interior balcony, just outside my bedroom.
I’m not usually such a loud guest. Normally, I’m quiet as a mouse and I make my bed, too. I don’t like to inconvenience my host.
But this is a strange situation I find myself in. It’s not like I can just flip open a magazine and find etiquette tips for when I’m staying over in the home of my dead boyfriend’s long-lost twin brother, who happens to work for my boss, who’s involved in
the mafia world.
All I know is, I have limited time here, and I’m going to use it as best as I can—by finding out exactly who Logan is and how he’s related to Mark.
It’s eight in the morning. The house looks different with the sunlight streaming in through the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows.
There are no curtains. I guess Logan doesn’t need those, seeing as he has no neighbors. All I can see through those windows is the color green. There’s a ton of pine trees just outside.
I hear birds chirping, telling everyone spring is coming. I hear leaves rustling. But, I don’t hear a peep from Logan. I’m pretty sure I’d hear it if he made the slightest sound with that ghostly voice of his.
Great. He’s not home. Or, at the very least, he’s not awake.
This means I’m practically alone in Logan’s house. The place where he keeps his important documents and other potentially interesting stuff.
A secret grin works itself across my face. This feels like Christmas morning. I haven’t felt like this in a long time—not even on actual Christmas mornings.
I wonder where I should start. Does Logan have a home office?
Wearing only a towel I found in the en-suite of the guest bathroom, I hop down the carpeted stairs and head toward the laundry room. Logan was right last night; it’s pretty easy to find.
I throw my clothes from yesterday into the washing machine. I add the detergent and start it up. I smile as the machine starts to make noise—enough noise to cover any sounds I inevitably cause while I snoop around.
I’ll try to be quiet, of course. I’ll be careful to watch out for signs of Logan getting close.
And if he catches me in the act . . .
I know it may just be my vanity and perhaps I’m being more than a little presumptuous, but something about the way Logan stares at me makes me think the fact that I’m wearing nothing but a towel will give him enough pause to allow me enough time to come up with a good excuse.
Logan
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.
Harper shrieks with surprise, jumping as she drops a bunch of photographs she has dug out of one of the drawers in my desk. Unfortunately, the towel wrapped around her body doesn’t fall like I hoped it would.
In my mind’s eye, I was already watching it crumple around her ankles, letting me catch a glimpse of her naked body as she attempts, unsuccessfully, to cover herself with her small, dainty hands.
“Oh, Logan,” she says sweetly as a nervous smile stretches across her pretty face. “I was just helping you organize your things. It’s the least I can do since you’re letting me stay here for free.”
I laugh. “You sure can come up with a story; I’ll give you that.”
“I’m serious. After finding out who you work for, I know I might be in real trouble, and I’m grateful that you’re keeping me safe.” Harper blinks her big, doe eyes at me in a move that has probably worked on dozens of guys.
But, I’m not as gullible as the average guy.
Besides, her lie was so obvious I almost feel insulted she thought I’d buy it.
“Come on,” I simply say.
Harper huffs a big sigh. I’ll have to admit she looks kind of cute when she does that.
“Okay, you got me. You caught me in the act,” she says. “I told you, I needed answers.”
I open my mouth, ready to give her a lecture on privacy.
“Look, I’m sorry. I know I have no right going through your things, but I need some answers.” As Harper walks around my desk and steps closer, I can’t help but stare at her bare shoulders and her graceful collarbones. She continues, “I can explain.”
I want to reach out and grab her, then sink my teeth into the flesh on her long, graceful neck. Is she sensitive there? Will she sigh and moan if I kiss her there?
Harper stops just inches away from me, looking up from underneath her lashes. Her hair falls away from her angelic face, distracting me from her naughty behavior.
Obviously, she knows what she’s doing to me. It’s probably written all over my face.
Harper’s full lips stretches into a small smile as she touches the top of the towel, which sits right at her cleavage. I wonder if she’s about to take the damn thing off.
“Please do. Explain, I mean.” I curse myself inwardly for stumbling all over my words. What is it about this girl that makes me lose my cool when she so much as bats her eyelashes?
“You remind me of someone.” Harper puts her hand—her soft, gentle hand—on my cheek and caresses my skin. “Someone I thought I’d lost forever.”
“What, like, an old boyfriend?” I ask a little too quickly. I don’t normally get jealous, but there’s no other name for the pang in my chest.
“Something like that,” she says in a silky, smooth, seductive voice as she leans closer.
“Do you think I’m him, only I’m pretending not to be him?” I ask.
The whole situation is preposterous. I don’t usually care what a girl thinks of me as long as I can get into her pants, but somehow Harper’s confession—which isn’t exactly unexpected, by the way—stings in a way I didn’t anticipate.
What do I care who she thinks I am? If she thinks I’m her missing boyfriend, that means there’s a higher chance she’ll spread her legs for me, which can only be a good thing . . . right?
“I don’t know.” Harper runs her hand down my shoulder and trails a finger down my chest. She gazes into my eyes. “Are you?”
“Did he ghost you?” I chuckle. “I mean, did I ghost you?”
“That’s an interesting word choice,” she says with a wry smile. “I take it you’re not him.”
“No. And I’ve never gotten amnesia either, if you still think that’s what happened. I remember almost everything that has happened my entire life, although sometimes I wish I didn’t.”
“Is there a chance you might have a long-lost twin you don’t know about?” she asks.
I look down into her sparkling, green eyes. She thinks she’s got me wrapped around her finger. But she’s wrong if she expects me to just tell her everything for nothing.
“There is,” I say, deliberately letting my voice hang in the air as I hold back on an explanation.
Something flashes in Harper’s eyes. That’s it. I’ve sparked her interest. I’ve got her right where I want her.
“Really?” she asks.
“Yeah. Really.” I put my hand on her shoulder. Her skin is as soft as it looks. Has she just had a shower? She smells great, too. Like vanilla and jasmine.
I watch with satisfaction as Harper swallows. She looks nervous, but she’s got a lead now, and she’s not backing down. I’ve only known her for a short while, but I can tell she’s not the kind of girl who gives up just like that.
Pressing my thumb on the side of her neck, I feel her pulse. Her heartbeat is racing.
“Why do you say that?” she asks.
“You ask so many questions.” I run my hand up the back of her neck until my fingers are tangled in her hair. “Too many questions.”
“That’s what I came here for,” she says in a strong, steady voice. Too bad for her, I can see her anxiety every time the vein in her neck pulses.
“Is that right? You’re not here to appreciate how well I’m taking care of you? Because that’s what you said earlier.” I can ask questions, too.
Guilt fills Harper’s eyes, but she continues to look straight back at me.
“Are you lying to me, Harper?” I grab the roots of her red hair on the back of her skull, forcing her to bend her neck uncomfortably and look up at me. “Are you nothing but a little liar?”
“I didn’t lie to you. I told you what I came here for when I first got here.”
“You have to admit your story sounds a little far-fetched. Besides, you did lie to me when I caught you just now,” I say.
Harper remains silent.
“I can’t let a liar into my house,” I whisper in her ear. A smile plays on my lips
when I feel her shiver. “You know now what a dangerous world I live in. What if you’re just a spy sent here by Robert Foster’s enemies? What if you’re a cop?”
“I’m neither one of those things,” she says.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to just take you at your word? That doesn’t seem like the smart thing to do, does it?” I level my gaze at her.
“I . . . I have an employee ID. It’s in my bag. Upstairs. In my wallet. I promise you, I’m just an office drone working for Mr. Foster’s company,” Harper says nervously.
“You could’ve gotten some low-level job there just to be able to tell me that. Or, easier still, you could’ve printed an ID card. I don’t know what the real ID looks like. It would be an easy job for the cops.” I pause and look into her worried eyes. “Maybe I should call Robert Foster and ask what he thinks of the situation.”
Harper widens her eyes in panic. “No. Look, he doesn’t know me. You can call my manager at work. He’s been working there his whole adult life. He’ll vouch for me.
“I’ve worked at the company for five years. I do so much overtime I don’t have time to be working as a cop or as a spy for the mafia. Please don’t call Mr. Foster. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am.”
“Have you now?” I ask. “Aren’t you a good, little, worker bee?”
I’m enjoying this little game we’re playing more and more. Judging by her frantic breaths, Harper probably isn’t, though.
“If you’re so committed to your career, then why don’t you care about staying here for an indeterminate amount of time?” I ask. “Something about your story doesn’t add up, Harper.”
Anger flashes in Harper’s eyes. Good. Maybe now I can finally get some real answers out of her.
“Because he was the only thing that has ever really mattered in my life, okay?” Harper’s eyes burn with pain. Jealousy rips through me as I watch the emotions that wreak havoc inside her.
“You know what? There’s one thing you can do to prove you’re not a cop, at least.” I should shut up. I’m not thinking straight right now. But, I can’t. “Cops, you know, they’re not paid enough to do the things they do. They’re definitely not paid enough to go all out when they’re undercover.”