“I don't know.”
“You don't know, hmm?” He ran his hands down the door from where he'd rested them at her head, to stop beside her hips, leaning his lower half in more so that they almost touched.
Her pupils dilated. She reached out with one hand and rested it on his stomach, reminiscent of the way she had in the theater all those years ago, lifting the hem and running her fingers across his abs teasingly, making his flesh spasm.
“If I don't want to...”
“We'll deal with that when the time comes. I suppose we'll find another designer.” His face still stung from the impact of her slender hand. He watched her watch him, her eyes drawn again and again to the red mark on his face. She reached out her other hand to place it against the burning skin of her hand print.
“I don't know who you are, anymore,” she offered, making him feel sick. He was the same person he had been all along, he'd just buried his hurt for so long that it had festered.
“I'm me, Soph. I've always been me. You just never saw me.”
“The things you said...what we've just done...”
Yeah he felt like a right prick, the nasty things he'd said to her reverberating around in his skull. Does it make you feel dirty when you get wet for your stepbrother? Does it make you feel nasty when you remember the things we did to each other just now? God he was such an asshole. “I'm not sorry,” he shrugged, even though he was. He had no explanation other than she'd hurt him, and he'd already told her that much.
“I'm not sure I even want to know the person you've become.”
He stepped away, watching her hand slip from his stomach, already feeling colder. “Then let me make it easier for you, Soph. The deal is off the table, okay?” The words stung his mouth as they left it, but if he left it up to her, she'd probably have made the same decision anyway. “No more awkwardness. No more come ons. No more demands,” he promised. “On one condition.”
Her face screwed up in impatience. “Of course, right? Conditions. What do you want, Logan?”
“Kiss me one last time,” he demanded. “Like you mean it.”
His heart clenched while he waited for her answer. Denial briefly flashed across her face, to be replaced with thoughtfulness and finally, heart-wrenchingly, acceptance. She said nothing, merely reached for him, snagging his shirt between her finger and thumb, and pulling gently.
He leaned in to her, placing his hands by her head, wanting her to make all the moves for once, dammit. If it was to be the last time they would share a moment like this, he wanted to remember how it felt for her to make all the moves.
~
Sophie
When he was close enough she ran her thumb across the softness of his bottom lip, reveling in its fullness. He parted his lips, and she slid her thumb inside, shocked at the wanton feeling running through her after everything that had happened. Logan's tongue swirled around her digit, making her want to clench her thighs together. Yes, damn him, she did get wet for him. She did think of all the things that they'd done, now and before, but rather than feeling nasty, it just filled her with a sense of longing and lust so powerful she'd had orgasms within moments of touching herself.
Now he was offering to take it all away from her. He'd offered to walk away and she felt a panic rise up inside her at the realization that if she kissed him right now, she was sealing that deal with her lips. “No,” she whispered softly. “No deal.”
His eyes closed and Logan sucked her thumb like a lollipop before pushing it out of his mouth with his tongue. “No deal?”
“No,” she repeated.
“You deny that you want to kiss me right now?” Incredulous, he laughed, shaking his head. “You're incredible.”
“I didn't say that,” she whispered, pulling him closer again by his shirt. “I said no deal. I haven't made up my mind, one way or the other.”
His eyes widened as he realized what she meant, and she felt a thrill go through her as his expression darkened with lust. When he could go no farther without touching her lips with his, he stopped, and Sophie understood his intent. She had to be the one. She had to kiss him.
She moved forward to close the inch separating them, placing her lips against his gently. They were moist from her thumb and she felt herself pulse between her legs. A moan vibrated up her throat as he swept his tongue into her mouth, and she wondered at her own lack of self-preservation where Logan was concerned. After the things he'd said and done tonight, she should have been running with her shoes tucked under her arms, but she was willing to see where things led. He couldn't have changed so drastically in the space of a year and a half, could he? Surely her old Logan was buried somewhere beneath the bitterness.
Breaths coming in heaving gasps, they kissed harder, not touching each other anywhere else other than where her hand had become trapped between them. They both moaned as she pressed forward to deepen the kiss, pressing herself against him from head to toe. His hands remained planted either side of her head, and she had the urge to make him lose control, so she bit his bottom lip, drawing a gasp from his throat.
Whore, her subconscious chirped, prompting her to drag her mouth from his. What the hell was she allowing to happen here?
Chapter Five
Logan grabbed her roughly around the waist, peeling her from the door and dragging her towards the bed, where he lay her down with careful movements. For a few moments, he lay atop her, kissing her mouth, her throat, the hollow where her neck met her collar bone, driving her wild.
“Logan,” she whispered in a panic. “No, Logan stop. This is all wrong.”
“Wrong?” he questioned, his gaze making her suddenly self-conscious. She crossed her arms over the bare expanse of her stomach where her top had ridden up.
“I'm not doing this.” Certainty infused her voice with steel and she calmly stood, fixing her clothing once more and grabbing her bag from where she'd abandoned it on the floor. “I told you. I'm not a whore.”
He grinned, wiping the moisture from his lips with the pad of his thumb. Sophie tracked the movement, making him laugh in mockery. “And I told you, you have time.”
“Time to decide if I'm a whore or not? Logan, this is crazy.”
He propped himself up with an elbow, lying on his side with a smile on his face that made him seem younger somehow. Taking her hand from where it was clenched around her clutch, he placed a kiss on each fingertip. “Like I said, you have time. Don't take too long, sister. The clock is ticking.”
~
Her mouth was dry and her head was slamming. She was hungover and...and...needy, dammit. Stretching in her bed, she winced as the light filtering through her curtains shone in her eyes. Throwing an arm over her face to block out the light, she thought about the previous night, trying to be objective.
She wanted in Logan's bed. Logan wanted her in his bed. But he made it seem so seedy, demanding she sleep with him if she wanted to keep the contract.
Guiltily, she thought of those times when she was with Taylor and thoughts of Logan would suddenly explode in her mind. Taylor's chest had puffed up with self-importance, and he'd never known those mind-blowing orgasms were all down to her misbehaving mind dragging the image of her stepbrother into the forefront.
The Tuesday phone calls, the daily texts. Those middle-of-the-night calls when she'd thought she needed him to calm the fears flowing through her veins. She hadn't needed him for that – she'd just needed him. The one time she'd turned the 'what are you wearing' joke back on him and he'd told her he was wearing a smile. At the time she'd told him it was too much information, but if she was being really honest with herself, she felt a thrill when he'd told her that.
Rising with a lazy stretch, she headed for the shower. She had time to decide. Not a lot of time, but some. Maybe she'd just see how things went in the mean time – see if she could dig deep enough to pull the real Logan out of his prickly shell.
Deciding to send him a text before getting ready for the day, she grabbed her
phone from the bedside table as she went.
~
Logan
Good morning. What's ur plan for today?
Logan stared at the screen. She was falling back into old habits quicker than he'd thought. He smiled, thinking of his plan, and then wondered when he'd gotten so manipulative and cold. When she walked out on me without a second glance, he decided. He hadn't been lying when he'd said she'd destroyed him – he was still picking up the pieces. He sent a quick reply as he pulled on his clothes.
Home 2day. Work restarts on the build Monday. Have things 2 see 2 at home.
Oh. U be back by the wkend?
A knock at his hotel door brought him out of his reverie. Paul stood in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot. “Are you ready?” he asked, impatience obvious in the way he couldn't seem to keep still.
“Be right down,” Logan replied lazily, raising a brow. “That eager to get home to Jan?”
“Well. We are newlyweds.”
“Strangest damn newlyweds I've ever seen,” he muttered, closing the door. He threw the last of his bits and pieces into his bag and followed Paul down to the lobby. Whilst Paul paid both bills, he made himself useful by loading their bags into Paul's car, which had been brought around for them. It was going to be a long few days, he decided, thoughts of Sophie never too far from his mind.
~
“Say again? Tell me you did not just blackmail her into bed with you, please, Logan!”
He sighed, the full enormity of the situation hitting him at last. “I wish I could.”
“You stupid fucker.” Jan exhaled roughly and groaned in frustration. “Why?”
He lowered himself to the arm of his couch and ran a hand through his hair in irritation before spilling the entire sordid mess over the phone.
“For some twisted sense of revenge? Is that what you're saying?”
“I guess,” he whispered. It didn't sound so justified when she said it like that. “You don't understand, Jan.”
“Like hell I don't,” she shrieked. “You forget that I was the one who had to hop on a train and pull you out of your own self-destructing spiral.”
She was right, of course. She had gotten on a train the same day she'd arrived home from her honeymoon, because his mother had called her, worried. He'd been drinking heavily, sleeping around more than usual and cruel to the girls, besides. His mother still had friends in this town, he surmised, and they didn't hesitate to tattle on him. But they had been right to do so. He could still picture the crying face of one girl in particular – and damn if he could remember so much as her name – as he'd told her she was just a cheap thrill. He'd caught her answering his phone and telling the caller – who was obviously a woman – to never call again. He'd seen red, and whoever it had been hadn't had their phone on when he'd tried calling back.
“I didn't forget it. I won't.” He owed her his sanity, if he were being honest. God knows what would have become of him if Jan hadn't shown up on his doorstep and smacked his face good and proper, told him what a dick he was, and then hugged him so hard he'd started to cry.
“Listen to me,” she said now, her tone serious. “This leads to nothing but more pain. As much as I hate the girl, I wouldn't wish it on her. Logan please listen to reason.”
“I'm listening,” he replied, pulling on the ends of his hair. He really needed a haircut.
“You keep doing this and you'll just fall in love with her all over again.”
He snorted. “Not gonna happen, Jan.”
“Believe me,” she replied. “I know you better than you think. You think you're full of righteous anger and bitterness, but underneath it all, all you really want is for her to love you back. Oh, sweetie,” she gushed.
This was serious. Jan never called him anything remotely like 'sweetie'. “What?”
“Don't you see it?”
She was irritating him now. Couldn't she just offer helpful techniques to help him? Did she always have to be the voice of fucking reason? “See what?”
“You've always been in love with her.”
“Yeah, so?” Like that had ever mattered, least of all to Sophie.
“You still are.”
“Jan,” he sighed. “As helpful as you've not been here, I'm just gonna say goodbye for a bit. I'm tired. And I have shit to plan.”
“Your funeral, pal.”
“Whatever. I'm going. The house needs to be aired and shit.”
“Logan!” she shouted as he lowered the cell from his ear.
“What?” Exasperated now, he didn't even bother putting it back to his head. He could hear her just fine when she shouted at him like an angry mother.
“If I have to come all the way up there, I'm going to be angry with you. And if you make me go into the city, I'll kill you. Dead. Understand?”
He sighed. “Goodbye, Janet.”
Expelling a breath in a rush, he flopped sideways onto the couch, letting the phone fall to the floor, discarded. Damn Jan and her habit of being the voice of reason. He glared at the solitary picture frame sitting on his coffee table. It had been the bone of contention between him and many of the women he'd brought home since Sophie walked out on him.
Sophie. Fucking Sophie. She was happy and smiling, her hair blowing in the breeze, her cheeks and nose red with the cold. Behind her a wave perpetually climbed, never to crash ashore. She'd taken it on the beach a couple of weeks after she'd first arrived, proclaiming it the first selfie of her new life and had promptly gotten it printed out and had it pinned to the fridge.
After she'd left, he'd put it in a pretty silver frame, even going so far as to set it on his bedside table so that hers could be the smile he woke to each morning. It sat there, taunting him now, showing him visions of a time that had soured in his mind and led to this new lunacy.
Launching himself from the couch, he grabbed the damn thing and smashed it against the wall, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when the glass shattered, tinkling to the floor. The frame gouged out a piece of dry-wall, and feeling more guilt than satisfaction now, he shuffled to the injury, glass cracking under his feet.
Tracing the dent with his index finger, he felt his eyes burn. Fuck. With a ragged scream, he drew back his arm and punched the wall as hard as he could, feeling his knuckles split in the process. Blood welled, dripping from his hand. He didn't feel it. There was no pain, just shame and regret and panic. What the fuck had he done?
Surely Sophie was done with him now for good. He'd be damn lucky if she'd even spit on him should he catch fire. “Fuuuuuck!” he roared, feeling his heart splinter. He was a fucking moron, thinking she would ever debase herself the way he'd suggested. She was a damn lady, and he'd treated her like a tramp. But it was too late too take it back.
His shirt complained at the seams as he ripped it over his head, wrapping his bleeding hand. He picked up the picture, shaking it free from the destruction of broken glass. Fucking Sophie. His throat felt tight as he caressed the curve of her image's cheek. He wanted to kiss her beautiful fucking face. Jan was so right. If he didn't put some distance between them, he'd go down like Titanic.
~
Sophie
It was already Sunday night, and Logan still hadn't replied to her last text. She supposed she had her answer now anyway. He wasn't back for the weekend. Or maybe he was – just not interested in collecting his due for another while. She flopped onto her bed, her head hitting the pillow face-first. She used it to scream into for a few minutes, offloading some of her pent up frustrations.
He was being deliberately cruel now, ignoring her for days. With a flash of anger, she lifted her phone and entered his number. It was off. He'd turned his phone off. Her imagination conjured up images of him twisting in the sheets of some floozy – just like always, he'd said when she'd asked about his relationships.
Two could play at that game, she decided, turning her phone off. Ten minutes later she'd turned it back on in a panic and almost dropped it on her face. Damn him. Sh
e tried his phone again, adrenaline making her jump when it rang. “Hello?” he answered on the eighth ring – she'd counted.
“Logan? Where are you? It sounds loud.”
“I'm out. Is that you, Sophie?” The background noise dissipated as he'd obviously stepped outside.
He hadn't even saved her number, when she'd memorized his. She felt every bit the awkward teenager she'd once been. “Yes, it's me.”
“What do you want? Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm a bit busy.”
“Oh.” He sounded impatient to be off the phone and Sophie felt her eyes sting. He wasn't as happy to speak to her as she was to speak to him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly interested. “Is it the dreams again?”
Her heart flipped over. “No, nothing like that,” she admitted, thinking that sounded like something the old Logan would say. Maybe he was in there, after all. “I just...”
“What?” he shouted, a chorus of cheering voices passing him. “I can't hear you.”
“Never mind,” she replied, speaking louder. “I'll...I'll talk to you later.”
“What? Soph? Shit.” He ended the call and Sophie felt the first tear roll down her cheek. Whatever he was doing, it sounded like a lot more fun than lying in bed crying over some guy who may or may not even exist anymore. And what the hell was she crying for, anyway? Frustration beat at her as she flung the covers off, a scowl on her face, and made for the kitchen. Cocoa was needed for this.
She'd just poured the milk in when her door buzzer went. Checking the clock, she goggled to see it was past midnight. Who the hell was calling on her so late? “Hello?” she said into the intercom.
“Open the door.”
Having a mini heart-attack, she flung her dressing gown off, saw the state of her ratty old tee shirt slash nighty, and threw it back on, cinching it tightly at the waist. She finger-combed her hair roughly, using the stainless steel of the lamp base as a mirror. God, she looked awful. And her eyes were all swollen and red even though she'd refused to cry for more than a minute.
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