by Elise Noble
“Christian’s the bartender?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you really own this place?”
“One third of it. Mostly I’m a silent partner. I put a bunch of money in, but Christian and Trey run things.”
“Trey?”
“Another friend. The three of us were in high school together. Trey went to college and got a marketing degree, I joined the army, and Christian knocked up a local girl and stayed here to take care of his daughter.”
When Christian had to work late, Sienna would sleep over with Trey’s daughter. They were close in age and practically inseparable. Thick as thieves. The three men kidded that if Logan ever had a daughter, they’d have to rename the bar the Sisterhood instead. A month ago, that hadn’t looked too hopeful, but sometimes, things changed for the better.
“Won’t the girl get upset if I call him?” Sloane asked.
“Sienna’s mom ran out on the pair of them years ago.”
“Oh. He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is, but she wasn’t a nice girl.”
Yet another reason Logan had avoided emotional entanglements over the years. When Brandy upped and moved to California with a wannabe actor she’d known for less than a month, it had almost broken Christian. Looking after four-year-old Sienna was the only thing that had kept him going, and Logan never wanted to be in that position.
But with Sloane… Maybe the effort would be worth it.
A soft knock at the door announced the arrival of their food, and Logan didn’t miss the look of disappointment on the waitress’s face when she saw Sloane sitting on his lap. The young blonde had been flirting with him for months, and he’d played dumb every time. Never mix business with pleasure, Trey always told him, and so far he’d stuck to that rule, Sloane excepted. More than once, he’d jerked off in the bathroom at Blackwood after the team’s monthly management meetings, the ones where she took the minutes and he got distracted.
He took a bite of his burger, but he barely tasted it as Sloane reached over and picked at her fries. Despite her earlier protestations, she ate, slightly awkwardly since she was still perched on his lap, but she didn’t show any inclination to move and he wasn’t about to suggest it.
“Food okay?” he asked.
“It’s good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am, a little. I mean, I know this place started off as a biker bar and then went hipster, but usually those places charge an arm and a leg for crappy food just because they can get away with it.”
“People spend more if they’re happy. You’ve never been here before?”
She shook her head, then licked a smear of ketchup from the corner of her lip. Fuck, now wasn’t the time to be thinking of that tongue. Logan desperately replayed this morning’s operations briefing in his head in an attempt to stop the blood flowing to his traitorous dick.
“Not my kind of place,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Do I really have to spell it out?”
“Yeah.”
Sloane took a deep breath. “Because I’m not like the people out there. They’re all cool and pretty. Sexy,” she whispered, blushing. “While I’m just kind of awkward.”
“Kitten, half of them are grade A pricks, and you’re prettier than all of those women.”
She shrugged, dismissive, and Logan’s blood boiled. She’d spouted the same bullshit about the girls in the office. Who had led her to think so little of herself? Given half the chance, he’d have shoved her up against the wall and shown her exactly how sexy he thought she was, but he feared that would earn him a knee in his junk. So he kept quiet and fed her another French fry.
Wyatt Earp once said, “Fast is fine, but accuracy is everything.” Logan had been tiptoeing around Sloane for seven years, and now things were finally moving, he wouldn’t go in for the kill until he was certain of success.
Which seemed unlikely to be tonight. The clock above Trey’s cluster of framed certificates said two hours had passed, mostly in comfortable silence with a smattering of small talk, and the Brotherhood closed at ten on Sundays. In the old days, the more dubious clientele had propped up the bar until the early hours, but the new, trendy crowd woke early for yoga or organic juice cleanses or whatever. A year ago, they’d shortened the opening hours as an experiment, and profits hadn’t suffered one bit.
“How’s your face feeling?” he asked Sloane.
“Better. I think the painkillers helped.”
She yawned, and Logan bit back a lewd comment. “Time to get you home to bed.” Her own, unfortunately. “Did you drive?”
“No, I walked. I’ll call a cab.”
“Don’t worry; I can take you. My truck’s outside.”
“I must owe you a million favours by now.”
“The only thing you owe me is a smile.”
And he got one. When Sloane smiled, it didn’t light up the room, it lit up the damn universe. Forget solar power and hydro dams—just keep Sloane happy and the world’s energy problems would be solved.
Logan lifted Sloane to her feet and shuffled a bit to get the feeling back into his legs. Pins and needles had seemed a small price to pay for having her on his lap all evening, although he’d have preferred her slightly more naked.
But at least she didn’t protest when he draped an arm over her shoulders and steered her out into the now-empty bar.
“Who came up with the idea for the money wall?” she asked.
“Trey. We wanted to help out some of the smaller charities that struggle to raise funds, and we were tossing around a bunch of ideas, and he said why not just get everyone to stick money up because it’ll look great on Instagram.”
“And the bike?”
“That was me. I was renovating my house, and I ran out of garage space.”
“The Harley belongs to you? I thought it was only for decoration.”
“No, it runs like a dream.”
“Can I sit on it?” she asked, then looked horrified at herself for even suggesting it.
Logan laughed and lifted her onto the platform. “Sure, kitten. Want me to take a picture?”
“Nuh-uh.”
Dammit. That would have been a good one to file away in his spank bank.
Sloane swung one leg over the seat and grabbed the handlebars, grinning like a kid. That fucking smile would be the death of him. It made all rational thought disappear, which was probably why Logan came up with his next idea. Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he stepped up beside her.
“Put this on.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s cool outside at this time of night.”
He unhooked a pair of crash helmets from the display behind the bar and settled one onto her head, tucking her hair back out of the way.
“Logan, what are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
Realisation dawned on her as he grabbed the keys out of the register and extended the ramp from the front of the platform. But by the time she thought to protest, it was too late. Logan got the other helmet fastened on his own head just in time to stop her from scrambling off the bike.
“On this thing?” she squealed. “Are you crazy?”
“Yeah, most people would say I am. Slide back a bit, kitten.”
The engine started with a deep roar, and Logan hopped on board and kicked the bike into gear before Sloane could change her mind.
“Hold on,” he shouted above the noise.
Sweet, compliant, that was his Sloane. She reached around his waist, clasping her hands in front, and fuck, her breasts felt good squashed against him. And one hundred percent natural. Desmond or whatever his name was had been a total asswipe.
He waved to Christian as he gunned the bike out the front door, holding up two fingers to show he might be a while. His buddy just shook his head in amusement.
Sloane’s thighs moulded around Logan’s ass as he rode across the parking lot, and he wis
hed it was his damn face. She lived a mile and a half away by road, and he’d savour every moment of the ride. Unless…
“Logan, why are we going left? My house is the other way.”
“We’re just taking a brief detour.”
CHAPTER 11 - SLOANE
THE ALARM ON my phone blared out in the darkness, and I batted at it until it stopped squawking at me. It was too early to get up, and I wanted to relive last night’s dream while I was still in that fuzzy state between sleep and wakefulness.
The dream where Logan had practically kidnapped me on the back of a Harley-Davidson and driven me halfway to Charlottesville so we could sit up on a hill and look at the stars. The dream where the vibrations of the motorcycle had done funny things to my insides and made me orgasm halfway along I-64 on the way home. The dream where I’d bitten my tongue to keep from crying out and loosened my hands around Logan’s waist, only to realise a few seconds later that what I was touching wasn’t his belt buckle.
He hadn’t said anything about my errant hands when he helped me off the back of the bike outside my house, and I’d practically sprinted up the path. Perhaps it was a good thing I’d woken up after all.
I rolled over and stretched, then howled in pain when the left side of my face touched the pillow. In stunning clarity, the full chain of events from last night came rushing back to me. Un-Desmond, Kenneth, the fight, Christian’s intervention, Logan’s arrival, messing around on the bike, and omigosh, I really had felt up Logan. Then I’d come home and felt up myself.
As Emmy would say, shitting hell.
Okay, okay, don’t panic. Blackwood was a flexible employer. I could call in and take a personal day, then use the time to pack my bags and flee to Outer Mongolia. Well, perhaps not Outer Mongolia, because I didn’t speak Mongolian. Maybe Alaska? Except Alaska was pretty cold, wasn’t it? Even Kentucky would do.
I’d got the phone halfway to my ear when I remembered why I’d set the alarm early in the first place. Emmy was back this morning. And that meant I had a full day of catch-ups and meetings and phone calls and organising as well as the belated monthly management meeting, so I couldn’t call in and I couldn’t die of embarrassment because nobody else knew her schedule like I did.
Where was Logan? I called up his calendar and scrolled through to today’s date. Oh, he was in the office too. Terrific.
Half an hour later, I’d taken a shower and made myself vaguely presentable, but I couldn’t find any toothpicks to hold open my eyelids and I couldn’t find my cat either. Of all the mornings for him to disappear.
“Nickel,” I called out the back door. “Breakfast’s ready.”
Nothing. I battled through the yard, scanning left and right, but there was no sign of him.
Edna was out hanging up laundry, and she gave me a wave.
“Have you lost that cat of yours again?”
“Seems that way. He’s probably off chasing birds.” Or worse, mice. “I’ll have to leave the back window open for him. Could you keep an eye?”
“Of course, dearie. I’ll be in all day. Now, you get off to work and stop worrying.”
Stop worrying? Right. How on earth was I supposed to face the man I’d inadvertently groped last night? He no doubt thought I was some desperate floozy. All I could do was hold my head high, keep my stilettos on, and pray I didn’t end up with a damp patch on my panties. Again.
“You look like death warmed up,” Emmy said when I walked into her office.
She, of course, looked like a supermodel despite having spent the last two weeks undercover in Libya. A little pale because she’d been wearing a burka the whole time, but stunning nonetheless.
“I didn’t sleep so well last night.”
“What happened to your eye? Do I have to kill anyone?”
Emmy smiled, but the scary thing was, I knew she wasn’t entirely joking.
“No, no, it’s fine. It was more of a misunderstanding.”
“Hmm, some misunderstanding. You want a coffee?”
“Yes, please. Do you mind if I work at Black’s desk today? It’s kind of busy out there.”
“Go for it.”
With Emmy’s husband still away, I got a brief reprieve from having to face Logan. Even so, I kept glancing through the glass wall towards his desk every time I saw movement, almost like a Pavlovian reflex. At least I wasn’t drooling, I suppose.
He didn’t show up until a quarter to ten, wearing scuffed jeans and the leather jacket I’d borrowed last night. I leaned forward, squinting. Had he trimmed his beard? It tended towards scruffy, but it looked tidier this morning.
Stop it, Sloane. Do not give your libido any encouragement.
“Whatcha looking at?”
Busted. “Uh, for a moment, I thought I saw Ana, but isn’t she in Lithuania?”
“Slovenia. She’s not coming back until tomorrow. Are you ready for the meeting?”
No, not in a million years, but I held up my pad and the sparkly pen Bradley had given me last Christmas and forced a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
In the big conference room, I grabbed the chair next to Emmy, and when Dan—Black’s number two in the investigations department—meandered in, I waved her over.
“How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Thankfully, she took the bait and dropped into the seat on the other side of me.
“Crazy busy, but I haven’t crashed a car for almost two months now, so it’s all good. I hear Kenneth was being a dick again?”
“He was, but that’s in the past now. Onwards and upwards.”
“Indeed.”
Logan was the last to arrive, sauntering in with a cup of coffee and a peach. He eyed me up as he slid into the last seat at the far end of the table, then took a bite and licked away a dribble of juice that ran down the soft flesh. Straight away, my pulse began racing. Was he doing this on purpose? Because if he was, it wasn’t funny.
“Everyone ready?” Emmy asked. “Nick, do you want to start?”
I picked up my pen and wrote Management Meeting and the date, but then Logan waggled his eyebrows and licked the damn peach. That…that… He was doing this on purpose, and if he kept it up, I might well take Emmy up on her offer to kill someone.
Beside me, Dan tapped my pad.
“Minutes?” she mouthed.
Darn it. Now Logan was messing with my work, and I couldn’t afford for that to happen. While Emmy talked about budgets and operations and global mobility and statistical modelling, I scribbled notes I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to read later and restricted myself to glancing up at Logan only once every five minutes. And half of the times I did, he was looking right back at me.
“Right, skills and drills,” Emmy said. “Logan?”
Part of his job was managing the training for members of Emmy’s Special Projects team, ensuring they practised together as often as necessary and kept up whatever qualifications they needed.
“I’ve got an exercise in Belize tentatively scheduled for the first week in November, and Nate’s set up three new simulations in the kill-house that everyone needs to run through at some point over the next month.”
“Individually?”
“In pairs. And I’ve got a plane arranged for anyone who wants to parachute next weekend. It’ll be Evan’s first jump since his accident, and Quinn’s offered to buddy up with him.”
Emmy nodded towards Evan, who as international coordinator, also sat in on the meetings.
“How’s your ankle holding up?”
“Good as new. I’m hoping to be back on active duty this time next month.”
“As long as Dr. Stanton agrees.”
“She will.”
Emmy groaned. “Evan, tell me you and Kira aren’t…”
“No, we’re not. Not yet, anyway.”
“Leave her alone. We like her working here, and you’re incapable of anything more than a one-night stand. We can deal with the pissed-off women who turn up in reception, and the ones who c
ry, but if you upset Kira, I’ll personally attach your parachute to your testicles and shove you out of a plane. Got it?”
Evan chuckled and gave her a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered. “Anything else?”
Logan shook his head, and when the others turned back to Emmy, I kept staring long enough to get a smile. Darn it. I’d need to wring my freaking panties out after this. For a second, I imagined myself nibbling on his full bottom lip, that beard scratching against my chin, and then against other places. I clenched my thighs together as a rush of heat flooded through me. This was bad. Very bad.
Finally, Emmy closed the meeting, and I snatched up my scattered papers and hurried in the direction of the bathroom. Even so, Logan beat me there—I saw his sculpted ass disappearing through the door of the men’s room farther along the hallway.
Inside the ladies’ room, I locked myself in a stall and hiked up my skirt, one hand already reaching inside my panties as I searched for the release I craved. Freaking heck. What on earth was I doing? Had I lost my darn mind? Definitely. And with Logan on the other side of the wall, probably with his jeans undone, I closed my eyes and brought myself to a quivering climax.
Yes, it was official; I’d gone insane.
It took a full five minutes for my legs to recover, and I forced myself to breathe slowly as I tugged my skirt down and made myself presentable. Was my face red? It sure felt like it. I checked in the mirror, and I could best be described as “glowing.” At least my black eye took a little attention away from my cheeks.
My phone vibrated with a message on the way out of the bathroom, and my first thought of “I hope it’s something dirty from Logan” made me wobble a bit.
But no, it was just Edna on her fancy new smartphone.
Edna: I haven’t seen Nickel yet, but I’ve left a batch of cupcakes in a box on your counter, and another novel too.
Aw, she was always thoughtful like that. She joked that as I did most of her shopping, the least she could do was share the spoils. We often swapped books as well. It seemed that all generations enjoyed reading happily ever afters, even if I was yet to find mine.