by Layla Nash
Benedict or Atticus would find him, drag him down to the gym, and make him lift weights or box until he was exhausted. Then he would drop face-first onto his bed — his empty, lonely fucking bed — and sleep until he had to get up again.
They still owned the restaurant. He couldn't bring himself to sell it. It was a cash cow, once Carter and Benedict finally straightened out the books. In fact, it was more profitable than several of his other ventures, so Benedict started looking into other restaurants to purchase and rehab. Carter managed the day-to-day at Natalia's restaurant, and though he gave regular updates to Benedict and Atticus, he said nothing to Logan.
And that was just fine with Logan.
He didn't want to know how she was. He didn't want to hear she'd moved on. Not knowing hurt less than knowing she loved someone else.
Two weeks passed, then three. Then a month. And still he could not bring himself to care about anything.
Logan sat in his office, staring out the window at the city. Not thinking. He did a lot of that, after Natalia. Just not thinking about anything. That way nothing would remind him of her smile or the curl in her hair.
The door open and closed behind him, and Logan turned to confront whoever dared disturb him. He'd left strict instructions with his executive assistant that no one ... "Edgar. What do you want?"
His brother walked up and planted his fists on Logan's desk, leaning forward in a posture so aggressive that Logan sat back in surprise. Edgar's eyes blazed a kaleidoscope of golds and reds as he gritted words out between his teeth. "I'm done with this pouting bullshit. Pull your head out of your ass before I challenge you for alpha."
"Watch your mouth or I will beat the shit out of you," Logan snapped, sitting up.
"Do it. Go ahead. I'll even wait for you to hike up your big girl panties."
"Fuck. Off." Logan snarled, lurching to his feet to loom over Edgar. "I will throw you out this fucking window, lion."
Edgar squared off with him, practically bumping chests. "Stop moping around, you shithead, and go get your girl."
"She doesn't want me." The words hurt too much to say quietly. Instead they burst forth with enough volume to throw Edgar back a few steps. Logan followed, slamming his fists into Edgar's chest. "Don't you get it? She doesn't want us. We asked her and she said no. It's over."
"She said she had to fucking think, dumbass!" Edgar hit him back. "That's not a 'no.' That's not a 'never.' That's a 'not yet.'"
Logan picked up a chair and threw it into the wall, roaring. "You didn't hear her. You didn't see her face. It was a 'never.' And fuck you for bringing it up."
"I talked to Ruby," Edgar said. Ducked as Logan threw another chair, this time directly at him. He retreated but kept talking, hands turning dark as the nails grew into claws. "Natalia is miserable. She wants to talk to you but she can't. She doesn't understand any of this, but she's trying to."
"I told you — I ordered you not to talk to her." Logan ran out of chairs, blinded by rage and pain, and reached for the coffee table near the fireplace instead. It shattered in a cascade of glass against the wall a second after Edgar leapt to the side. Logan snarled again, his teeth growing too large and sharp to speak. "I fucking told you —"
"I talked to Ruby," Edgar repeated. He held up his hands. "She called me. The pack is ready to come after you because Natalia is a mess. She won't tell them what you did or what happened, but Rafe is about a week shy of knocking on our door. You have to fix this, Logan."
"How am I supposed to fix it?" The rage simmered but dissipated, until nothing remained by hurt and exhaustion. He rubbed his face, bending to brace his hands on his knees. "Damn it, Edgar. She doesn't want me."
"She was scared and confused and hungover." His brother approached slowly. "You can win her back."
Logan faced his brother, felt himself balancing on a knife's edge. "If she rejects me again, Edgar, it'll kill me. Or you'll have to kill me, because the lion will take over and I'll be gone."
"I've got a plan, brother." Edgar looked around for a chair and found only kindling and twisted metal. He scowled at his brother. "Now where the fuck do I sit?"
"Sit on the fucking floor, dick. You're the one who ran in here and pissed me off." Logan returned to his desk and gave his trashcan a kick for good measure. A spark of hope kindled in his heart for the first time in a month.
Sixteen
I didn't want to go, but Benedict called and said he needed my input on a new business plan. He wanted to expand to a second restaurant and needed recommendations for how to write the proposal. I shook my head and almost turned around for the fifth time as my car rattled up to the gate at the mansion. He promised Logan wouldn't be there when I let the silence stretch on the phone. I didn't really believe him, but Benedict and Carter and Edgar and Atticus had all been kind to me, and I wanted to repay that debt while I could. Eventually, I would have to cut them all out of my life, and I didn't like to leave things unsaid.
My heart ached at the thought of not seeing Logan again, but the idea of seeing him in person, talking to him, left me utterly panicked. I dreamt of him every night, woke up crying because he wasn't there beside me. I wanted to lean into him, hug him, kiss him. Feel what it was like to actually make love to him, to feel his weight on me. I had to wipe my eyes a few times as I drove, checking in the mirror to make sure my eyes weren't red before I walked up to the house.
Hamilton greeted me at the door with a warm smile, taking my coat and ushering me into a small office on the first floor, somewhere in the depths of the house away from the kitchen. Benedict sat behind a large desk covered in piles of paper, and I raised my eyebrows as I walked in. He snorted, gesturing at a chair in front of the desk. "Don't judge me. If you knew the amount of work my brothers make for me, you'd understand the current state of my desk."
I tried a smile. "Sure." And waited.
"How are you?" Genuine concern made him look older, and he shuffled a few papers into a file folder as I cleared my throat.
"I'm fine. There was a business plan you wanted me to look at?"
He leaned over the desk and handed me the file. "Here. I'm most interested in if the costs make sense, based on what you've seen over the last couple of years, and what you think of the chef."
"The chef? Can't judge that on paper," I said, frowning as I read through the spreadsheets. My lips moved as I counted, tried to tot up the numbers in my head. Relief washed over me to know this wasn't some ridiculous trick, that this was actually about business. "Well, we spend double this amount on linen service, and that's a bargain basement number to begin with. I'm not sure how this would be possible. And triple what you've got for produce. You have to factor in spoilage."
"Good to know." He made a few notes, then handed me another stack of papers. "The chef is here to audition, so you won't have to judge him on paper. But look over the menu first, will you? We're trying for Asian fusion, whatever the fuck that is."
I smiled, even though it hurt. "It's very trendy right now." I glanced at the menu, then shrugged and handed it back. "Success depends on execution, Benedict. If you like his food, hire him. If not, keep looking. There are a lot of talented chefs out there, most of them working the line. If you need a referral, I'm happy to help."
"We should steal Jake from you."
"Go ahead and try," I said, and something close to a laugh escaped past my broken heart. "He's loyal to me only."
"Right." He got up and gestured at the door. "Would you taste the food with me? I've got peculiar tastes, I've been told, so it would be worth having your professional opinion."
I followed him, trying to think of any chefs looking for a new job. "Are you — like him?"
"Yes." Benedict cleared his throat. "I'm a lion, if that's what you mean. There are some differences, but generally — we're family, we're lions, we're alike."
A nod was all I could manage. Lions. A whole family of lions. I tried for levity, though I hugged myself. "Hunt any gazelle lately?"
> "No," he said, entirely serious. "Which is too bad. Have you ever eaten gazelle, Natalia? It's delicious."
"I was joking," I said weakly.
"I wasn't." Benedict sighed, leading me down yet another hall. "It's delicious. Maybe we should start serving exotic game. There would be quite a market for gazelle and antelope and zebra. Giraffe."
I almost laughed, but I couldn't quite tell if he were joking again. "Sure. You find the supplier, I'll figure out how to cook it."
"You know, Natalia," he said, then paused. He stopped in the hall and faced me, looking too thoughtful for the clownish Benedict I'd come to appreciate. "Food means a lot to us. It does. It can be difficult to explain to others, but the sharing of a meal is a very intimate thing. It means a relationship, trust, protection. To provide a meal for someone is one of the most primitive ways of saying you care for them. To feed someone is a ... gift."
He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "It's amazing, what you do. Sharing that gift with perfect strangers. It's a little unsettling, to be perfectly honest. But when we invite someone new into our home for a meal, it means something deep."
I couldn't breathe, staring at his chest. Feeling as if he were trying to give me a serious message without actually saying it aloud, and me not really understanding. Logan invited me to cook for them, and then stay for dinner, only two days after we met. He brought me into their family before he really knew me. My heart hurt.
"Thank you," I said, patting Benedict on the arm. "I appreciate you saying that."
"Good. Just remember that when you're eating."
I frowned, following as he opened a door right next to us and went into a small dining room. It held a table set beautifully for two, complete with candles and rose petals and a fire roaring in the fireplace. A magnum of champagne cooled in a bucket next to the table. And Logan stood behind a chair, pulled out from the table, with an apprehensive, expectant look on his face.
Benedict cleared his throat and gestured at the chair. "Please sit, Ms. Spencer."
When I stared at him, my thoughts too flustered to formulate a response, he winked and then nudged me toward the chair. I stumbled a few steps but stopped, turning to look at Benedict. "But — what about the chef?"
He laughed so hard he had to catch himself against the wall. I looked at Logan, who was also smiling, and back at Benedict. Benedict leaned forward to seize my head and kiss my forehead. "Christ, you're funny. Logan's your chef, Natalia. He's auditioning."
"Oh." Still stunned, I looked at Logan. He wore a suit, charcoal pinstripe with a lavender shirt and matching patterned tie. Silver cufflinks winked in the candlelight. I looked behind me as the door shut with a click, then back at Logan. My face heated and I wanted to melt into a puddle of sheer humiliation. "I'm so sorry, I don't —"
"Just sit for a bit, Natalia."
The way he said my name made my knees weak, and I could not have said how grateful I was for the hand he offered, leading me around the table to take my seat. His hands drifted across my shoulders, and I desperately wished I'd worn something nicer than jeans and a sweater and cowboy boots.
Logan sat in the chair next to me, still holding my hand. He stared at me like he could drink me in, like he needed to memorize every detail about me. "I did actually cook. He wasn't joking about that part."
"Oh." I seemed to be saying that a lot. I cleared my throat, looking around the room to distract myself as his eyes turned to molten copper. "This is a nice room. Do you — use it often?"
"Not often." He stroked the back of my hand. "I know I scared you, Natalia. I know — what I am is not something you understand or even want to understand. But the last month has been an eternity of misery for me. I need you in my life."
My heart leapt, but a frisson of fear slid through me. He was still a lion. "I've been miserable, too." The traitorous words slipped out before I could bite them back.
Before he could speak, the door opened and Atticus walked in, carrying two bowls of soup. He put them down in front of us and went down to one knee next to my chair. Panic rose up and I almost jumped out of my chair. Atticus, the giant bruiser of an enforcer, looked at me and said, "Natalia, you make my brother very happy. I give you this food and ask you to join our family. Please eat, and find strength, and be warm."
He got up, turned on his heel, and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.
I stared at the door, then at Logan. He smiled at me and started eating. Stumped, I did the same. It was some sort of pumpkin puree, well seasoned and spiced, creamy and warm and delicious. We ate, and he held my hand, now and then squeezing my fingers with his.
When I put the spoon down, I dabbed my mouth with the napkin and glanced at the fire. "Benedict said you cooked this yourself?"
"I have some secrets, believe it or not." Logan smiled easily, looking relaxed. Content. He poured more champagne into my flute, clinking his glass against mine. "I know my way around a kitchen when I have a recipe to follow. I'm not as creative as you are, though."
"I don't know about —" I cut off as the door opened again. Atticus retrieved the soup bowls, but before I could ask him what he'd meant, Carter arrived with the salad.
Carter looked nervous, smiling widely at me as he put the plates in front of us. Then he, too, dropped to one knee next to my chair and looked at me earnestly. "Natalia, you make my brother very happy. I give you this food and ask you to join our family. Please eat, and find strength, and be warm."
Then he grinned, got up, and disappeared.
I put my hands over my face, almost undone by the kindness. "You have got to tell me what's going on."
"I did it wrong," he said at length. He picked through the salad, a lovely tangle of spinach and strawberries and goat cheese and candied pecans. "When I asked you to be with me. I forgot that you're joining a family, not just a couple. My brothers gave me hell for scaring you off. They wanted a chance to tell you that you are appreciated and loved. That even when I am not there, they will be there to support and protect you."
I cleared my throat through a knot of tears, hating that I was going to cry again. I never cried, and yet this man and his brothers had me a mess with a dozen words or less. Plus tears made it almost impossible to enjoy the salad or the champagne.
He asked me about the restaurant and Ruby, casual conversation as if it were a normal date instead of some weird audition to join his family. And still I wanted to know what Benedict would bring. Probably trouble, if the past were any indication.
Carter took away the salad plates and Benedict entered on his heels, carrying two plates with beautiful pork medallions, sautéed greens, and what looked like a grape sauce. It smelled heavenly. He poured more champagne for us both, then dropped to both knees. Benedict spread his arms wide and declared, "Natalia, you made my asshole brother very happy. Really, he's completely unbearable when you're not here. I give you this food and hope to God you'll agree to join our family. Please choke it down, and find strength, and be warm. And be patient, and beautiful, and kind. You'll need all those things if you expect to —"
Logan aimed a kick in his direction and Benedict jumped up, looking injured. "Do you see what we have to put up with? Dear Natalia, you soothe the savage beast. Do us a favor and agree to soothe him a couple times tonight and again in the morning." Then he winked and whistled his way out the door.
I laughed as the door closed, and Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously long-suffering with his brother's tomfoolery. Something bubbled up in my chest, something happy and excited. Something that believed this might actually work. That I could live with a lion. But I focused on my plate, closing my eyes as I inhaled the steam. "This is lovely. You made this?"
"Mostly." He frowned, tasting the sauce. "I asked Hamilton to grill the pork, so it was fresh when we ate. But the grape sauce, that's mine."
I made yummy noises and he snorted. "Don't patronize me, master chef."
"Believe me, I wouldn't be eating it if I didn't like
it." I pointed my fork at him. "Life's too short to eat flavorless food."
"Amen." Logan demolished his meal and sat back to watch as I savored mine. The pork was tender and salty, balanced by the sweet tang of the grape reduction, and the bitterness of the sautéed kale gentled with lemon and garlic.
I had to pause to breathe and instead sipped from the champagne, letting the bubbles tickle my nose. I felt almost giddy. "Why are you doing this?"
Logan's eyebrows arched. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Humor me."
The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Natalia, I love you. I love you so much there aren't words for it. My lion loves you, he yearns for you. You're a constant refrain in the back of my head. I want to feed you, to protect you, to keep you in my bed."
I shivered at the memory of being in my bed together, not just when he touched me and I touched him, but when I was afraid and he held me close and woke me from nightmares. "I just don't know if I can — deal with what you are. The lion thing."
"The lion king," he said, and I laughed.
But I paused. "Wait. Are you a lion king?"
He laughed hard enough to jostle the table and my champagne almost tipped. He filled it back up, shaking his head. "Not exactly. But we can talk more about that later. All I'm asking is that you give us a chance."
I stared past his shoulder, gripping my thighs as I tried to balance the romance of the meal and the lovely things his brothers said with the cold reality of him turning into an animal. A predator. More champagne seemed like a good idea, and I let it slide down my throat. "What's for dessert?"
As if on cue, Benedict returned to whirl away the dinner plates, and then Edgar approached with a single bowl of fluffy chocolate mousse. Two spoons. A dollop of fresh whipped cream on top and a bowl of cut strawberries. Edgar, grave and dignified, eased to one knee and looked up at me. My breath caught and for some reason, his gaze made me want to cry.