Grace for Drowning

by Maya Cross

  I laughed and raised my hand to my brow in a mock swoon. "Two minutes on a bar room floor? Who says romance is dead?"

  A tingle suddenly rolled over my skin, and I glanced toward the ring once more to find Logan's eyes on me. That intensity was still there, but his brow was now furrowed, his mouth twisted ever so slightly downward. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he looked pissed off. I returned his look and gave an exaggerated shrug, and his jaw tightened further still. It was actually strangely satisfying. Yeah, that's right, I can have fun with other people too.

  Our staring contest was interrupted by Charlie calling for both fighters to assume their positions. Logan's gaze lingered a moment longer, then he turned to face his opponent. Caesar studied him, still wearing the same look of casual superiority. It felt bitchy, but there were a few moments in there where I actually didn't hate the thought of seeing Logan get knocked on his ass.

  The bell rang, and the fight was on. It started slowly, the two men circling one another, probing and testing with short sharp attacks. They seemed almost evenly matched. Caesar's long arms gave him superior reach, letting him fling fists at Logan from relative safety, but Logan was much faster, almost impossibly so for a man of his size, and those blows only found empty air. The smugness gradually fell from Caesar's face as he realized this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

  As the clock ticked, the ferocity intensified. Logan paced around the ring slowly, methodically, but then with scorpion speed, his body would uncoil like a spring, unleashing a vicious blur of muscle and bone. The two fighters found their rhythm and their attacks began to connect. Caesar threw a monster of a punch, the kind that looked like it would shatter concrete, and for a heartbeat it seemed like it was going to end things on the spot, but Logan dropped his body low and the bigger man's fist glanced off his shoulder. Logan used that momentum to drive himself forward, unleashing a staggering uppercut of his own. Caesar twisted, but the blow still caught him on the side of his stomach. I couldn't help but wince at the impact. Nobody should have been still standing after a punch like that, but Caesar recovered quickly, darting backward with a growl and raising his guard once more. I began to feel light headed and realized I was holding my breath.

  I tried forcing myself to think about what I'd seen the previous night, but my brain and my hormones were two totally different beasts. Watching Logan's muscles flex and explode as he tried to pummel his opponent into the ground was one of the hottest things I'd ever seen. My whole body felt flushed. Moisture pooled between my legs.

  They traded blows until the bell rang again, neither making any effort to take the fight to the ground. I got the sense that this had become about more than simply winning. This was something masculine and primal, and they were going to beat each other with their fists until one man was on the floor.

  Back in their corners, they both shone with sweat, but looked focused and full of energy. Caesar simply stared at his opponent while his coach whispered advice in his ear, but from the moment Logan sat down, his gaze never left me. It was actually making me uncomfortable, but there was nowhere to go, so I just stared back.

  "Looks like you've got a friend," said Jonah.

  "Looks that way," I replied.

  He paused for several seconds looking poised to speak. "What's the deal with you two anyway? For a while I thought you were hooking up on the sly, but then last night I saw him hitting it off with Chrissy, so..."

  I let out a long breath. "That's her name?"

  "Yeah. She's around the bar quite a lot. Has a bit of a reputation for being...extra friendly, if you catch my drift."

  I did, and it made my stomach twist. I'd done my best to convince myself their conversation hadn't been what it seemed, but that was basically a waste of time now. How could I have been so wrong about Logan? Was I really such a bad judge of character? He'd seemed so genuine, and the spark between us seemed so fierce.

  Jonah must have read the turmoil on my face. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. Logan's eyes followed the gesture, his nostrils flaring, but his anger only fueled my own. He had no right to be pissed. No fucking right at all.

  "I didn't mean to upset you," Jonah continued. "I was just passing the time. We can talk about something else."

  I shrugged. I was so damned sick of bottling everything up, of being pitied and tiptoeing around everything. "It's okay. I thought maybe there was something there, but apparently I was wrong."

  Jonah chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully for a moment. "Fair enough." His grin reappeared. "Well, if you feel like making him jealous, you know where to come."

  Perhaps the heat in Logan's gaze should have told me not to prod the bull, but he'd hurt me, and in that moment all I wanted was to do the same to him. Reaching out, I looped my fingers through Jonah's and turned toward him, doing my best to smile seductively. "That's very generous of you."

  Of course, I had no intention of taking him up on his offer. All I wanted was to provoke a little more of a reaction in Logan. Unfortunately, I got much more than I bargained for.

  As I watched him out of the corner of my eye, the bell sounded to start the next round. He lunged to his feet, tearing his eyes from me just long enough to unleash a staggeringly quick blow straight at Caesar's head. The bigger man stood no chance. He didn't even have time to raise his hands. One moment he was bouncing lightly on his feet, the next he was a crumpled heap on the floor. The crowd sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, then erupted, but Logan seemed utterly oblivious.

  The menace radiating off him as he strode toward us was almost palpable. Jonah felt it, pulling his hand away and recoiling, but there was nowhere to go. We were both trapped back here. Fish in a barrel.

  "You stay away from her." Logan's voice was low, like scraping gravel, a sound that seemed to echo up from the floor around him.

  Jonah eyes were wide as saucers. He nodded rapidly. I didn't blame him. This wasn't just some bar room pissing contest. One look at Logan's clenched jaw and balled fists and you knew he was taking the phrase "deadly serious" to a whole new level.

  But he wasn't the only one in the depths of full blown rage. "What the fuck are you doing, Logan?" Despite the fact that I was screaming, my voice was nearly lost in the roar of the crowd. "You don't get to decide who I can and can't talk to. Hell, you don't get to decide anything I do."

  He turned his gaze to me, his brow furrowing. There was a kind of madness playing across his face, a desperate confusion, like he was only a passenger and some other dark force was driving his body. I began wondering for the first time if perhaps he really was unbalanced. His behavior made no sense.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again, seemingly lost for words.

  "Say something for Christ's sake," I said. I felt physically ill. Nobody had ever created such conflict in me. I wanted to just be angry, but it was muddied by a host of other emotions all raging like a whirlpool inside me.

  The cheering in the background began to drop to hushed whispers as people realized there was something going on beyond the usual celebrations. Several seconds passed in silence with Logan's eyes boring into mine, then, without another word, he spun and made a beeline for the exit. He broke into a jog, passing Caesar's still limp body without any acknowledgment.

  Charlie stood in the center of the ring, microphone in hand, apparently torn between following his friend and assuaging the crowd. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I had to do.

  There was no doubt in my mind about where Logan was going. When I walked in through the gym doors, he was already working the bag. He hadn't even bothered to switch on the lights. He just stood there punching in the dark, a formless, staccato hammering sound.

  He must have heard me come in, but he didn't stop.

  "What the fuck, Logan?" I said again, after a couple of seconds.

  My eyes were adjusting now, the room gradually taking shape in the moonlight around me. Logan continued to attack the bag, throwing hi
s whole body into every blow as though his life depended on it.

  "Hey, I'm talking to you," I said, walking around until I was directly in his line of sight. "You can't punch your way out of this conversation."

  He slowed, finally meeting my eyes. For a man who'd just won the biggest fight of his career, he looked awfully defeated. "I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry? Seriously? That's not even close to good enough. Who do you think you are going all alpha male over me? You don't own me!"

  His fists dropped to his sides. He looked almost ready to dispute that, but then he squeezed his eyes shut and drew a deep breath. "I know. I just saw you with him and I lost control."

  "Understatement of the year. Christ, I can't deal with this anymore. You know I can't. I'm barely keeping it together as it is." I knew if we kept on this way, I'd break down again. It was time to put all of my cards on the table. "You said you wanted to help me, but all you do is mess with my head. You nearly kiss me, then act like nothing happened. You pick up some floozy right in front of me, then make Jonah shit his pants just for talking to me. How the fuck am I supposed to interpret any of that?"

  Logan's expression looked pained now. "I didn't pick up Chrissy," he said, after a few seconds. "I mean, I did, but nothing happened. I changed my mind a few minutes after we left and sent her home."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "It didn't feel right."

  I searched his eyes for hints of deception, but found none. I believed him. A wave of relief washed over me, the strength of which was almost frightening. "So why chat her up at all?" I asked.

  "I needed to distract myself."

  "From what?"

  There was a long pause, long enough that I thought maybe I wasn't getting an answer, but then he spoke. "From you."

  My stomach constricted. As guilty as it made me feel, it was exactly what I wanted to hear. "Why would you need to do that?"

  He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, are you going to make me say it?" He stepped closer. "Because I can't stop thinking about you, Grace. Because I'm afraid of what I might do around you. Christ, the other night you poured your heart out to me, and all I could think about was pushing you up against the wall and..." He closed his eyes momentarily and swallowed hard. "Look, I know you don't want the things I want. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just trying to keep my shit under control. You're doing so well, and I want to keep helping you. I thought maybe that was the answer, that it had just been too long since I got laid. But when the time came, I couldn't do it."

  Well, shit. My mouth felt impossibly dry, my skin tingling with the promise of that unfinished sentence. That hunger was stirring inside me again, cavernous and irresistible.

  "Who says I don't want the things you do?" I asked, my voice shaking ever so slightly.

  He frowned. "You did, a few weeks ago. In fact you went to pains to tell me how you weren't in that place right now."

  "Maybe...maybe I've changed my mind."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  I gave a tiny shake of my head. It felt like a big gesture, one that should have set the earth shaking and the sky falling, but it was strangely liberating at the same time. A moment of clarity in an ocean of confusion. I wanted him. I couldn't deny that anymore. I wanted everything those absent words implied. His hands on my body, his lips on mine. I knew that given a few days, a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, my pain and self-loathing would resurface and start sabotaging this again, but right now I was free of that.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I lunged toward him. He was so tall that I had to stretch up onto my toes, wrapping my hands around his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. It sent a powerful longing through me, that height, that sheer bulk. I normally hate to be reminded how diminutive I am, but I liked how small he made me feel. There was something strangely comforting about it.

  His body stiffened and he mumbled a curse against my lips. For a moment, he barely moved. I could feel the war playing out behind his eyes. But then the fight drained out of him, and his arms enveloped me as he began kissing me back with an urgency strong enough to be almost frightening. Part of me expected it to feel wrong, a betrayal of everything I'd had with Tom, but instead my body simply melted against his like it had always been there, and all other thoughts disappeared.

  All my other first kisses had been timid affairs, but this was something else entirely, fierce and hungry; an explosion of everything that was simmering inside us. Though I'd initiated it, Logan quickly seized control. This wasn't a man who simply stood by and had things happen to him. Leather-rough palms ran amok across my back and shoulders, pulling me against him as though he was afraid I'd be snatched away at any moment. I moaned involuntarily into his mouth as his tongue darted and teased. In some distant part of me I felt ashamed, but it was dwarfed by the fire that was coursing through my veins. I'd never been kissed like that before. Not by Tom. Not by anybody. It felt like a matter of need rather than want. Life or death.

  I'd seen him shirtless plenty of times of course, but the sight was different now. Erotic, sensual, and above all, mine. I could barely breathe for how magnificent he looked. Sculpted and tanned and lit with moonlight; a living breathing Greek statue. I wanted to touch all of him, to feel each inch between my fingers, in my mouth, in every part of me. I'd never been so intoxicated by another human being.

  My hands took on a mind of their own, dancing hungrily across his bare chest. His muscles were so hard, like his entire body was just skin stretched over stone sculpture. Everything inside me seemed to clench as my fingers took it all in, the perfectly defined grooves between his pecs and his abs, the mountainous curl of his biceps. He was still slick with sweat and hot from the night's exertion, but that only excited me more. Images played through my head of him in the arena, his body a perfect primal machine, leveling all of that power at his opposition.

  My lack of control seemed to trigger something in Logan. He reached for my shirt, tugging it over my head, and then his hands turned ravenous, squeezing my breasts, my ass, the curve of my hips. It felt like his fingers were everywhere at once, and my body tingled and burned in response. It was so good to be touched again. I hadn't realized how long it had been or how much I missed it, but there was something exquisite about it — a tactile euphoria that kept me centered in that perfect moment and scattered all my problems to the wind.

  He broke away, breathing heavily, his face twisted into some bizarre combination of pain and desire. Pressing his forehead against mine he locked eyes with me. "Are you sure?" His voice was low, the primordial growl of a man who was just below the cusp where words were no longer relevant.

  "I'm sure."

  For a few seconds he simply stared, pinning me in place with that penetrating gaze, but eventually he nodded and his eyes turned smoky once more. Scooping me up like I weighed nothing, he carried me toward the mats and threw me down. There was a desperation to his actions now, a kind of voracious animal certainty that stoked something deep inside me.

  He studied me with undisguised lust. I could feel his eyes ravishing my body, as though he were taking me with a mere gaze. It had been a lifetime since anyone had looked at me like that. It made me feel nervous and sexy and powerful, all at once.

  "Take off your bra," he said. There was no question in his voice now. This was a command, and one I felt compelled to obey.

  He let out a long breath as my breasts fell free. "Fuck you're beautiful," he said, and then like a panther he was on top of me. With my body pinned under his weight, I could barely move; a helpless little thing trapped beneath this powerful network of muscle. I'd never been with someone as strong as Logan, someone as potent and dangerous. It was exhilarating. This was a man capable of taking whatever he wanted from just about anyone, and now all his attention was focused on me.

  He began kissing his way downward; my neck, my shoulders, the dip of my collarbone. The softness of his lips and the hunger of his movements created a delicious contrast that seemed to
roll through every fiber of me. A moan escaped my lips as he took one nipple in his mouth, teasing with his teeth and flicking with his tongue until I thought I was going to explode. How the hell could something so simple feel so good? He shifted to the other breast, his movements rough and hungry, and I arched beneath him, lost in the sensation of his mouth.

  With his body pressed up against mine, I could feel his hard-on through his shorts, hot and needy. I loved the way he ground it against me, stroking me with it, as if it was a promise. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything. The wetness that had been building between my legs went into overdrive.

  I barely noticed as his hands slipped lower still, deftly unfastening my jeans and sliding them free. It felt so right, so natural. He paused momentarily on his knees, studying me with wide eyes as I lay spread-eagled and shameless before him. I felt a moment of guilt once more, but I shoved it away. I wanted this as much as Logan did, and I had to take ownership of that, to acknowledge what I was doing or I didn't think I'd ever be able to move on.

  "Stand up," I said.

  An amused little smile appeared on his face, but he did as I asked. The bulge at the front of his shorts threatened to burst through the material at any moment. With trembling fingers I reached for his waistband and pulled, and his erection sprang up before me.

  Desire surged in my stomach. Like the rest of him it was huge and beautiful, flushed red with blood and perfectly smooth. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but reach for it, drawing a low growl of pleasure from his lips. He was wide enough in the middle that my fingers didn't even wrap all the way around. I stroked gently up and down, savoring the searing heat of it, the trembling hardness, the way it seemed to grow in my hand. I could feel the steady pounding of his pulse through the thin skin. Having all of that inside me was almost too much to contemplate.

  I could have played with it for hours, but apparently he had other ideas. "Enough," he said, seizing my hands and pulling them free.