by L. A. Fiore
As soon as I enter, I perk up, and not in a good way, because I smell something that is not as bad a smell as the dreaded swordfish, but it’s pretty damn close. While attempting to breathe only through my mouth, I finally take in the scene before me. And I almost laugh out loud.
Logan is standing next to George, both wearing bright-red aprons and looking at a cookbook with matching expressions of panic. On the counter in front of them is flour, sugar, eggs, and butter, so I can only assume they’re preparing to bake a cake, but for what?
I’m about to walk over and ask, when George says to Logan, “I think this is the most ridiculous thing Chastity has ever asked me to do. How did you get roped into this?”
“I told her I planned on putting down roots here and I wanted to have a more active role in the community. I didn’t realize at the time that would include creating a kelp cake. What exactly is a kelp cake?”
George rubs a hand over his head. “I’ve got to tell ya, I’ve no idea.”
I bump a sheet pan on the counter as I walk toward them, earning the attention of both of them. “Are you kidding? Chastity has you baking a kelp cake? Who the hell is going to eat a kelp cake?”
“That’s what I tried to tell her, but she was adamant,” George says.
Narrowing my eyes at George, I say, “If there is kelp cake, then there must be a festival lurking in the very near future. Chastity wasn’t serious in that meeting about an actual festival for seaweed, was she?”
“’Fraid so. In just under four weeks. She wants us to practice making the cake.”
“So not only are you to make a kelp cake, but you are to perfect the kelp cake?”
George sighs. “Yeah.”
My gaze moves to Logan. “And you are okay with this?”
He leans his hip on the counter and grins. “I’m just trying to do my duties as a citizen of Harrington.”
“It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I mutter but walk around the counter and wedge myself between them to look at the cookbook.
“So what? You’re thinking a basic vanilla cake batter and then adding the kelp?”
Logan leans slightly in my direction so I can feel the heat coming from his body. Okay, maybe standing this close to him is a bad idea, since thoughts of the other night are chasing every other thought from my head. He seems to know the impact he’s having on me. His hand comes to rest on the small of my back, which immediately sends heat up and down my spine. I grip the counter to keep myself steady. He only says one word, but so deep and soft that my toes curl, “Yes.”
“It’s really rather warm in here, isn’t it?” Did I just say that out loud?
“I’m actually cold,” George points out innocently. He goes to the other counter to get the baking powder, and Logan uses that opportunity to lower his head so his lips brush against my ear. Clearly he’s thinking about the other night too.
“I want to see you tonight.”
My knees go weak. George returns with the baking powder, oblivious to the sexually charged air around him. “What do you think, Saffron?”
I think I’m going to weep. Logan leans back against the counter as cool as can be and mimics George when he asks, “Yeah, Saffron, what do you think?”
He isn’t fooling me because, while his voice is even, his eyes are wild. Since I believe in paybacks, I reach across Logan for the vanilla extract, making sure I press as much of myself against his hard body as possible. The aroused grumble that comes from Logan makes me feel rather smug and one look at him confirms that he is far from feeling cool. Good.
“Oh, please excuse me,” I tease.
I can’t make out a curse, but he definitely hisses through his teeth. Satisfied that I have thrown him off balance, I return my attention to the cake.
“I think vanilla is too bland a flavor and will become completely overpowered by the godforsaken kelp. However, if you make a more intense-flavored cake, like a spiced cake—carrot cake—I think you may be able to pull it off. We’ll need to puree the kelp and make sure we balance the wet and dry ingredients to compensate.”
Logan drapes his arm around my shoulders and looks past me to George. “I think we just found our savior.”
George exhales before he replies, “Amen.”
The kelp cake, and I will deny helping if asked, turns out to be very tasty. Chastity arrives not long after we finish and can’t stop raving about it. We write down the recipe for future reference before saying good-bye to George. As soon as Logan and I step out into the early night air, I think of Frank.
“Do you have any contacts in Boston?”
He responds first with a slight raising of his eyebrow and then he asks, “Why?”
“I would like to find if Margaret’s sister is still alive or at the very least where Margaret is buried. Her death records aren’t online. I’ve already looked.”
He stops walking and turns to me. “You want to bury Frank with Margaret.” He isn’t asking.
“Yes.”
His thumb brushes along my jaw in the sweetest caress. “He would have wanted that. I know a few people. We’ll find her sister if she’s still alive, and if not, we’ll locate Margaret’s grave.”
“Thank you.”
We continue on in silence, which is broken when Logan says, “I’m not always going to do or say the right thing. I may shut you out or close off, I may even try to push you away, but I need you to know, Saffron, that you are the point I will always come back to.” His eyes find mine. “You are my home.”
Choking on the emotions that intimate glimpse into him stirs, all I can offer in return is, “And you are mine.”
Arriving at my house, I want nothing more than to make love to him. Leading him inside to my room, I guide him to the bed. When he’s sitting, I reach for his hands and move them up my body, under my shirt until he’s cupping my breasts. Stepping closer, he responds by squeezing me gently. When he yanks my shirt over my head and rips my bra from me, anticipation escapes on a moan. His focus is completely on his fingers that are twisting and tugging on my nipples. He squeezes them, his tongue touching the tip, teasing. Straddling his one leg, I start to rub myself against him to ease the ache between my thighs. Releasing my nipples, his tongue flicks one before he lightly bites me and then he sucks me deep into his mouth. Needing to possess every part of him, to brand him mine, I find the hard ridge pressing against his fly and rub him through the denim. Flipping the snap on my jeans, his hand slips into my pants, between my legs, so I’m riding his fingers. He pushes two into me as his thumb works that nub. I feel the orgasm but I don’t want to come yet. Kneeling down between his legs, my fingers work his button and zipper to free him. Pulling his jeans down, I stare at the part of him I want to taste. Hard and thick and yet I know he’ll feel as smooth as silk against my tongue. Lifting my eyes to his, I lean closer just as he shifts onto the edge of the bed and slides right into my mouth. His hands fist into my hair, a primal growl rumbles in the back of his throat. My grip on his thighs is so hard I’m probably leaving bruises, but I can’t get enough of him. He’s getting close, I can feel his body tightening with his orgasm and I know he wants to pull me up his body, but I can’t stop. I want his taste in my mouth, want to feel him lose control. Reaching for the sac between his legs, I squeeze him and he comes.
He grabs me and tosses me on the bed. In what seems like a blink of an eye, he finishes undressing himself and me.
“Spread your legs wider,” he orders, and I obey.
“So pretty. Where do you want me?”
My fingers move between my legs where I am so wet and ready.
Reaching for those fingers, he brings them to his mouth and licks off my taste. This sampling has clearly fueled the beast because in the next second, his face is buried between my legs.
“Oh God, yes.” My hips jerk, lifting off the mattress because his tongue feels so fucking good. He flicks it across that sensitive nub as his fingers tease before slipping in. He works me until he
feels the tremors and then he sucks hard on that pulsing point as three fingers impale me and I come on a cry. He doesn’t wait for my orgasm to end before he moves up my body, settles himself between my thighs, and thrusts into me. He must feel the orgasm ripping through me because he speeds up his thrusts to prolong it. And then he bends my legs, opening me wider for him, as his hips move harder and faster until his own orgasm rips through him. He drops down, cradled by my body, and just breathes me in.
He starts to move but I whisper, “Don’t pull out yet.”
Wrapping my legs around him, he rolls so that I’m on top, my legs on either side of his hips, my head resting over his heart. He pulls the covers over us and in a few minutes, I am sound asleep.
Logan is sleeping. He’s lying on his stomach so his back is exposed for my viewing pleasure. My fingers itch to touch him, so I do, running my fingertips over his smooth, warm skin. My lips replace my fingers as I press a kiss on his lower back, right on the deep groove of his spine, before working my way up. Just as I place a kiss on his neck, he moves fast and cages me with his body. I get only a second to see that beautiful face, tense with desire, before his mouth covers mine. By the time he ends the kiss and rolls over to sit up, I’m fairly brain-dead. He tugs on his jeans and stands, reaches for his T-shirt, and pulls it over his head. The play on his muscles with that simple act almost has me weeping when he’s completely covered.
“Why did you get dressed?” Because frankly I’m not done with him yet, not even close.
“We should take Reaper for a walk.”
Now? I’m a boneless bundle and he wants to stretch his legs? Fine. I climb from the bed and slip on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, pull my hair into a ponytail, and start from the room, but Logan hasn’t made any attempt to leave the room, even though he is so eager to walk Reaper.
“What is going on with you?” I ask.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers. Unbelievable, it appears that he’s struck shy. He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks down a second before looking up at me through his lashes. “I want to walk Reaper because my instinct is to not let you out of this room, ever. Knowing Frank had this and lost it, the idea of losing you, of losing us . . . I want to keep you locked away with me, safe.”
Not shy: vulnerable, and maybe a little scared, but why? I don’t get the sense his concern is a general one, but something specific he wants to protect me from. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I don’t want to spoil the mood, so I express his heartfelt words in a different way. “I love you too.”
Reaper loves to chase everything: the birds, the sand, the water, and even things that I can’t see. This makes me wonder if he can see dead things. He is also fast—so fast I fear if he ever took off I’d never be able to catch him; but as much as he loves to run, he always comes back.
Logan’s hand is wrapped around mine and he seems just as captivated by Reaper as me. We walk along while Reaper’s sleek puppy body winds in and around us. It’s quiet and so peaceful, but I won’t lie, there’s a part of me worrying now too. What brought on that moment in the bedroom? Not that it wasn’t a beautiful moment, but it was definitely fueled by something.
Logan lightly tugs on my arm. “When would you like to go see your house? I thought we might go next weekend.”
“I’d like that. My schedule is flexible, so I can leave whenever.”
He stops and picks up a stick, tossing it into the air for Reaper, who takes off after it like a bullet. He is great at catching the sticks, but bringing them back is something we have to work on. At home when we play, once Reaper finds his treasure, he hoards it in his favorite spot under the kitchen table. And after Logan and I christened that table, yeah, it’s my favorite spot now too.
Logan asks, “Can you swing taking the week following that off too?”
“Why?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“No hint?”
“No. Can you?”
“Yeah, I think Tommy will be fine with that, but you’re not going to leave me in suspense, are you? It’s going to kill me having to wait a week.”
He’s walking backward now, just in front of me, keeping an eye on Reaper, who went to retrieve the stick he just tossed. “A week in suspense never killed anyone.”
“Nothing I can do will persuade you to tell me?”
Considering my last attempt at persuasion, I get the wicked look that flashes over his face. “I will certainly not discourage you from trying to persuade me. The more varied and inventive your methods, the better, but I won’t break.”
“Tease. What do you have to do today?”
“I’ve a few calls to make. What about you?” He’s vague in answering. Could whatever it is he needs to do be related to his need to keep me safe?
“I don’t have work tonight so I’m probably going to veg out and watch a movie. Want to stay? We can cuddle up on the sofa and watch something scary?”
“Veg out?”
“Stay in your pj’s for the day. You’ve never done that?”
“No.”
“I have, and often; especially when I’m watching movies, pj’s are required.”
“Is this a law or just a guideline?”
I love that he’s teasing me. “Guideline, but I’m working on passing it into law.”
He responds with more than a grin but not quite a chuckle. “I’ll stay and watch a movie with you.”
The urge to exhale in relief almost has me doing so. Can’t deny I’m a bit on edge. Logan’s not the type to worry, so the fact that he’s a bit off probably means there’s a good reason for it. Eventually I’m going to have to pry it out of him, but not today, so I switch gears. “Yay! And since you don’t have pj’s you can watch in the nude.”
My feet are no longer on the ground and the air escapes my lungs in a rush since I’m now over Logan’s shoulder. I’m laughing as Logan walks us back to my house. “If I’m going to be naked, so are you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frank’s house in Upper Nyack, New York, looks very much like the house from the Julia Roberts movie Stepmom in its magnificence. The place is right on the Hudson River on a nice lot with about five or six acres. It’s not hard to imagine kids sitting around the yard, maybe a barbecue going, even a softball game.
Logan is walking along the perimeter doing whatever it is men do when they’re checking out property. I turn back to the house. Dean explained that Frank’s house was bought as an investment—a rental property. Why this house? Was it the type of home he and Maggie dreamed of owning? I step up onto the porch just as Logan comes up beside me.
“Are you ready to go inside?”
I had gotten the keys from Dean after confirming that the house is currently unoccupied. I nod and Logan unlocks the door and holds it open for me. The place is completely empty, but still charming with walnut floors and walls that are painted in a mossy green with creamy-white trim work.
“It’s been kept in really great shape, most of the bones have been updated lately.” Logan makes this observation but I’m not really listening because I can see it, in my head—Dupree House. Teenagers sitting at the bar in the kitchen doing homework, relaxing in the living room between classes or at the end of the day, holing up in the library reading. But beyond seeing that, I can see Frank and Maggie, building a life here. Having all of their children brought home from the hospital to this house, having all the major moments in a life here, surrounded by heart and home.
“Saffron?”
“He missed out on so much.”
“Frank?”
“Did he see himself in a home like this with Maggie? If he had, and knowing Frank, he had, he never heard the sound of his children’s feet running down those stairs on Christmas morning. He didn’t play hide-and-seek with them in that yard or celebrate birthdays in the kitchen. He chose to not live life after he lost her. He chose to exist, to survive, but not to live.”
“He did, though, Saffron. He did all of
that with you.”
“But I wasn’t his child.”
“Family is more than blood. He chose to live for you. He loved you so much that he pulled himself from his heartache for you.”
“I changed my last name to Dupree.” I realize I’ve blurted that out when Logan lifts a brow at me. “Dean drew up the papers. It was made official a few days ago.”
“Like I said, family is more than blood. Frank would have liked that, very much. When we get back, we can start on the plans for the Dupree House.” There was a note of reverence in his tone.
“We?”
“Was there ever a question?”
Love wraps around me and squeezes. “No.”
“Broderick and Dante are good resources, working the legal parts, and before you say anything, they will definitely want to help.”
“Okay, once we get back we get the ball rolling.”
We leave Frank’s house in the rental car Logan arranged for us when we arrived earlier and head off to my big surprise. “Since the day has arrived, are you going to tell me?”
“And spoil the surprise now that it’s so close? No way.”
Turning my head to stare out the window, I mutter, “You sure know how to keep a secret.”
“Hm? I didn’t quite make that out.”
Gloating, I am certain there’s gloating in his tone, and despite myself my lips curve up. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How have you managed to keep Logan and David separate?”
The tensing of his shoulders is a clear indication that the subject is not a pleasant one for him. “Never mind. We don’t have to talk about it.”
He takes my hand in his. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it with you.”
Staring at his face, I wonder if there will ever come a day when I get used to the fact that this man is mine. I kind of hope not. Though his attention is back on the road, I still feel his focus on me.
“It’s a juggling act. The shows I attend are only for David’s work. I don’t make appearances as Logan so no one can place a face with a name. No one’s interested in Logan, he’s just another painter. He doesn’t have David’s checkered past, a sordid past that makes him news to those who hunger for gossip.”