Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

  “I am wet and aching for you. You’re swelling in my mouth. I know you’re getting close, I can feel you getting harder and thicker, can taste the saltiness leaking from the tip.”

  “Fuck, yeah. I’m going to come. Make yourself come, Saffron. I want to hear you come while my seed pumps out of me.”

  My hips rock around my own hand; it feels so good and the nub aches as I squeeze and rub. Oh God. My back arches off the bed. My entire being is locked on his voice and my hand between my legs.

  “I’m coming, Saffron. It’s your body milking me. Come with me.”

  “Oh God, I am.”

  And I do, my body spasms around my fingers just as Logan releases a loud, sexy moan over the line.

  Tingles linger, my breath labors, and, instead of feeling embarrassed by what we just did, I love it. Loved knowing he touched himself, made himself come while thinking about me.

  “That was . . . holy shit, that was fun,” I gasp, nearly breathless, but, holy shit, that really was fun.

  “You sure? It wasn’t too much?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Good. This time when you come, I want to hear you scream.”

  The contractor finished up the work on the house in just under a month. My original plan was to hire an interior designer to furnish the empty house until I realized I already have the perfect person for the job: Josh. He has wonderful taste and he’s family. I’d much rather he decorate Frank’s home than someone who doesn’t know the story behind the house.

  The plan is to take a week measuring rooms, windows, and the like before we start shopping. When the furniture is delivered, Josh and I, and probably the rest of the gang, if I know them, will spend a weekend setting it all up. It’s exciting how close we are to the finish line.

  Broderick and Dante made the trip with us, eager to see the progress on the house, but they left earlier—traveling on to Manhattan to take care of some other business.

  I’m in the basement with Josh checking out the work the contractor and his crew had done—the new bathroom, the soon-to-be media room, and the elevator.

  “This house is amazing. We are going to have a hell of a good time decorating it,” Josh says, his arm draping over my shoulders.

  “I was thinking we could bring the gang for a weekend and put it all together once we’ve got everything purchased.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  “So where do you want to start?” I ask.

  “Down here is good. Let me get my things.”

  At the end of the week, I’m feeling really great about the progress we’re making. The board forwarded several potential candidates for fall matriculation. We have two months before classes start, but I’d like to have the kids move in a week prior. We’re getting close but I think we’re going to make it.

  I owe much of this to Broderick and Dante, who have tirelessly handled all the legal matters. I’ll need to do something for them as a thank-you.

  Josh and I have decided to call it an early night because we’re both so exhausted. Who knew shopping online could be so tiring? Reaching my room at the hotel, all I can think about is dropping on the bed and sleeping for two, maybe three, days. I slip my key card into the slot and the door opens on Logan. I’m convinced I’m daydreaming, so I stare, soaking up the sight of him. But it’s not a dream—Logan pulls me into the room and slams the door shut with his foot. He crushes me against his hard body and fuses his mouth to mine. My hands frantically try to get past the clothes to flesh as we move together toward the bed, trying to disrobe each other without breaking our kiss.

  When he steps back to discard my blouse, his intake of breath makes my toes curl. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  And then we fall onto the bed and our clothes are being tossed here and there. When we’re finally skin to skin, we don’t waste time as Logan moves between my legs and pushes into me in one hard motion. My hips move up, my legs spread wider, and I just close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of being connected to him again. Logan lifts my hips higher and starts to move with deep thrusts in and out. The exquisite movement pushes me over the edge, my body pulsing with my release, seconds before Logan tenses as his orgasm burns through him. He gives me a minute to catch my breath and then he flips me onto my stomach, lifts my hips, and sinks into me again. His mouth is near my ear when he whispers, “I want to hear you scream this time.”

  Déjà vu washes over me at the words from our phone sex. This time it’s so much better.

  I wake to the feel of Logan brushing his fingers over my bare back.

  “If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me.”

  “Not dreaming.”

  Lifting my head, I ask, “Why did you come?”

  “Having you so close, I couldn’t stay away.”

  “Let’s stay here for two, maybe three years.”

  “I’d like that. Broderick stopped by to see me. Dupree House is really coming together.”

  Sitting up, I wrap the sheet around my breasts. Logan doesn’t like this, pulling the sheet from my hand so it settles around my waist. “It’s been too long. Please don’t cover yourself.”

  It’s not so much his words, but his tone is full of longing, and something darker I can’t pinpoint.

  “Tell me about the house?” he asks.

  I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but somehow I know he won’t share. “The contractor’s finished, so the house is now handicap accessible and the basement is finished. We should be ready to open in a month. The students are scheduled to arrive in seven weeks.”

  “You’ve done an amazing job. Frank would be so proud.”

  Those words choke me up a bit. “Thanks.”

  Wrapping my arms around him, my gaze locks on his. “I miss you.”

  “I’m coming home.”

  “Wait. It’s done?”

  “Yes. She’s being institutionalized.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I can’t say. It’s part of the agreement I made. She’s mentally ill, but on her meds, she’s a productive member of society. She needs a chance, once she gets back on track, to have a real shot at a life. I have taken steps though to ensure you’re safe.”

  This person has put us through so much, and yet he can show that kind of compassion. “You’re a good man.”

  “When I come home, I want to marry you in front of everyone, and soon. I’ll tolerate hours, even days, but no longer.”

  “I have my dress and I’ll bribe the pastor with a lifetime supply of Mitch’s lasagna.”

  “Good. I never want to be more than the distance of Harrington from you.”

  “I can get behind that plan.”

  And then he kisses me as he moves his body in the cradle of mine. “My wife.”

  “My husband.”

  “I’ve lived with you and I’ve lived without you. Never going to live without you again.”

  “Thank God, ’cause these months have sucked.”

  “Agreed. Now kiss me and mean it, woman.”

  Logan left earlier, after a weekend of laughing, talking, and loving; he had a pressing meeting that he unfortunately couldn’t miss. Josh had been so surprised to see him when he knocked the morning after our reunion he almost dropped the coffee he was carrying. And then he immediately pulled the door closed and left us alone for the weekend. I felt bad since we purposely chose a flight home on Monday so we could take in some sights in Manhattan over the weekend. Josh didn’t mind at all. He actually insisted we not leave the room. Logan is going to juggle some things so he can pack up and come home. He promised to call later so we can discuss timing for the wedding. Ten minutes after he arrives home is his preference.

  Our flight isn’t for another few hours, so Josh and I head to Dupree House to do one more walk-through. Josh drops me off and takes the rental car to get us coffee because the hotel stuff just isn’t cutting it for him.

  Standing on the front stoop, pride washes over me. The carrier bus Broderick arranged, the one that will dr
ive the students to the various colleges in and around the city, is parked in the driveway I had extended to the side of the house. With the trees and bushes, the bus won’t stand out when it’s parked there.

  Keying into the house, the smell of freshly cut wood greets me. Some of the molding needed to be replaced. The fireplaces have been cleaned and inspected. I replaced all the appliances in the kitchen and put a new washer and dryer in the mudroom.

  Each of the four bedrooms will have bunk beds, two students per room. The other two rooms will be for the den mothers, the women who’ll be staying to cook meals, help with homework, etc. The responses to the job were impressive, especially with a job that requires so much of someone.

  I do a quick walk-through before I head for the front door, and that’s when I smell the smoke. Running through the house, I see nothing until I look out back to the small shed I had built to store the grill, sports equipment, and bikes. Without another thought, I run out back to the shed. Yanking the door open, I just stare at the fire burning in the middle of the concrete floor. What the hell? And then I’m pushed, hard, in the back, just as a laugh sends a chill down my body. I throw my weight against the now-closed door, but it’s solid oak—I asked for only the best. There’s nothing with which to put out the fire, so I stomp on it. The flame licks up my legs, yet I manage to beat it down to a smolder, but the now-smoldering fire clouds the space with that deadly smoke. Hunching down, hoping for clean air, my lungs burn with each inhale.

  My purse is in the living room and my cell is in my purse. There are no windows, only the door that won’t budge. Josh went in search of coffee in an area he is unfamiliar with so he could be awhile and at the rate the smoke is filling the shed, there is a very real possibility of me asphyxiating.

  I can’t believe this is it, that just when my life seems perfect, it ends so horribly, so tragically. Thinking about Logan and what this will do to him gives me a surge of strength. Rolling to my back, I slam my feet into the door over and over again. My chest is on fire, my legs are burning, and the damn door is too solid. I don’t want to die, so I don’t stop slamming my feet into it.

  “Saffron!” Josh’s hysterical call is the sweetest sound I have ever heard.

  “In the shed . . .” Uncontrollable coughing keeps me from finishing.

  In the next second, the door is nearly ripped from its hinges and I’m being yanked into the cool, sweet air.

  “What the hell happened?” Josh is on his knees at my side, his phone in his hand dialing 911 at the same time. “What the fuck happened?”

  “Someone started a fire in the shed and locked me in there.”

  Immediately he looks around. “Did you see who did it?”

  “No, I only heard her laugh.” But I know exactly who did this. Logan and I thought it was over, but it’s definitely not over. His fear of her escalating if she knew we were still together proves rather intuitive.

  “You could have died.”

  “I think that was the plan.”

  Logan charges into my room at the hospital like a raging bull. Fear, anguish, and fury pulse off him. He yanks me into his arms, almost dislodging all the tubes and monitors I’m hooked up to, holding me tightly against his chest, his heart pounding so hard.

  “Are you okay?”

  And then he releases me and looks me over, running his hands over me to make sure I’m really here and okay. Menacing is the word to describe the expression that floods his face at the sight of my bandaged legs. Moving his gaze up to mine, he kisses me, a deep, desperate kiss, before he pulls away.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He steps out of my room and I hear bits and pieces of his conversation with Josh.

  “Too fucking close . . . second degree . . . definitely intentional . . . a two-by-four jammed against the door.”

  Stepping back into my room Logan displays a look deadlier than any I’ve ever seen before. He settles next to my bed and takes my hand. When he does finally speak, I don’t recognize his voice with the emotion choking him.

  “She almost killed you. She tried to fucking kill you.”

  “Who, who is she?”

  He stands up so fast, his hands fisting. “She won’t stop. She won’t ever fucking stop. If Josh hadn’t arrived at the moment he did, if he had gotten stuck at just one light . . . fucking Christ. This shit is done. She isn’t going to get another shot at you. No fucking way.”

  “Logan, you’re scaring me. What the hell are you going to do?”

  “Whatever the fuck I have to do to make sure you’re safe.”

  He’s across the room and his mouth is on mine in a heartbeat. Warm hands on my cheeks, tongues warring, but it isn’t just a kiss—it’s a pledge, a vow. His eyes turn almost black when he pulls from me, his fingertips pressing into my neck. “Love you. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Logan, what are you going to do?”

  He starts from the room and I try to pull the damn cords off me so I can stop him. At the door, he turns to me, and I see the tears in his eyes. “Mine, only you, always you.” He kisses his two fingers and then he’s gone.

  “Logan! Josh, damn it, stop him.” I finally manage to free myself. Nurses come running in, but I push past them and stumble out of my room, but the corridor is empty. Limping down the hall, I don’t even know I’m crying until I can’t see.

  “Saffron, what’s wrong?” Josh runs after me. “Why are you out of bed?”

  “Where’s Logan? We have to find him.”

  Josh grabs my arms. “Calm down, Saffron. You’re going to hyperventilate.”

  “He’s going to do something stupid.” My body starts to shake uncontrollably. Logan being Logan, there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I’ve been home for a week with no word from Logan. His brothers, after a frantic call from me at the hospital, went to New York to track him down. So far, they’ve been unable to find him. It’s like a cloud hanging over me—I just know something really bad is going to happen. My fear is that Logan will retaliate against the woman targeting us, acting out of emotion, and make matters even worse. And Logan in jail for life is definitely worse.

  My friends, trying to take my mind off of it and convinced that Logan is just cooling off, are encouraging me to continue on with our plans for the wedding. We’re setting up picnic tables right off my back patio for the reception, but I’m just not into it. I’m angry that Logan left the way he did, angry that he didn’t tell me what he was up to, angry that I’m angry.

  A movement at the back door announces Broderick and Dante. Finally, they found him. I hope Logan is with them, because I am seriously considering shoving my size seven up his ass.

  “Saffron. I don’t even know how to say this,” Broderick starts, but chokes up as tears fill his eyes.

  “Broderick, what is it?” I turn to Dante. “What?”

  “It’s Logan. He was on his way here. He decided to drive through the night. The police say it looks like he lost control of his car and it veered off the road and”—Dante can barely get the last words from his lips—“his car went over the cliff.”

  I can’t feel my body and my heart doesn’t seem to be pumping hard enough to get blood to my brain, because I am not making any sense of Dante’s words. “What are you saying?”

  Dante’s voice barely breaks a whisper. “Saffron, Logan’s dead.”

  Gasps come from behind me, but I barely register them because shock has shut down my brain.

  That night all the news channels are running the banner of the death of David Cambre, dead at the age of thirty-six—a genius taken before his time.

  Sitting on my sofa, I’m silently fuming because of all the idiotic ways Logan could have handled this, he choses to fake his own death. When I see him again, we will be having words. Why he didn’t just tell me what he was up to, I can’t say, but talk about drastic . . . I should have guessed. He said he’d do anything, said it often, which should have clued me
in that he was planning something harebrained. I stand.

  “Saffron, honey, where are you going?” Gwen hasn’t left my side, none of my friends have.

  “He isn’t dead. He planned this.”

  Tommy steps in front of me and takes my hands. “Saffron, Logan’s gone.”

  “I’m telling you, he planned this. He isn’t dead. He’ll wish he was when I get my hands on him.”

  I don’t miss the looks I’m getting, the ones that fear I’m slipping from reality, that I’m so consumed with grief that I’ve lost touch. No point in arguing. They’ll see when Logan returns.

  “Saffron, you have to face this,” Tommy says gently.

  My face gets right up into his. “I promise you, he is not dead. He’s coming back to me.” I say no more on the subject and head outside with my dog to wait for Logan to come home to me.

  The next night Logan’s parents arrive. I desperately want to tell them my theory because I can’t bear watching their grief. Logan will hear about this too, what he put his family through. I don’t miss the looks, why I’m not more broken up over the news of Logan’s death. I won’t mourn him, I’ve already had to do that with someone I loved. I’m not about to fake it for the one person I love most in this world.

  The Coast Guard dredges the ocean for a week looking for Logan’s body. They aren’t going to find it. I’m sitting in my living room when there is a knock at the door. A few minutes later, Sheriff Dwight enters the room with two people I don’t recognize, but they’re wearing state police uniforms.

  “Evening.” Sheriff Dwight is running his hand nervously over the rim of his hat. “These gentlemen have news on . . . David’s accident.”

  The tension in the room goes way up, everyone staring in wide-eyed fear at our visitors. The one man, the older of the two, starts to talk, his words slowly penetrating my dubious mind.