Chapter Fifteen
I SHOULDN’T HAVE touched her.
I shouldn’t have made love to her in the bathroom.
Logan had berated himself all night after checking in with Marco and the guys down at the police station and learning that Kanets had caved. That’s what Logan had counted on. Now it was up to the system to do the right thing, keep Kutcher behind bars while they investigate and eventually find him guilty and extend his sentence. As much as Logan wanted to blow through the doors of the station and demand that they finish what he started, he knew better. It was time to wait it out and keep Stella safe. They had to be in the city tonight for dinner with his family, but he didn’t want Stella there any longer than necessary. He debated skipping dinner, but after his father died, he’d promised himself he’d never blow off a night with his mother for anything. Logan always kept his promises.
After a shitty night, he and Stella had managed to be cordial this morning, navigating the tension that stilted their small talk over breakfast. He loved her so damn much he ached all over. Being in the same room with her was torture. She looked as distraught as he felt, and he’d had to escape to the porch just to have enough oxygen to breathe. He returned phone calls to distract himself from the trouble between them, and he went over his notes on Kutcher again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Logan never missed things.
But now, hours later, after piddling around in the yard to kill time and chopping more wood than he could ever need, he missed the hell out of Stella. He missed her laugh, the sound of her voice, the feel of her fingers in his.
Shadows crept over his back as the afternoon sun dipped below the tree line. Logan brought the ax down hard, splitting the slab of wood right down the center with a loud crack. His body glistened with the effort. He set up another log and stood back, planting his legs into the earth and swinging the ax for the hundredth time that afternoon. It had yet to touch the frustration coiled in every one of his muscles.
He glanced at the cabin and considered apologizing to Stella for taking things too far last night in the restaurant, but hadn’t he given her a chance to back out? He hadn’t been too full of lust to forget that, but he had obviously been too full of love to misconstrue what last night meant to her, despite what she’d claimed. He’d been making love; she’d been fucking.
He swung the ax again, and the sound of splitting wood echoed in the forest, mirroring the shattering of his heart. He didn’t believe she’d been just fucking. She’d said she felt everything he’d felt, and he wanted to believe that. But why would she tear them apart? Why was she trying to protect him? He didn’t need protecting. He needed her.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his fatigues and set his boots solidly on the ground again, unable to shake the feeling that none of this shit felt right. It hadn’t felt like she was just fucking him last night, no matter what words they’d used, where, or how they’d come together. He wasn’t so messed up that he could have misread her, was he?
He split another log, then rested the ax on his shoulder and wiped his brow with his forearm. None of it mattered. Not why she didn’t love him or why he loved her. All that mattered was keeping her safe. It had to be a mission now, nothing more. And it probably should have been one all along.
He’d fucked up. That was the bottom line. He knew better than to get involved with someone he was protecting, and before Stella he’d been damn good at staying on the right side of that line.
His phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and smiled at his brother’s name on the screen. He needed the distraction.
“Hey, Coop. How’s it going?”
“Just wrapped a photo session with none other than Siena Remington—you know that hotter-than-fuck model?” Logan’s brothers Jackson and Cooper ran one of the most prestigious photography businesses around. They were always shooting famous models and actors.
“The Captain Morgan girl?”
“Yeah, she’s the one. Came with her firefighter fiancé. He was cool, though. I actually pulled him into the shoot. It was hot.”
“Cool. You going to Mom’s for dinner?”
“’Course. That’s why I’m calling. Can you cover cooking tonight? I can’t get over there early enough.”
“Sure. I’m at my cabin, but I’ll be there.”
Stella came out the front door wearing a pair of jeans and a tight tank top. Their eyes caught—and held—blazing a familiar path between them. Logan didn’t drop his gaze. The longer they remained connected, the harder it was to break away—and the deeper her denial cut.
He tore his eyes away, mumbling a curse.
“Did you just curse at me?” Cooper asked.
“No. Just nicked my finger. I’ll be there.”
“Cool. Thanks, man,” Cooper said. “I owe you one.”
Logan shoved his phone in his pocket and paced, willing himself not to look at Stella. No wonder he’d kept his heart on ice for so long. This sucked.
He heard the sound of dry leaves crackling beneath her feet but didn’t turn to greet her. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. The ball was in her court, and it was going to stay there until she made up her mind whether she wanted him or not. He couldn’t play the half-in, half-out game any longer. Logan wanted a committed relationship or nothing.
“I want to have faith in you, but I’m so scared.” Her voice slid over his skin and melted the ice he needed around his heart in order to remain detached. She placed a delicate hand on his arm and walked in front of him, looking up through impossibly long lashes. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been crying.
His heart broke a little more.
“Wanting is a start.” He was putty in her hands. He wanted to be hers.
“I’m sorry. It’s not easy for me. Yesterday…when we—”
“I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I made you feel dirty and cheap, and it was a prick move. I was satisfying my own greediness for you. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair to try to figure out why she had the power to melt his soul to liquid. “I’m sorry.”
“You gave me a choice, Logan.” Her tone was cold and exact.
“And you chose to fuck me. I get it, Stella.” He swung the ax blade into the tree trunk he was using as a mount and headed for the cabin.
“Yes, Logan,” she called after him. “I chose to fuck you.”
Her words shouldn’t sting. He was a man, a soldier. He shouldn’t care if she just fucked him. He’d fucked plenty of women without a second of remorse. But this was Stella, and he did care. He cared a whole fucking hell of a lot.
She fell into stride beside him. “Remember when I said I liked being dirty with you, but not with just any guy? Well, last night I wanted you to fuck me, because when you’re inside me, it doesn’t matter how dirty the words are, or how rough we are with each other. Everything we do feels different. It feels like…”
He stopped walking but didn’t meet her gaze, afraid she’d see the hope in his eyes. Goddamn hope.
“I wasn’t just fucking you, Logan. I was…”
He lifted his gaze at the softening of her tone just in time to see her crinkle her nose and look away, as if she were straining to find the right words.
“Love-fucking you,” she spat.
“Love-fucking?” His shoulders lifted with a silent laugh.
She swatted his arm. “Yes. Love-fucking.”
“What the hell is love-fucking? I think you just coined a new phrase.”
“Love-fucking. You know. When you’re falling for someone but you still want them to fuck you hard. Love-fucking.”
She crossed her arms, then nervously flung them straight again.
“So you’re falling for me, but you don’t want me to love you?” He had no idea what she was trying to say or how to respond.
“You can’t love me, Logan. I’m just telling you that I wasn’t fucking you. I was—”
He held up a hand, not wanting to hear it again. He’d felt the flicker of hope when she’d begun explaining, and now he was done. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw to push his hopes away and regain perspective. He’d like to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized that the heat that sparked every second they were together, and the lust that practically oozed from their skin when they kissed, was real. But he’d no sooner do that than allow himself to hope. He was done with hope. Hope was for losers, just like he’d told her. It was for weak people who couldn’t change a damn thing and looked for some magical element to shift things into place.
This love stuff hurt like hell, and if he had to hope for her love, there was no way he was going to put himself through that sort of torture.
Then why did every ounce of him hope she was telling him the truth?