Chapter 5
As the gateway to the job of her dreams, Logan’s front door was remarkable for its ordinariness. It wasn’t adorned with rainbows, nor was it guarded by unicorns. One of three identical doors on the landing, all of them painted the same shade of dark blue, the only thing that set this one apart was the number, in polished brass characters about four inches high.
In spite of Logan’s advice, she hadn’t slept well, mostly due to berating herself for not going all the way and telling him the real reason she didn’t want to fake it was because she was attracted to him.
After endless tossing and turning, she’d left her bed for the poor substitute of more online research. The floggers, crops and cuffs had been daunting enough, but when she’d reached basic nipple clamps, her courage had wavered for a moment or two. The clover variety had it running for the hills.
Then she’d seen how pretty some of the less vicious types of clamps were, with their crystals and coloured beads. A Dom would select them with care. If he was in love with his sub, he’d choose them to suit her colouring. He’d cup her breast in his palm, cradling the lush curve so he could pinch the nipple. His fingers would be a little rough, a little callused… a little like Logan’s, maybe.
Her breath had stilled. Logan, touching her breast with all the intimacy of a lover. Touching more than her breast, setting her pulse racing and her heart pounding. Only a lover would know how to elicit those responses from her, how to control her pleasure… and have the right to watch her orgasm.
Lucy dragged herself free of the lethal, quicksand-like blurring of memory and imagination. Thanks to heavier than normal traffic, she was already behind schedule, and all this mental procrastination wasn’t helping. She rang the bell. After a few seconds the door opened, and at the sight that met her, she was swallowed up by an avalanche of foreboding.
Logan was half-naked—fortunately, it was the half that wouldn’t offend public decency. With his hair dishevelled and stubble darkening his chin, he was as hot as sin and glowering at her as if she’d dragged him out of bed by the balls. She swallowed hard. A sudden lack of saliva had a lot to do with the muscular chest at which she was staring. Wasn’t staring. Okay, was staring, but didn’t mean to. Sort of.
“You’re late.”
He growled out the words as he turned and strode away from the door. Lucy could only assume he expected her to follow him. She banished all thoughts of sacrificial virgins and fire-breathing dragons before they could send her running for cover. Eyes narrowed, she switched from damsel to knight, bolted on her mental armour, and entered the scaly one’s lair. Tempted though she was to slam the door behind her, she closed it with care, and kept her sarcasm to herself. “The cab got stuck in traffic.”
“Lateness shows a lack of respect—”
“So does turning your back on someone and blaming them for something over which they had no control!” Lucy stopped dead, dropped her bag on the floor, and folded her arms. No way was he walking all over her like that.
He pivoted to face her.
Tension spiked in the stand-off.
She stood her ground.
“You’re right. I apologise.”
“Apology accepted.” She could be gracious. It didn’t stop her being forthright, though. “Do you greet all your visitors like this, or did you save the snarling just for me?”
He hadn’t had this attitude while they’d talked just last night. Mostly, anyway. His initial bluntness had left her flustered. Later, though, after some reflection, she’d concluded that straight-talking was far preferable to all the verbal sidestepping she’d endured in past relationships.
Logan closed the distance between them. The dark intensity swirling around him almost forced her to back away from him. With those muscles, the man looked as if he bench-pressed armoured vehicles for shits and giggles. He picked up her bag as if it weighed nothing. “This way.”
He took her to a bedroom that could have been the before shot in a home improvement magazine. Not that it was any of her business—it wasn’t as if she was moving in lock, stock and barrel.
“When you’ve unpacked, I’ll show you around.”
And then what? “Thanks. I won’t be long.”
She watched Logan leave, then looked around the room again. The average prison cell would probably be marginally more welcoming. Her host might have a guest bedroom, but she’d bet he didn’t get many guests. Female ones, at any rate. Any woman worth her styling products would have put him right about the essentials, like a mirror no more than half a hairdryer cord’s length from a power socket.
But what else could she expect from a bona fide man-cave? The obligatory massive, wall-mounted, flat-screen home cinema system in the main room was hard-to-miss evidence of where Logan’s priorities lay. With a resigned sigh, Lucy unpacked a few essentials and returned to the shrine to high-tech video entertainment.
Logan was noticeable by his absence.
“Lucy?”
The voice came from behind her. She turned. Logan was in the doorway to what must have been his bedroom. He was in the middle of pulling a plain black t-shirt over a set of droolworthy abs. They were a perfect complement to the impressive biceps. And the shoulders. And… had she mentioned the pecs?
“Would you like a coffee?”
Lucy watched him cross the room. “Thanks, but no—I prefer tea.”
“Tea it is, then.” He paused at the entrance to the kitchen and turned back to her. “I left an envelope on the chest of drawers back there.” He nodded in the direction of the room he’d just left. “Would you get it for me, please? And don’t forget to close the door behind you when you come back.”
A somewhat odd request, but since he was going to the trouble of making her a drink, Lucy gave a mental shrug and did as she was asked.
Logan’s bedroom could have been an exemplar in minimalism, but one element took her breath away—the bed. A magnificent four-poster without a canopy, it wasn’t Logan at all. At least, not the Logan she knew from work, and who suited the rest of the man-cave to a T.
An image blasted into her mind, of a different Logan, the one who did match this ebony creation with its silvered rococo scrolls and dark-grey, button-studded, velvet headboard. Lying on his side with his lower half covered by the crisp, grey bed linen, head propped up on his hand, he was looking at her with a blistering, armour-piercing gaze that penetrated her defences with laser-like efficiency. The obsidian glitter made promises she wasn’t sure she wanted him to keep. Heat rushed to her cheeks once more, breaking the spell and reminding her of the errand she had yet to complete.
The envelope was there, propped against a photo frame, just where he’d said it would be. Sealed and blank on both sides, it appeared to contain absolutely nothing.
Her attention boomeranged back to the photo, a subject far more worthy of inspection. The shot was of five young men, head to waist, all dressed in grubby, rumpled camouflage gear. Second from the right was unmistakably Logan, looking young and relaxed… and free of whatever demons now plagued him. He wasn’t so different from her brothers—or hadn’t been, when this was taken. What would it have been like to have met him back then, before whatever had introduced that daunting darkness into his life?
Lucy returned to the kitchen and offered Logan the envelope. He took it from her, tore it in half and half again, and without missing a beat, dropped the pieces into the bin. Open-mouthed, she stared at him, unable to articulate her total bewilderment at what had just happened.
“So, how do you feel?”
“Excuse me?” What did that have to do with anything? “What do you mean? You sent me for an envelope. I presume it’s empty, since you tore it up without opening it. If that’s what you’re talking about, how am I supposed to feel?”
“That was your first lesson in submission.”
Okay, the man was deranged. “But…”
“I told you it’s not all about sex.”
“Service.” She’d read something to that effect on a website, although the details now escaped her. “Is that what that was?”
“I’ll admit it was a fairly rudimentary example. Service exists on both sides of the slash. Go and sit down—I’ll bring your tea and we can talk about it.”
“Thanks. I think.” Lucy headed for the sofa. She needed time out to unscramble what was left of her brain. What had just happened? From her understanding of D/s, which she was beginning to suspect was on a par with her comprehensive knowledge of both brain surgery and rocket science, surely making the drinks was her job, not Logan’s?
“Shouldn’t I be doing that, though?” she called out.
No answer. He mustn’t have heard her. Lucy returned to the kitchen, where Logan was spooning coffee into a mug. A teapot sat to one side. “Isn’t that my job?”
Logan half-turned in her direction. “What did I tell you to do?”
Mystified, Lucy shrugged. “Fetch the envelope for you, and not to forget to close the door behind me afterwards. Then you told me to sit down.”
“And what did you do?”
She’d brought the envelope, closed the door, given him the envelope, and taken a seat. Until she hadn’t had an answer to her question. “I wanted to know if I should make the drinks, but I don’t think you heard me, so I came to ask you.”
“I understand why you did that, but it’s not what a submissive would do. She—or he—would obey the instruction.”
“Even if they thought they should make the drink for their Dom?”
“Even then. Service on both sides of the slash, remember? Serving their Dominant fulfils a submissive, but it doesn’t mean acting as a servant. A sub can serve her Dom by allowing him to take care of her.”
Lucy huffed an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think I will ever get the hang of this.”
“There is no ‘this’ to get the hang of. No ‘one true way’. People make it work whatever way suits them best, and that will be our salvation on the island. For now, we’ll keep it simple. Go back to the sofa and sit down. Now, princess.”
So help her, if he called her that one more time, she’d hit him. The man seemed to have an unholy knack for inciting her to violence.
“Stop grinding your teeth at me. The only reason you haven’t had a good spanking already is because we haven’t agreed on terms yet.”
“What?”
“And don’t shriek, either. You needn’t look so scandalised. Did you think I’d give you some books to read and make you sit an exam at the end? Think again. This course is hands-on all the way, and we don’t have the luxury of failure.”
A few minutes later, Lucy was cradling a mug of tea between her hands. Her palms tingled as she sipped the steaming beverage. This time, her sigh was almost contented. She had to admit Logan could brew a good one. It didn’t change the fact, though, that she suspected she might have made a monumental mistake.
“So what are you thinking now?”
Logan was sitting opposite her. He too held a mug, one that looked large enough to hold a pint. The scent of coffee wafted from it—it might be instant, but it was good-quality instant. She shot him a pointed look, then stared into her drink. “Nothing.”
“You’re rackin’ ’em up, princess.”
There it was again, that annoying nickname. “Excuse me?”
“Spankings—or whatever I decide is the most appropriate method of punishing you. If my hand on your backside makes you come, spanking’s not going to work as a deterrent, is it?”
“All right!” Lucy put her mug down on the small side table with rather more force than she intended. The tea slopped from side to side, but fortunately didn’t spill over the rim. “You want to know what I was thinking? That I should never have volunteered for this! That I was stupid to think I could ever make a difference! Even more stupid to think I could cope with any level of intimacy with you! I should just go back and—oof!”
Courtesy of arms like steel, she slammed into a brick wall of a chest, the impact driving the thoughts from her head and the air from her lungs. How the hell had he moved so fast? He’d swooped on her like a bird of prey, scooped her up, and now she was on his lap, sharing the seat he’d occupied alone about three nanoseconds ago. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go!”
“No.”
One little syllable, delivered without malice or rancour, and it obliterated every last glimmer of resistance. When she looked at him, her insides wobbled—it was like looking at a complete stranger. She’d never seen such calmness and reassurance in another person—it radiated from him, eliminating the fear and worry that had formed the basis for her outburst. This was a Logan Simmonds she hadn’t met before, and the knowledge unnerved her. This was the Dominant who matched that spectacular bed.
She tried again. “Please… let me go.”
“I can’t, Lucy.”
“Why not?” Even as the words tumbled out of her control, two things struck her. First, that the question itself was meaningless, and second, no matter what the answer to it was, she had zero interest in arguing against it.
“You know why not.”
She’d been wrong about there being no more of those kisses. Scorching hot chills zinged over her skin the moment his lips touched hers. Second-guessing what she was supposed to do as a submissive went flying out of the window.
Every female impulse she possessed drove her response to the intoxicating kiss. Her hand cupped the back of his head—the cool, silky texture of his hair was almost lost against the overwhelming sensations he was creating with his mouth. Her whole body tingled with wanting.
And then all her tension drained away. No—Logan took it away, along with every other worry and preoccupation, no matter how big or how small. She hadn’t been this relaxed in weeks, months even. Her fears and her problems, all her insecurities were melting in the white-hot crucible of Logan’s confident control.
No man had ever made her feel so protected and cared for, and that was a whole different kind of crazy.
~~*~~
He should be consigned to hell for what was going through his mind. However, with Lucy in his arms, curled up on his lap, Logan found it difficult to give a damn.
After they’d spoken on the phone the previous evening, he hadn’t been able to sleep. His insomnia had little to do with concern about her withdrawing from the mission, and much to do with that kiss in the conference room. He hadn’t been able to get her taste and scent out of his mind. Fresh mint and spring flowers had held him spellbound, and had been the root cause of the less than cordial welcome he’d given her.
And if he shouldn’t have kissed her then, there were a thousand more reasons why he shouldn’t have kissed her now. Getting her to relax around him was a convenient excuse he’d used without shame.
Then again, his past proved he was a totally shameless bastard.
“This is about us getting used to each other, isn’t it?”
“It’s more important to give you what you need.” Including the confidence to disclose what she’d lost the nerve to divulge at the end of their conversation the night before.
Her body moved on a deep sigh. “What if I don’t know what I need? Or if I do, and I don’t know how to ask for it?”
Logan wasn’t given to philosophical flights of fancy, but his Dom’s instinct told him there was more to her questions than met the eye. “It doesn’t matter—knowing what you need when you don’t is my job. So is teaching you how to ask for it and giving you the confidence to do it.” He stroked her hair, and with gentle but inexorable pressure, encouraged her to rest her head next to his. He chose not to question his reasons too deeply, other than giving her the reassurance she needed right now.
“First, the boss and I, we both owe you for volunteering for this job. It takes guts to do something like that, but don’t feel pressured to go through with it. It’s okay if you change your mind.”
There had to be options. The old man knew about the lifestyle, so Aegis wouldn’t be a surprise to him. The membership comprised men and women at the sharp end of national security. There had to be a female member they could read into the mission in Lucy’s place.
“No, it’s okay—I can do this.”
“Remember—you’re not on your own. We’re doing this together, as a team. And what you said about making a difference? If Diana’s in trouble, you could make all the difference when it comes to getting her out of trouble.”
“You think we can make this work?”
“We can if we’re honest with each other. Are you going to tell me the real reason you rang last night?”
Tension charged through her body and arced over into his. Would she deny it, or tell an outright lie about it? Her indecision was almost palpable.
“I want to tell you.” Uncertainty turned her voice into a whisper. “May I have a little more time, please?”
All credit to her for asking for what she needed, but Logan was disturbed by the fact that she didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk to him about it now. “Am I that much of an ogre?”
The breath she’d been holding shuddered out of her lungs. “No. It’s me. You asked me about a boyfriend—I did have one. We finished a while ago, but it didn’t end well. Knocked me for six in the confidence department.”
“I see.” He thought he did, anyway. Whatever was on her mind, it had a strong connection with her sense of self-worth—something he could identify with only too well. He wouldn’t push her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
More than once, Logan had considered selling the vintage Jensen Interceptor—in London, two wheels tended to be more practical than four. However, the hours, the blood, sweat and tears he’d invested in restoring the vehicle made him reluctant to part with it. Today, though, as he held Lucy’s hand while she lowered herself into the passenger seat, he was glad he’d held onto it. Her grace made the classic car even more stylish.
For once he got lucky, and was able to park close to their destination. As he switched off the engine, out of the corner of his eye he saw Lucy’s hand closing around the door handle.
“Wait. Lesson number two—you always wait for me to open the door and help you out of the car.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m perfectly able—”
“No one said you weren’t. You still wait.”
“Why?”
In a moment of crystal-clear prescience, Logan saw his immediate future flash before his eyes. That stubborn chin of hers was going to throw out challenges left, right and centre, and strangely, he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he relished the prospect.
“When we arrive at Nenufar, we need to blend in. That means assuming certain expected standards of behaviour. It also means I’ll treat you with old-fashioned courtesy, and you’ll get used to it.”
“Old-fashioned? You can say that again!”
“What was that?” He’d heard the mutter, and the sarcastic tone that accompanied it. Christ, he was itching to give her the spanking any other sub would get for such a blatant lack of respect.
“Nothing. Sorry.”
Yeah, right, and if he believed that, he’d be lining up to buy the next available bridge. “Apology accepted.” He could make nice too. “Now wait.”
Logan exited the car and went around to open the passenger door. Lucy hesitated only a moment before slipping her hand into his. Funny how it was taking so little for him to get used to the brat’s touch.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re going for a walk in the park.”
For a moment her expression spoke volumes about her opinion on his sanity. It changed as realisation dawned. “This is about getting used to being around each other, isn’t it?”
“That’s the idea. One step at a time.”
And the first of those steps was to enclose her hand in his, just like the couple a few yards further down the path. Her tension almost vibrated through him, but as they continued through the park, her stiff stride relaxed into a stroll.
“See? It’s not so bad, is it?”
~~*~~
Bad was most definitely not the first word that sprang to Lucy’s mind.
In fact, she quite liked the roughness and strength in Logan’s grip, so different from her last boyfriend. His hands had been soft, perfectly manicured, and sweaty in a way that reminded her of a dead fish that was about to spoil. His handshake, when they’d first met, had been just as limp.
Whatever had she seen in him?
“Everything okay?”
Logan’s voice shattered the moment. Why was he asking? Did he suspect she had something on her mind? Did he know? “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Apart from the fact you haven’t said much, you just squeezed the blood out of my fingers.”
She hadn’t, not at all. It was barely even a nervous spasm. Was the man really that tuned into her? She might have scoffed when he’d made that remark about treating her with old-fashioned courtesy, but the truth was, she liked it. What would it be like if she ever found the guts to spit out her thoughts on them not faking it, and he agreed? To have a Dom who opened doors for her, and held her hand while she was getting into and out of the car?
And one who did all those things to you that you read about so avidly? Scary. That’s what it would be like. Bloody scary.
And what if that Dom was Logan?
She only realised the man uppermost in her mind had stopped walking when her arm extended backwards and she had no choice but to come to a halt.
“Lucy, we’re not moving one more step until you talk to me. And I want the truth.”
“Or what? You’ll spank me?”
“Don’t tempt me, darlin’. Have you forgotten our mission?”
For a moment she had, and had the grace to look shamefaced about it. “Maybe—for a moment. I was thinking about how different you are from Greg.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed—the frown gave him a stern look that made Lucy feel like a schoolgirl standing in front of her headmaster. “Greg?”
She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. “The ex I mentioned.”
“But you’re thinking about him now?”
“Only in terms of how disappointing that relationship was. He wouldn’t do this.” She lifted their clasped hands. “I tried once—to be honest, I was glad when he made it clear he wasn’t into touchy-feely.”
“Why?”
The question surprised her, as did the certainty that she wouldn’t be allowed to dodge it. “Because his hands… they always reminded me of something you’d see on a slab at the fishmonger’s.”
“And this?” He squeezed her fingers, just enough pressure to tell her what he wanted to know.
Her smile turned into a sheepish chuckle. “Not a dead fish.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Good. Now come here.”
Logan drew her towards him. Mesmerised by the low, powerful vibes of earthy masculinity emanating from him, she barely noticed when he released her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. Just one arm, leaving her with a clear exit if she needed it. Needed… what? With barely a finger’s breadth between her and that impossibly hard chest, her ability to reason appeared to have absconded, possibly never to be seen again.
With Logan holding her like this, Lucy couldn't help herself. Magnetic attraction tugged her gaze to his. His gaze, dark with intent, laid her bare. There was no hiding from a man like him. Suddenly, all those romances with the sexy-as-hell Doms in them seemed a lot more like textbooks than works of fiction. Nervous anticipation had her stomach turning cartwheels, and she barely had enough saliva left to lick her lips.
“Do you know what it does to a man when a woman does that right in front of him?”
In the middle of her back, his hand was hot enough to melt steel. A frenzied whiplash of fiery energy arced between her nipples and her clit. Lucy sucked in her lower lip—this couldn’t be happening. They were in the park—there were dogs barking, the sounds of children playing, the distant growl of traffic. People didn’t get aroused in places like this, or get that wet, needy sensation between their thighs. And they sure as hell didn’t get urges that were usually satisfied in the bedroom.
“What—” Lucy cleared her throat of the strangled squawk and tried again. “What does it do?”
Good one, Luce. Her mouth had bypassed her brain and common sense, and grabbed the dragon by its tail.
His head lowered, and his lips captured hers as surely as his arm had captured her body. Without a thought for possible consequences, or what anyone passing by might think, Lucy stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around Logan.
An incandescent glow of satisfaction burst into life when he stiffened in her arms, but her victory was short-lived. Logan’s answer to the gauntlet she’d thrown down was to wrap her ponytail around his fist and pull her head back. Exposed, vulnerable, she could do nothing to resist the searing brand of his mouth on her throat.
Her whole body throbbed and ached for his touch. Her sex life was tinder-dry, and this male, hard all over, was igniting a blaze of want and need that had her ready to climb all over him. Her thighs pressed together—whether to stop her arousal or encourage it, she couldn’t say.
Truth be told, she couldn’t say much about anything. “Lo… gan.” His name came out on a broken sigh.
Teeth nipped at her earlobe. “Tell me what you want.”
His low voice reverberated through every cell in her body, stoking the blaze his body had started. There could be only one answer to his demand, and that was one of her own.
Everything.
Images collided and crashed through her mind, memories of her research on the resort, where this man would take her just a few days from now. Take her. Oh, how that phrase was open to interpretation…
“Kiss me again… please.”
God, she could devour him, as if he’d never been the annoying thorn in her flesh at work. She wanted him with a ferocity that defied all logic.
Even though they were in public, only the exaggerated, disapproving tutting of an elderly lady, passing by with her husband, succeeded in tearing her mouth from his.
“Oh, leave them be, Bren. We were like that once.”
Lucy bit her lip in an effort not to chuckle at the gentle reproof.
As for Logan, his mouth was clamped firmly shut, but the look of humour in his eyes revealed his true reaction. It lent him a youth that took him a million miles away from the aggressive pain in the arse who’d greeted her a short time ago. Lucy let her forehead fall against his chest, using the movement as cover while she took a minute to regain at least a little control.
“Come on—let’s walk.” He offered her his hand. “There are things we need to discuss.”