Chapter 6
If he’d thought last night was bad, it had nothing on the way Lucy was affecting him now.
A lack of sleep had given rise to the foul mood with which he’d greeted her that morning. He’d blamed her for his restlessness, even though she’d been miles away across the city. Tonight, she was just feet away, and try as he might, Logan couldn’t escape the memory of how sweet she’d tasted when he kissed her, and the thought of how many more of those kisses it would take to satisfy the hunger that had taken hold of him ever since.
He might kiss her forever and never be satisfied.
A glance at his watch confirmed how long he’d been awake, and the dents in the pillow told their own story of frustrated punches. Inner turmoil was tying him in knots.
He wasn’t supposed to be fixated on the damned woman like this. Hell, she was his worst nightmare, yet here he was, within a fucking hair’s breadth of all-out obsession.
Damn it, he should have arranged for another Dom to train her, someone like Alex Lombard. Until he’d fallen into the tiger pit of wedded bliss with his stunning sub, the man had had a rep for being one of the best—if not the best—trainers in the club.
Hindsight was a fucking wonderful thing. That horse had already bolted, so Logan was stuck with the teaching gig. Thank Christ it wasn’t a long-term undercover op. If he’d had to fake a real, ongoing relationship with her…
To which his dick responded by being a dick and pointing out to him how good it would be to get intimate with her. She was under his skin, all right. His treacherous flesh was consumed by her supple curves, the sway of her hips when she walked, the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed… hell, it was even infatuated with the colour of her hair, and the way the sunlight picked out glints of gold in that mass of spun silk.
Who the hell was he kidding? His worst nightmare was also his unachievable dream.
With renewed determination, Logan switched off the bedside lamp and turned onto his side. His balls nudged his thigh, as if reminding him that their best buddy—his cock—occasionally needed to come inside a condom rather than in his hand.
His balls were sarcastic bastards.
His cock was ganging up on him, too. The concept of fucking Miss Winter made his cock very, very happy, and gave him an erection that wouldn’t quit. All it took was a squeeze, a few strokes, and a vibrant, mental image of Lucy on her knees, with that pretty mouth wrapped around his dick. Eyes closed, he could almost feel that wet heat, the swirl of her tongue over the crown, her hand around his shaft, stroking up and down, driving his arousal higher and higher until he came. Hot, creamy-white jets of sperm splattered over his belly.
A rush of shame wiped out the fleeting pleasure of jerking off. He was a bastard for using her like that, even if it had only been in his mind. Logan grabbed a handful of wet wipes and set about cleaning up. He reminded himself that this was only the first night—he had five more to get through, and then the trouble really started. If he didn’t get his shit together before then, he’d be the one to send the op into a death spiral.
In spite of the lateness of the hour, had Lucy not been under his roof, Logan would have worked off the tension sizzling through his nervous system by going for a run. He was wound tighter than a cheap watch, and if he didn’t do something involving strenuous physical activity, he was likely to lose it big style. He had no problem with patience when he was driving a sub to the pinnacle of pleasure, but in this situation, patience was a commodity in short supply.
Sometimes, a man had no choice but to admit defeat. He was never going to settle like this. His guest was probably asleep already, and the sooner he went, the better his chances of getting back before she woke up. He dressed quickly and stuffed his feet into the well-worn running shoes. As stealthily as if he were stalking a dangerous enemy, Logan made his way to the front door, only to be stopped in his tracks by a quiet, concerned voice.
“Logan? Is everything okay?”
His gut clenched. He didn’t want to see her. She’d be all soft and ruffled and sleepy, and too much damn temptation. And if he did turn around, he’d risk her seeing the very visible evidence of his arousal at the mere sound of her voice speaking his name. “Go back to bed.”
Logan closed his eyes and cursed his own stupidity. The last thing he needed right now was the image that last word branded upon his consciousness. The night had just gone from bad, bypassed worse, and was heading straight for clusterfuck. She needed to move, and now. “I’m going for a run. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.”
“I can’t sleep, either. I’ll come with you.”
His stomach dropped five thousand feet in a life-threatening crash dive. “I’m a big boy, I don’t need a babysitter.” He had to make her stay behind.
“I never thought for one moment you did. I do think you need company, though, and as I said, I can’t sleep.”
“You won’t be able to keep up with me.”
“Care to bet on it? Give me a minute to get changed.”
In defiance of his brain, his mouth agreed—the bloody thing was clearly in league with his dick. His imagination muscled in on the act as well, clothing her in a revealing, spray-painted running outfit that clung to her body like a second skin.
Christ, he was in a shitty mood tonight.
While she was gone, Logan took the opportunity to marshal his resolve. He could do this. Lucy might have legs that went on for miles, but he was the one with the training. If she thought he’d moderate his pace to suit her, she’d get a rude awakening—the sooner she gave up the better, because then he could carry on alone and hunt down the tranquillity he craved.
When she returned, that tranquillity seemed further away than ever. In spite of his imagination’s best efforts, he was ill prepared for skin-tight leggings and a t-shirt bonded to her curves. She was carrying a lightweight casual jacket. Certainly looked the part from the professional-looking running shoes up, he admitted grudgingly. Didn’t mean she’d be any good, his inner bastard countered. “Come on, then.”
“How far are you planning to go?”
“Five miles, maybe more.” Definitely more, because she’d have thrown in the towel long before he reached five pitiful little miles.
“A stroll in the park, then.”
What the hell…? Logan’s eyes narrowed. She was winding him up, deliberately goading him. Had to be.
“Well, are we going, or are you backing out because you think I’ll beat you?”
Brat. He’d show her.
The route was one Logan had taken many times since moving to the apartment, and he knew the landmarks at each mile by heart. When he reached the third he stopped, expecting to see Lucy a long way behind, winded, and barely able to remain upright.
The sight that greeted him was a kick in the balls that almost rendered him speechless.
Her pace was slowing to a jog, a walk, and then a standstill, right there in front of him, and by the look of it, she wasn’t even remotely out of breath. It certainly didn’t impede her ability to start a conversation.
“What have we stopped for? Something wrong?”
“Not a thing.”
“Is this the best you can do, then?” She folded her arms and cocked a hip, her stance full of impudence and challenge.
There was more to the brat than met the eye. A sense of unease whispered at the back of Logan’s mind, giving voice to the suspicion that he might have underestimated her.
That made her dangerous enough, but what gave him even greater cause for concern was the way she was attacking his defences with such apparent ease. He’d long since locked the door on the kind of interest in a woman now jolting to unsteady life because of her. Locked it, thrown the bolt across it, nailed it shut and turned his back on it, yet ever since he’d met her, in spite of his best efforts to the contrary, he’d been thinking things he had no right to think… feeling things he had no right to feel.
“How about if we find out the best you can do?”
And with that, he turned and sprinted away, as if every beast from the depths of hell were hunting his immortal soul.
They returned to the apartment after almost an hour of pounding the streets. Logan unlocked the door and pushed it open, standing back to allow Lucy to enter first.
“So how come you run like a pro?”
He wanted to be annoyed by the fact that she looked as if she’d done nothing more strenuous than take an easy jog around the park or done a light workout in the gym, but he could find only admiration for her level of fitness and the dedication required not only to achieve it, but maintain it. The only sign of exertion was her slightly elevated respiration, her glistening face, and the few wisps of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and clung to her glowing skin.
In spite of himself, Logan couldn’t help but find it refreshing that she wasn’t fussing over her appearance, either. He’d spent way too much time around women who were preoccupied with the way they looked, and who didn’t listen. Lucy listened, and had proved it by preceding him into the apartment.
“Just because I work behind a desk, it doesn’t mean I live behind one. I was brought up on a farm, and spent most of my childhood outdoors, not in front of a computer. I still go home whenever I can, because the city drives me nuts occasionally. Thing is, my brother Adam’s in the Army, and he’s taught me a thing or two when it comes to physical fitness.”
Logan wondered exactly what “a thing or two” encompassed. Her level of fitness clearly exceeded the average, and as she shrugged out of her jacket, he took a renewed interest in assessing her overall muscle tone.
From an objective point of view, it was good to know she took care of herself, in case they needed to move anywhere fast.
From a subjective point of view, it was a whole new shitload of turn-on he didn’t need.
“He’s a good teacher. Why don’t you hit the shower, and I’ll make you some tea?” Anything to get his mind off her body.
For a second she looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “That would be lovely—if you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Go.”
“Thank you.”
Her glacier-melting smile wasn’t the only attribute that snagged his attention as she sashayed out of the room. Her hips would be fucking perfect in his hands, and his body agreed. Logan gritted his teeth. Okay, less perfection, more tea-making, and absolutely no imagining. He didn’t need to conjure up pictures of bubbles sliding over silky skin, alluring curves and taut muscles, or elegant, feminine hands washing and rinsing that glorious cascade of hair.
He didn’t need to think of being in there with her, either, cupping her breasts in his palms so he could play with her nipples, nudging her thighs apart, and—
Somebody shoot me, please.
Tempted though he was to dunk his head in a sink full of cold water, Logan decided to wait for the full-body experience under the shower. Instead he took his mind off what was in danger of becoming a perpetual state of arousal by making the drink he’d promised Lucy.
The quietness of the small hours crowded in on him, smothering him in the claustrophobic blanket of an alternative reality, one where he didn’t have blood on his hands, where he could still have it all. Years ago, with the typical brashness of youth and inexperience, he hadn’t given any thought to settling down with one special woman—that was strictly for the birds, why would he want to turn his back on the steady stream of women who wanted to fuck a Royal?
Then he’d seen friends blown apart, young women made widows before they’d barely finished being brides, and his priorities had shifted. His interest in shallow liaisons had waned almost overnight, and dating became an expedition in search of what he most desired in a life partner. He thought he’d found his soul mate in Sophia, and then his world had come crashing down around his head when he’d returned from that deployment and found her in the bathroom at their apartment, a sight he’d never forget.
And then, in a monumental display of ego and selfishness, with Sophia barely cold in her grave, he’d gone on to invite himself into her sister’s bed, only to break up with her weeks later. He wasn’t proud of the brutal, clumsy way he’d ended that relationship.
And now there was Lucy. He smelled her before he heard her, that light floral scent drawing him out of the dark abyss of the past. He turned and there she stood, fresh and shining and all the pure things he’d never deserve for as long as he lived—a punishment for past sins and a warning for all time to come.
A few choice curses tumbled through his mind. He should have switched the main light on, used its cold, clinical glare to hold back the ebb and flow of intimacy. In the subtle, warming embrace of the wall lights, Lucy was living, breathing temptation in its purest, impure form. Without lifting a finger, without saying a word, she walked through his shields as if they didn’t exist.
“Your tea’s ready.” The words belly-crawled over broken glass as he slid the mug across the counter towards her. He couldn’t stay, didn’t dare, not with this toxic cocktail of need and want and self-hatred churning him up inside. He was weak, just a man—if he stayed around her like this, he’d only want more of her softness. He’d want more of her mouth, more of her breasts crushed against him, and more of the peace she unknowingly took with one hand but, he was certain, could give him back a thousandfold with the other.
Which he didn’t deserve—not now, not ever.
“Thank you. Aren’t you having something?”
“I’m going to clean up. Go to bed when you’re ready, but don’t be too late—we need to make an early start tomorrow.”
She sipped her tea. Her gaze sparkled at him over the rim of the mug, holding a smile that promised trouble for any Dom—or would, if she were really a sub. Trouble for him, at any rate, the kind he didn’t need.
“Logan, it’s almost 3 a.m. My alarm’s set to go off in around three hours. Part of me wonders if it’s worth it.”
He’d run missions on less, and learned to grab sleep whenever he could—three whole hours was mind-blowing luxury. “Trust me, it’s worth it. Never underestimate the value of sleeping and eating—in the field, you do both whenever you can.”
He didn’t insult her by waiting to make sure she did head for bed—she wasn’t a child in need of constant adult supervision, and he wasn’t going to start treating her like one now. Besides, if he didn’t get the hell away from her and regroup, he was going to do something that would add about another thousand feet to his personal mountain of regret.
When he emerged from the bathroom a short time later, there was no sign of her. Logan let out a long, slow breath. What a hell of a fucked-up day. Grabbing a glass of water, he retreated to his own room and dropped onto the bed.
The irony of his situation almost had him laughing out loud. Going for that run was supposed to help him sleep, but now he was more keyed up than ever. The source of his tension remained on the other side of the wall, but now there was a new ingredient in the mix. His view of Lucy had changed. She was no longer a necessary encumbrance for the sake of his cover, she was…
Logan dismissed the rebellious thoughts clawing their way out of the pit into which he’d thrown every desire for anything more than a service relationship with a sub. Those thoughts had no place in this mission—theirs was a working relationship, and that was all.
What he couldn’t afford to do, for his own sake and Lucy’s, and the sake of the mission, was give in to the weakness lurking inside the ashes of the life he’d once had. Except the short time he’d spent with Lucy had swept away those ashes, and in their place a new fire was smouldering, one that could easily become an inferno of lust if he lost control.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. Lucy was the kind of woman who deserved emotional commitment as well as physical pleasure.
What she deserved most of all, though, was the kind of future he’d forfeited his right to when Sophia had killed herself because of him.