Logan stares at me, but somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s looking at me. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but he’s not here with me.

I take the opportunity to get a good look at him. Seriously, the only thing that makes him look different from Mark is the fine lines on his face. Well, that, and his facial hair.

There’s no way they’re completely unrelated. If Mark were here today and they were standing side by side, even I would have difficulty telling them apart—by sight, that is.

If I could kiss each of them before determining who is who, I’d make the correct guess ten times out of ten.

Mark’s kisses were slow and sensual. Sweet and loving. He made me feel treasured.

On the other hand, Logan kisses me like he wants to own me. Like he’s trying to consume me. He started a fire in me that, if I were being honest, is still burning in my core.

As I gaze at him now, I can’t resist the urge to let my eyes wander to the front of his jeans. He’s got an impressive bulge, which makes me wonder what he’s packing inside.

I shake my head.

Focus, Harper.

Yes, it’s been a long dry spell, but I have a job to do right now. This is not the time to be entertaining dirty fantasies.

Logan’s probably too preoccupied with whatever dangerous thing is happening to even think about the kiss he gave me.

It’s not my job to worry about that. Even though I barely know the man, I get the feeling he’ll take care of me. I just need to get the information I came here to learn.

Logan obviously doesn’t like to talk about his past. It looks like I’ll be staying here for a while, so I have time to circle back to that.

And maybe, answers about his present will help shed light on what it is that connects him to Mark.

“What is it that you do for Mr. Foster?” I ask.

Logan blinks a few times like he has just remembered where he is.

Poor guy. What kind of danger has Mr. Foster put him in that he zones out like that? And it happens right after the funeral of someone dear to him, too. His head is probably full of grim thoughts of death and danger.

“I told you, I’m a doctor,” Logan says.

Despite his troubles, Logan appears completely relaxed. His arms are draped over the back of the couch. But something about his sharp, alert eyes tells me he’s ready to jump into action if something were to happen at any time.

“So you’re, like, what, a private doctor for Mr. Foster?” I ask.

“Something like that. Mr. Foster and his friends.”

I observe Logan’s facial expression. He may not be the friendliest guy I’ve ever come across, but he’s telling me the truth.

Rumors I’ve heard about Mr. Foster’s shady dealings flood my mind.

Supposedly, he’s involved in businesses like illegal gambling and drug trade. I think he tries to separate that world from his legit work, but sometimes I see big, brawny, scary men walking into his office.

I guess those men are who Logan means when he refers to Mr. Foster’s friends.

“So, do you . . . I don’t know. You treat Mr. Foster and his friends when they can’t go to a hospital?” I’m worried I’d sound dumb because I have no idea how things work in the mafia world, but now Logan’s got me curious about him—not just about how he’s related to Mark.

“You can say that, although sometimes they come to me even when they can go to a hospital.” Logan takes a deep breath and gets up from his couch. “I don’t feel like answering more questions. It’s been a long day. I’ll show you your room.”

Disappointment pangs in my chest. As I get up to follow Logan up the stairs, I wonder if that’s because I was hoping to ask him more questions or if it’s because I wanted to sleep in the same room as him.

Ah, geez. I thought my sex drive had died when Mark did. But now, it’s coming back with a vengeance. I can’t decide if I’m horrified by my lack of loyalty or glad that it still exists at all.

The second floor of Logan’s house has an interior balcony from which I can see the living room and the front door.

He stops by the second door and opens it. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”

That sounds like an order, which normally annoys me. But coming from Logan, I don’t mind it. In fact, I find it kind of hot.

I peer inside the room. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle, a couple of nightstands, and a dresser.

“Behind that door is the bathroom,” Logan says. “There are no clothes in here but you can wash yours downstairs in the room adjacent to the kitchen. I forgot to show it to you but it should be pretty easy to find.”

“How long should I stay here?” I know he’s no longer taking any questions, but surely this one doesn’t count.

Logan shrugs his broad shoulders. His indifference to my schedule makes me want to strangle him although a part of me wonders if maybe I’m just looking for excuses to touch him.

“I have to call my office and let them know,” I say.

“You should’ve thought of that before you followed me home.” It looks like he takes some sick satisfaction from reminding me of the way I screwed myself over. “The doors won’t open without my secret code. Don’t try it because the alarm will sound and I’ll have to get out of bed to turn it off.”

“Maybe I want to make you get out of bed and turn it off,” I challenge him.

“Don’t try me,” Logan threatens. “I only helped you because I was feeling charitable after the death of someone close to me. I’m not as nice as I may seem. You will regret testing my patience.”

A chill runs down my spine.

I chafe at the way he speaks to me. I’m not a little girl, after all.

But at the same time, I can’t deny he’s also stoking the flame inside me with his words, making my imagination run wild.

What’s he going to do to me if I test his patience?

Will he lay his hands on me? Will he pin me against the wall and hurt me? Will he push me down on the floor and have his way with me?

“Okay,” I simply answer, even as dirty thoughts continue to plague my mind.

* * *

“Logan!” I yell out as I hold on to the railing of the interior balcony, just outside my bedroom.

I’m not usually such a loud guest. Normally, I’m quiet as a mouse and I make my bed, too. I don’t like to inconvenience my host.

But this is a strange situation I find myself in. It’s not like I can just flip open a magazine and find etiquette tips for when I’m staying over in the home of my dead boyfriend’s long-lost twin brother, who happens to work for my boss, who’s involved in the mafia world.

All I know is, I have limited time here, and I’m going to use it as best as I can—by finding out exactly who Logan is and how he’s related to Mark.

It’s eight in the morning. The house looks different with the sunlight streaming in through the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows.

There are no curtains. I guess Logan doesn’t need those, seeing as he has no neighbors. All I can see through those windows is the color green. There’s a ton of pine trees just outside.

I hear birds chirping, telling everyone spring is coming. I hear leaves rustling. But, I don’t hear a peep from Logan. I’m pretty sure I’d hear it if he made the slightest sound with that ghostly voice of his.

Great. He’s not home. Or, at the very least, he’s not awake.

This means I’m practically alone in Logan’s house. The place where he keeps his important documents and other potentially interesting stuff.

A secret grin works itself across my face. This feels like Christmas morning. I haven’t felt like this in a long time—not even on actual Christmas mornings.

I wonder where I should start. Does Logan have a home office?

Wearing only a towel I found in the en-suite of the guest bathroom, I hop down the carpeted stairs and head toward the laundry room. Logan was right last night; it’s pretty easy to find.

I throw my clothes from yesterday into the washing machine. I add the detergent and start it up. I smile as the machine starts to make noise—enough noise to cover any sounds I inevitably cause while I snoop around.

I’ll try to be quiet, of course. I’ll be careful to watch out for signs of Logan getting close.

And if he catches me in the act . . .

I know it may just be my vanity and perhaps I’m being more than a little presumptuous, but something about the way Logan stares at me makes me think the fact that I’m wearing nothing but a towel will give him enough pause to allow me enough time to come up with a good excuse.