I wrap the white, fluffy towel around my body and walk out of the home office, fully expecting to have to go through the entire house to find Logan again.

But, to my surprise, there he is, sitting on the couch in the living room with his phone in his hand.

Taking a seat across the coffee table from him like I did yesterday, I ask, “Logan, where are the pictures I found in the office?”

“They’re safe,” he answers briefly in his usual cryptic way.

“Can I see them again?”

“No.”

“You said you were going to tell me everything I wanted to know.” I try to speak as gently as I can. I don’t want him to change his mind.

“As far as I’m aware, you haven’t fulfilled your side of the agreement either.” He doesn’t even take his eyes off his phone.

“I’d do it now if you want to.”

Logan lifts his gaze and looks at me. “We’ll talk later.”

“Logan, I—”

“Look, I don’t know if you were here just now, but something just happened and I’m trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. So, I’d appreciate it if you could just shut up.”

I sit there in my towel, feeling like a schoolgirl who has just been called to the principal’s office.

It stings that Logan would speak to me that harshly. Of course, it does. Not even my manager at work would talk to me like that.

But, at the same time, when he orders me around, a thrill runs down my spine and it makes me feel alive for once.

I watch him tap furiously on his phone.

Who is he texting? The woman who was just here? Mr. Foster? One of Mr. Foster’s associates? The guys who handle his home security system?

I can’t help but wonder who that woman was. Who would come to a guy’s home and pound on his door, demanding to see him?

By all indicators, she seemed like a crazy ex-girlfriend, but Logan told me she was just a crazy girl.

Does that mean she was never his girlfriend? If she was never his girlfriend, does that still mean she has slept with him?

The fact that she has tracked him down and threatened him certainly suggests that she’s emotional about something. What did Logan do? Slept with her and never called her again?

My chest clenches at the thought of Logan in bed with another girl.

It’s wrong, this emotion. Logan is nobody to me. Literally. I don’t even know him—not really.

Maybe it’s because he looks so much like Mark.

But, I doubt it.

In my cruel imagination, it’s not Mark fucking another girl. It’s Logan.

Logan’s long hair and scruffy face. Logan’s muscled body. Logan’s big body overpowering a delicate girl, pinning her down. Logan’s hands pulling her hair.

Mark has never been anything but a sweet, gentle lover.

My mind flies back to the photographs I found in Logan’s desk drawer.

He looks so much like Mark in those pictures.

Except, he’s surrounded by people I’ve never seen before, people who aren’t members of Mark’s family.

And, there’s an edge to him. I can’t quite put a finger to it, but Logan’s eyes aren’t warm and kind like Mark’s were. He has the same steel-gray eyes, but they’re cold and unfriendly. Suspicious.

I wonder what has happened to him to make him so distrustful of the world.

“Were they family pictures?” I ask in a soft voice, unable to restrain my curiosity any longer.

Logan briefly lifts his gaze from his phone and looks sharply at me. “What?”

“The people in the photos I found in your drawer. Were they family?”

“Something like that,” he answers abruptly, cutting off eye contact to make it clear that he doesn’t feel like taking more questions.

“Something like family but not family?” I may not find those pictures again. And after catching me in the act, Logan may never again leave me alone to roam in his house, so I may as well get all the answers I need from him directly.

Logan lets out a big sigh. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You answer very few questions.” I give him a grin, hoping to lighten the mood.

He glances at me. He opens his mouth to speak, but the ringing of the phone in his hand interrupts him.

“Finally,” he says as he checks the screen. I watch as he picks up the phone and gets up from his couch.

Without giving me further acknowledgement, he strides into his office—the one where we hid earlier—and shuts the door behind him, making me jump with shock at the loud bang.

Should I follow him into the office?

Nah. That would be pushing things too far. I’ve already annoyed him enough with my incessant questions.

I’m tempted to walk up to the door and press my ear against the wooden surface. Maybe, if I grab a glass from the kitchen to amplify the sound, I’ll be able to listen in on his conversation.

I walk to the kitchen and open the cabinets until I find a shelf of clear drinking glasses.

Am I really doing this?

On second thought, I probably won’t learn anything about his past from the phone call. Whoever he’s talking to, they’re likely discussing the aggressive visitors who were at the door mere minutes ago.

I turn on the tap and fill the glass with water, then take a few big gulps. In all the excitement of this morning, I didn’t even realize my mouth was dry.

For the first time, I also notice the washing machine has stopped making any noise. Maybe I should put my clothes in the dryer.

I mean, as much as I wish Logan would strip me bare and have his way with me, I can’t just walk around in my towel all day.

Funny. In the past five years, no man has ever made me feel like getting naked in front of him. Even when I’m lying alone in my bed at night, it’s Mark who stars in the fantasies that play in my head.

But Logan . . . Logan’s different. And it’s not just because he looks like Mark either.

There’s still a twinge of guilt in my chest, but this can only be a good thing, right? It’s been five years. Moving on with my life is the healthy thing to do.

I’ll dry my clothes and put them back on. If he wants me, he can take them off. I’ll let him. Hell, he just has to say the words, and I’ll do it for him.