I’ve barely left the bedroom in a week. Logan has smothered me in lust and love, and I’ve adored every second. I stare at my reflection in his bathroom mirror. One of the few occasions Logan has left my side. I feel fully recovered; I did when I left the hospital; however, at his insistence, I am taking it easy. He’s a little obsessive, but I’m sure the novelty and fear will wear off. It will take time, and we’re not completely back to square one. He does leave the house now. He jogs in the morning and even ventures to the local store for supplies. I’ve yet to learn how this transformation occurred. I can only assume it has something to do with Atticus and me. In fact, we’ve really not broached any of the subjects looming like an ominous cloud on the horizon. I think we both needed this time for some fun and to reconnect. I betrayed him, and because of me, he nearly died.
I can’t help thinking that I owe him a debt I’m not sure I will ever be able to repay.
“You don’t owe me shit!” Logan calls out, and I have that wide-eyed feeling of utter panic that I’m speaking my thoughts out loud or he is, in fact, mind-reading; neither scenario would be good. His back is turned and he’s kicking out some seriously tummy growling gorgeous aromas from the sizzling frying pan. I cup the glass of chilled Meursault in my palms, absently swirling the light golden liquid in a deep steady whirlpool.
“Peasant.” Logan grunts looking over his shoulder and I swiftly move my fingers to the stem.
“It’s not fucking cocoa, Tia.” I mimic his reprimanding tone, adding my own sassy mockery that causes his dark brow to pitch high and judgmental on his handsome face.
“Damn right it isn’t, that’s a premier cru, and the difference is worthy of respect. If you’re going to ruin it with the heat from your sweaty palms, you may as well be drinking vinegar.” He wrinkles his nose with distaste, and I scoff.
“I never took you for a wine snob, Logan.”
“I’m not. There’s nothing snobbish about cherishing something exquisite.” His tone drops to a velvet smooth, rich texture I feel rake sensuously across my skin. His dark gaze holds no uncertainty in the new meaning he infuses in that statement.
“It is a very good wine.” I take a sip. I’m unable to drag my eyes from the intensity of his glare, and I can’t for the life of me remember what he said at the start of this conversation.
“Are you hungry?”
“Famished, why?”
“Because if you keep looking at me like that, the only thing that’s going to be eaten is you.”
“Just for your reference, I am never going to say no to such an offer.”
“Food first. You’re recovering.”
“It was your suggestion, and I’m fully recovered. I believe you’ve fucked me better.” I tip the glass in salute to his stoic efforts, and he grins like the Cheshire Cat himself. I tuck one leg under his T-shirt and balance to pull the other in beside it. My knees stretch the material but cover my modesty, with only my feet poking out the bottom and the scoop of the neck revealing a little bit of cleavage. The latter doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Yes, and the view isn’t helping; however, my conscience is kicking in. You are still recovering and you need food. Besides, this doesn’t keep.” He lifts the steaming pan from the cooker and walks over to the table where the dishes are laid and waiting. Pan-fried king prawns, with a creamy garlic and chilli sauce drenches ribbons of homemade pasta. My mouth is a pool of water, and my tummy loudly groans its impatience. I stab one of the prawns and raise it to my eager lips before Logan’s naked ass hits the lacquered pine chair. However, when he speaks, I instantly lose my appetite.
“You need to stay away from my sister Tia. She’s damaged and dangerous.” He scoops a heap of pasta and slowly wraps a large thread around his fork. Biting down on the mouthful, he glances my way and frowns at my frozen posture. So we’re doing this now? “Eat.” He nods to the fork hovering mid air and I obey. The succulent flesh melts in my mouth and is momentarily distracting. God, he’s good at this. I close my eyes, savouring the flavours exploding in my mouth. It’s unbelievably good for something that took literally ten minutes.
“This is really good.”
“I know.” He places his fork down and steeples his fingers. I am about to do the same when he raises his finger to stop me. “Keep eating and listen.” He pauses, and the stern tone and burrowing eye contact motivate me to lift more food to my mouth as if on autopilot. “Good girl.” His expression flashes warm and tender, matching his tone only to vanish as quickly as it came. “I know you think you owe me something, a debt, a life or whatever; I don’t know and don’t care because it’s misplaced. I left this house for the first time in nearly ten years because of you, so if anything, I owe you my life.” “Let me finish. You did lie to me and you did betray my trust, and I know why you did that. The only thing that was and is important to me is the truth. You love me. I saw it in the sketchbooks you hid under your pillow, and I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. You love Atticus too. Let me fucking finish!” He raises a finger at my open mouth, and I snap it shut, even if I was only about to place another prawn inside. I don’t want to stop him talking, not when he’s clearly got so much to say. “You do love him, Tia, you always have. There’s fuck-all I can do about that, but he’s not here and I am. Actually, even if he was here, he’s not my main concern. He’s just a pissing contest I intend to win. No, my concern is with my sister. She’s not just a concern; she fucking terrifies me.” His shoulders are bunched high up his neck, and tension and agitation make the vein on his temple jump and throb. His knuckles are pure white as he grips his fork like a weapon. I wait until he lets out a calming breath before I speak, breaking the strained silence.
“She helped me, Logan. She saved me when I was inside. You know what those women did to me and she—” My words falter, and I have to place my fork down because my hands start to shake.
“And it’s the only reason she’s still alive. Trust me, she’s poison. She saved you because she needed you.” His expression changes before my eyes. A dark sadness drains the colour from his skin. His eyes are devoid of the rich, familiar chocolate colour, replaced with empty, hollow pools, and the muscle in his jaw pulses with anger. This is bad. The hostility and hatred is rolling off him like seismic waves. I reach for his clenched fist, smoothing the taut skin with my thumb, trying to stop him from shutting down or exploding. At the moment, I’m sure it could go either way.
“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘needed me’. She hasn’t asked me for anything.” I keep my voice soothingly soft. The volatility in this topic is palpable.
“She needed you to get to me,” he grates out. His fingers flex and contract, settling on the recurrent white-knuckle fist still resting beneath my comforting hand.
“I don’t understand,” I repeat softly.
He pinches his eyes shut, massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. His brow is heavy, and I can almost feel the pressure this movement is trying to ease. Letting out a heavy breath, he continues. “She’s obsessed, deranged, whatever you call it. She wants me and not in a good way.” He sniffs, derision thick in his attempt to lightly coat this dark topic.
“No, that can’t be right. She told me to fuck you. It makes no sense.” I shake my head with this notion, trying to recall our conversation about Logan. She definitely gave no indication he was off limits, quite the opposite. He straightens in his chair, shock stiffening his rigid frame and confusion evident in the pitch of his thick brows.
“She said that? She actually told you to fuck me?”
“Well, maybe not those exact words. I was in a bit of mess, moving in with Atticus, and I had all these mixed feelings about him, and then there was you…you and that kiss. I was afraid I was going to do something stupid.” I rush my words, feeling the prickle of nerves dance in the pit of my nearly empty stomach. His face darkens with a fierce scowl.
“Like fuck me?” He growls, and I shake my head. I’m not going to lie to him, but maybe I can try and phrase things a little better.
“Like fuck Atticus,” I argue.
“You did fuck Atticus.” The calm of his tone belies what seems to be hurt and anger flashing in the tortured lines on his face. It’s the truth, and I can see how much it hurts. However, that isn’t the conversation we’re having. It’s one we still need to have I’m sure, just maybe one fucking nightmare at a time.
“Why would your sister suggest I should be with you if she wanted you for herself.” I ignore his penetrating glare, an entirely accurate statement for now. He doesn’t answer for the longest time, his face working through a myriad of questions, a little like mine.
“What did she say exactly?” he asks, lifting the excruciating silence that descended like a heavy Hessian blanket, itchy and uncomfortable. “Because Lilith doesn’t say a single word unless she means it. She doesn’t do a single thing unless it benefits Lilith.”
I drop my head into my hands and scratch my scalp, massaging the tension and trying to recall her exact words. It’s not like we talked all the time. I can probably count on one hand the conversations we’ve had since I left prison.
“She told me to tell you exactly what happened to me while I was inside, and she told me to tell you how I felt about you. She said you would act on it. Although she did say you probably knew already.” I exhale the well of emotion sticking like a lump in my lungs, fighting the sting of tears behind my eyes.
“You told her you loved me?” His jaw is tense, his eyes etched with dread.
“I…I think so.”
“But you didn’t tell her I loved you.” He voice drifts, and since it didn’t actually sound like a question, I remain quiet until he speaks again.
“If you had told her that I told you I loved you, you would be dead already.” He states this so calmly I would challenge the fear running through my veins if it wasn’t for his deadly serious tone, which chills me to my core. “She didn’t believe I would want to fuck you; that’s why she was happy to send you here.” He opens his fist, flips his hand, and threads his fingers with mine, squeezing some warmth back into me. His voice softens, and I brace myself when pain distorts his features and forces him to close his eyes. “She’s deluded. She thinks I want her. She wouldn’t have seen you as a threat because in her mind you’re ‘damaged’.” I buckle with the force of the hit, which knocks the breath from my body and cleaves my heart with the ugly truth.
“Because I was raped.” He gives an imperceptible nod and thrusts his chair back. He pulls me from my seat and lifts me into his waiting embrace. Strong arms cover me, his warm body wraps protectively around mine, and I take what comfort I can because, judging by the tension in his frame and fiery grumble in his chest, he’s not finished.
“And because you can’t have children.” I can’t hold it in. Tears spring to my eyes, and a guttural sob bursts straight from my broken heart. His lips press hard against my head. He whispers soothing sounds of comfort, soft shushes drift down the strands of my hair to my ears. He tips my chin, his fingers soaked with the tears streaking my face. “It doesn’t make a difference to me Tia, you have to believe that. It never did and it never will.” His lips are so tentative, so tender, and he holds me for the longest time. I can’t stop shaking with unbearable sadness. “Give me your pain Tia, give it all to me and let it go.”
My heart completely shatters for this man as I do just that. I let the sorrow rise like a tide. It utterly consumes me with grief, and only because I have Logan wrapped around me like a shield do I feel safe enough to let it go. I don’t want him to have this burden, but I’m grateful for the offer and so fucking thankful to the man holding me like his life depends on it. Because of him, I finally let the pain ebb and disappear. His arms constrict tighter when I relax and my breathing has settled. I’m no longer sobbing, and although I feel raw, I feel lighter too. I look up as he looks down. Soulful eyes search my face as he begins to speak again. “She’s very sick, Tia.” His voice catches, and it’s my turn to offer comfort. I reach for the scruff of his beard, and he tilts his head to kiss the palm and then rest his jaw in the cup my hand. “She poisoned my parents.”
“What? No! Logan, no!” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He holds my stunned gaze, and I can see the effort needed to continue in the tight line of his lips and rock solid tension in the muscles lining his neck. “They suspected something was wrong with her, and I had asked to go to boarding school to get away. You have to understand, she’ll stop at nothing.”
“But why send me here at all?”
“You did need access to my computers, and I think you learnt a trick or two, so she was right about that.” He smiles for the first time in what seems like forever, too briefly. It lightens his face only to fall with his continued revelations. “She thought it was her way in.”
“Way in?”
“Her way back to me. She thought I would swing the front door wide and welcome her with open fucking arms once you were out of the picture.”
“Out of the picture?” I feel like a parrot, but this is so fucking surreal I need to get it straight in my head, even if it means repetition.
“Either dead or back with Atticus. It wouldn’t have mattered to Lilith, as long as she got what she wanted.” He fixes a knowing glare at me, and I shake my head as I speak.
“You.”
“Me.”
“No!” I state emphatically, and his wide, winning smile is all the agreement I need. “And now? What happens now? I’m not with Atticus. I’m here with you.”
“Are you?” His response is so instant and quiet, I have to check I heard him at all.
“What?” The heat between us is at its most intense as his gaze sears through me, but I’m confused.
“Nothing.” He blinks, breaking the contact, and I feel the absence like a blast of the North wind. I shiver in his arms and feel the loss of more than just our shared heat.
“You’re never going to trust me are you?” I mouth.
“Yes, of course I am.” He dismisses my very real concern and I straighten myself and hold his face between my hands and his gaze in mine.
“Prove it.”