“Oh my god, you got a cat.” I answer my own obvious question and lift the surprisingly stocky furball into my arms. The cat moulds around my neck, making itself comfortable. It has the softest fur and the purring sound that rumbles from its little ribcage is hypnotic. I’m instantly in love.
“Not exactly.” Logan narrows his eyes at the interloper now softly padding its front paws into the pillow of my breasts.
“Explain?” I scratch the soft golden fur behind its ear and watch it arch into the sublime pleasure of it all.
“He sort of adopted me,” Logan grumbles with absolutely no conviction. I smile and laugh at the grouchy downturn of his pout. “He turned up one morning and just sort of stayed for a few days then disappears and reappears whenever the fuck he likes. A little like you in that respect.” He keeps his tone impassive, even as his eyes crinkle with humour.
“You’re so funny.” I grin a forced, fake smile. He ruffles my hair to soften the jibe, and I return my attention to the new love of my life. “So he has a home somewhere else, you think?”
“I asked the postman if he recognised him. He didn’t, but said he’d ask around and check the lampposts for missing cat notices. As of yet, no one has claimed him.”
“Well, he doesn’t look like a stray. He’s got a little belly on him.” The cat has curled onto his side, and the soft swell of his tummy is rising with his gentle purring breaths.
“That’s because he’s a crafty little thief jumping on my worktops and stealing anything left unattended. Also a little like you, well, you in the beginning at least.”
“Hmm.” The cat seems totally at ease, relaxed and floppy in my lap, melding and filling the space like water, purring a gentle rhythmic sound. “Does he have a name?”
“Yes, he’s called Cat.” I snort and laugh at Logan’s completely serious reply.
“We could call him Sid. I bet he’s just like Six Dinner Sid from the children’s book, bouncing from house to house in the neighbourhood and tricking each of his ‘owners’ into feeding him.”
“I don’t feed him; he takes whatever the fuck he likes.”
“Aww he’s adorable, Logan. Look, he’s a real snuggler, just like you.”
“The fuzzball’s got more hair than I do, that’s for sure.” Logan drags his hand over his clean-shaven face. I would get a twinge of guilt if he didn’t flash the most adoring and reassuring smile.
“He does. Can we keep him?
“I don’t think it’s a case of keeping him. Like I say, he does whatever the hell he likes. I don’t even know how the little fucker gets in the house half the time.” Logan drops down to his haunches and lightly strokes the underside of Sid’s chin. Sid perks up, seeking more contact from Logan, who has already jumped to his feet and moved back into the bedroom.
“Would you like some milk, Sid?” I roll onto my knees and awkwardly get to my feet. Balance is an issue since, while hugging my new best friend, I’m without the aid of my arms.
“What about my tea?” I roll my eyes at Logan’s disgruntled tone and turn on my heel to face him sprawled glorious and naked on the bed. One arm rests behind his head as he flicks through the newspaper, which covers his dangly bits, with the other.
“Come on, Sid, let’s go and make the grumpy human some tea and see what little treat I can find for you.” My voice is comically mocking, and Logan squints at the creature in my arms, as if there’s suddenly a new alpha in town.
“Tea first though, right?”
“I’m ready!” I yell as I bound down the stairs, unable to contain my excitement at this monumental event. My cheeks ache with the smile splitting my face in two, and I have to press my palm to my chest to contain the joyous pain of my thumping heart.
Logan and I are going shopping. I grab my bag, slip my denim jacket over my shoulders, and scoop the tangle of messiness that is my wild and just fucked hair into a passable bun. The light summer dress with its tiny floral print and cinched waist, flowing skirt, and three small buttons at the v-neckline hangs to my knees and is the smartest thing I own. Logan said he is taking us into the centre of town on a busy Friday, and I am stunned into awed silence at his imposing figure blocking out the sunlight of the open front door. Tall enough I have to tip my head right back when I step up close and personal. His long hair pulled back into a sexy as all hell man bun, which, honestly, not many men can pull off. His dark jeans hang perfectly from his narrow hips, and the plain white t-shirt clings to every bump and ripple of muscles, and I feel both parched and wet in the all the right places. He looks delicious. He scoops his arm around my waist, tugging me up his body onto my tiptoes, and kisses me, sharp, deep and indecently passionate. I’m dazed when he releases me, and I would slump to the floor if he didn’t keep his firm hold of my body. My lips feel bruised and tingle with the aftershock of the kiss. Man, he can kiss
“About time. You look stunning, by the way.” He rakes his greedy gaze over me, and I feel it in my core, heat and desire in equal measure. I shrug off the intensity or we’ll never leave the house.
“Pretty much the only dress I own.”
“Not for long, Come on, angel, let’s get you into some clothes.” He pulls the door wide, and his body tenses with the burst of fresh air, but he steps over the threshold without hesitation. The great outdoors is not the cause of irritation and it takes a moment for the penny to drop.
“It hurts to say that doesn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” he grumbles, and I chuckle against his neck, kissing a placatory path to his mouth, turning his tight-lipped grouch into a glorious self-satisfied smile.
The taxi driver takes his time through no fault of his own, just the weight of London traffic, as we head from the outskirts and into the thick of the West End. Logan tells the driver to stop just on the corner of Hyde Park at the top end of Piccadilly.
The sun is high, and the streets are filled with tourists taking in this very old and very beautiful city. Logan holds my hand in his and wraps it around his waist, his own arm dropping heavily over my shoulders. I find I fit perfectly under his arm, and we slip seamlessly into a synchronised pace as we head into town along Piccadilly and up Burlington Arcade. The high end men’s shoe shops and jewellers hold little interest other than admiring the craftsmanship and classic designs of timeless pieces. We hit the bottom of New Bond Street, and I get a thrill of nervous anticipation.
“Oooh fancy!” I drop some sass with my hip and purse my lips with a wry, mocking smile.
“Only the best for the one true Kraus heiress,” Logan states and I freeze even if his tone is joking. My stomach churns with a wave of nausea.
“I’m not an heiress, Logan.” I swallow saliva pooling in my mouth and fight the strong urge to throw up. Logan turns to me and his strong arms embrace me, quelling the rise of anxiety and sorrow consuming me every time since the fire that I’ve ventured to think about any of this. I feel utterly robbed of the truth by people I trusted, people who were supposed to care. My mother, Oskar, and even Atticus, although I think he was just as much in the dark. However, it doesn’t ease the devastation.
“You think Atticus was lying? You think that was some sort of game?” Logan speaks against my hair, kissing softly after he speaks. I shake my head and look up as he looks down, tender concern etching his strong, dark, and ridiculously handsome features.
“No. Not a game. He didn’t know the whole truth; I’m sure of that. Still, I don’t know what to think.” I sigh with frustration because it’s the truth. “The trouble I have is I can’t trust my own judgment. I mean, I don’t know him at all, not anymore, and I have to assume I never did. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I never would’ve believed he was capable of blowing up Tartarus Hall, but he did. He loved that place. He said it was the only home he’d ever had, the only time he was ever truly happy, yet boom! None of it makes sense.”
“Is that why you’ve not gone to the police?”
“With what exactly?” My tone is harsh, and I have to check myself. He’s just asking questions that need to be asked. If we’re ever to get through this mess in one piece, I need to be honest and not feel so defensive. I know his interest is simply tethered to his concern for me. Nevertheless, I have to counter his accusatory tone with a statement of fact. “It wasn’t me he kidnapped. I went willingly.”
“He cuffed you to the bed and drugged you, Tia. He stabbed me, left us both, and blew up the Hall. I think attempted murder is a good start.”
“So why haven’t you gone to the police?”
“Because it’s not my call. I refuse to do anything that will make you hate me.”
“I could never hate you, Logan.”
“If I was the reason Atticus went to jail, you would. You love him, which is why he’s still a free man.”
“I took the money,” I say in a hushed whisper. People are bumping shoulders with us both in the busy street.
“You secured the pension fund and deposited it with the rightful owners.”
“I don’t think the Kraus Corporation will view it like that.”
“You said the other money was in a ghost account, and even though you lied about me having the access codes, Atticus has probably discovered the money already. If he wanted you to pay, you’d be locked up by now. Looks like this love of yours is keeping you both out of jail.” He lets out a humourless laugh, tugging me tighter to his side and kissing the tension from my brow with a well placed tender kiss. “It’s all right. I get it. I might not like it, but I understand.”
“Understand?”
“It is possible to love more than one person, Tia.” His voice drops with serious intonation, and I hate that the momentary silence is heavily laden with my tacit agreement. Sadness falls like a veil, dulling the beauty of his face. It’s unbearable, and I pull him to stop, standing directly in front of him, and hold his head between my palms. His dark chocolate eyes have lost their mischief, and that breaks my fucking heart.
“Logan, I love you. I love you with all my heart. Atticus was a huge part of me, and I will always love him but not like this, not like us. Love isn’t a choice, but what you do with it is, and I chose you.” His lips tip in the right direction, and I’m about to mash mine to his when he speaks and rocks my world with his heart melting honesty.
“I know; I do. I feel it in my soul, T, and when you look at me like you are right now, I don’t have a doubt in the world.” He takes one of my hands and places it over the strong, steady beat of his heart. The vibrations travel through my fingertips and hit my own heart, hard. “I really don’t, but I’m also not naïve. You two have a connection. I just don’t want you tearing yourself up about it. That shit will drive you crazy. I’m secure enough to know you’re mine, and I’m not dumb enough to ever let you go. So trust me, I’m not concerned about Atticus. I just want you to understand it’s okay that you love him; you don’t ever have to feel guilty about that.”
“Thank you,” I don’t know what else to say. If I said I didn’t love Atticus, we both know I’d be lying, and honestly, where do we go from there? Building our relationship on a foundation of lies right out the gate, what chance would we have? “It changes nothing though. I’m still on probation, and I don’t want to risk anything that might jeopardise that. It’s why I haven’t taken this thing off.” I lift the lock on my collar and tuck and drop it just as quickly. He gives a slow, understanding nod, and I take his hand. We fall back into an easy amble, passing stunning window displays of couture designers whilst having the toughest conversation I think we’ve ever had. It’s surreal. “I just don’t want to jump to conclusions. He did that, and I ended up in jail. I won’t be guilty of the same. In my gut I don’t think he would’ve destroyed the only home he knew, so until I learn the truth—”
“What about seeking legal advice regarding your inheritance?”
“The only evidence was in the safe. You know, the one that went up in flames when the room around us burnt to the ground.” Sarcasm and derision fight for dominance in my tone.
“You have a copy.”
“Which won’t stand up in a court of law.”
“There will be other records, Tia. You just have to know where to look.”
“And have a bottomless pit of money to fight Mrs Kraus in court because, trust me, the only way I am getting what is supposedly mine is if I pry it from Mrs Kraus’s cold dead fingers.” I snort with a bitter laugh. It seems sarcasm wins that battle.
“I kind of like the sound of that.”
“Me too. Can we talk about something else?” The excitement I felt this morning is long gone, and the weight of this conversation is making it a physical chore to take another step. Logan senses this, I think, and we take a turn off the main road and head toward a small park. He sits and lifts me across his lap, cradling me like the most precious parcel outside of a newborn baby.
“Sure, what would you like to talk about?”
“Your sister.” I reply. I was teasing.
“Hmm, well, I guess I had that coming.” His reply takes me by surprise, and as much as I feel exhausted, if he’s willing to talk about her, I am not going to shut him down.
“Might as well rip the band aids off together. That way, we can lick each other’s wounds.”
“Not what I want to be licking right now.”
“And that’s why we needed to have this conversation out of the bedroom.” I snicker.
“Because in the rest of the house you’re safe?” He retorts with a wicked knowing grin. At least he’s smiling. I snuggle against his broad chest and soak up the warmth as it penetrates every cell in my body when he holds me.
“I’m always safe with you, but no, no room is safe, and we do need to have this conversation.”
He gives an almost imperceptible nod. “What about my sister?”
“You spoke to her?”
“I called her to ask about you. Her plan worked to that extent at least.” I can feel him stiffen beneath me, and I try and pull him back with my own comforting embrace. “I wanted to know if you knew. I mean, if you knew what she did to my parents.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t even know she was your sister. Not until you told me. She had a Southern American accent for chrissake. You don’t share the same surname. And when I was told my mother had died of a heart attack a year into my sentence and I said I wished I’d never had a mother, she told me she was an orphan. It was how we bonded.” I vehemently shake my head. “I honestly thought you had worked together at some point, something to do with computers. I never suspected.”
“I know; she wouldn’t have let on. You probably never would’ve found out if I hadn’t told you. Speaking with her confirmed one thing. You loved me and were neck deep in trouble that she didn’t give a shit about.”
“I think she needs help.”
“I agree. Unless she voluntarily commits herself, there is nothing I can do.” He takes a deep breath and another. The silence hangs heavy. I let him take his time, and he finally breaks the peace with a hollow laugh. “Its like waiting for a ticking bomb, if she commits a crime maybe I can have her sectioned. More than likely though, she’ll convince a judge she’s misguided and heartbroken but not insane. She’s done it before.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“She poisoned them.” His candour makes my stomach turn. “She admitted it to me just once and not anywhere where it could be recorded. She only got charged with perverting the course of justice when she should’ve got life.”
“I’m so sorry, Logan.”
“You would’ve loved my mum, and my dad was the best.” He blinks back the tears glazing his eyes, and the smallest smile struggles to reach his cheeks.
“It’s okay Logan we don’t have to—” He cuts me off, and with herculean effort that clearly causes unbearable physical pain, powers through his heartbreak.
“She used aconite, which is an untraceable poison. Its causes heart arrhythmia. She mixed it in with my mother’s birthday cake. She made my mother’s favourite, coffee and walnut.”
“My favourite too,” I say softly, and he manages a one-sided smile in sad acknowledgement.
“My sister and I are both allergic to walnuts.”
“Oh god, Logan.”
“They died in their sleep. She removed any evidence from the house, she even doused the kitchen and her bedroom in bleach, which she explained away as something she did in a ‘fit of grief’. The solicitor said perverting the course of justice was the only charge that would stick. It carried a six-year sentence. I also testified against her. She’d stabbed me in the leg when I tried to restrain her when they came to arrest her. The police couldn’t get near her, and I stupidly thought she was going to let me bring her in.
“Only when I looked in her vacant dark eyes, did I understand, at that moment she wanted us both together or both dead. Her arm flayed, brandishing the knife, I managed to dislodge it before she could either hit her target or turn it on herself. She got four years added to that charge for harassment with violence. Ten years and out in seven, not exactly life.” His voice catches. His face is a tortuous display of devastation and bitterness. “She got away with murder.” He looks down at me and I’m speechless. “Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have known right away if Lilith hadn’t confessed. I mean, I would’ve guessed at some point. I think she wanted to make me understand.”
“Understand?”
“Understand, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to be with me.”
“Oh.”
“If you know where she is, I would very much like that information.”
I’m stunned he thinks I would keep this from him. I want to say duh or something equally good at expressing my astonishment that he would think I owe her any loyalty after what she’s done. She played me and ruined Logan.
“Of course, and if I knew, I would give it to you. All I have is the burner phone, and you said she’s disconnected the number.”
“She has.” He accepts my information with a troubled brow and heavy sigh.
“I’m so sorry, Logan.”
“It’s in the past and that is not my concern right now.”
“You really think she’d risk going back to jail?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Jail just gives her more time to scheme. She’ll never give up.”
I shiver in his arms, the chill from his words striking my very core. “What are we going to do?”
“Right now, nothing, because tomorrow is your birthday and we have a dress to buy.” He stands, lifting me in his arms. The ominous conversation falls to our feet like a heavy blanket woven and weighted down with dark and dirty deeds. He steps away, leaving that task for another day.
The taxi pulls to the kerb, and Logan pays the driver as I open the door. My feet burn with heat when I hit the pavement. We have walked the length of Bond Street, Oxford Street, and back to Bond before I was physically dragged into Roberto Cavalli to make my first purchase.
I grip the ribbon handle of one sleek stiff paper bag. I’m the proud owner of a stunning Roberto Cavalli backless cocktail dress. It’s completely gorgeous, and despite my reluctance to actually let Logan spend any of his money on me, I couldn’t stop smiling at my reflection when I came out of the dressing room. Logan’s jaw hit the floor. Delicate black lace and crushed velvet hugged my body like a second skin, and I was giddy with the lustful gaze, which darkened Logan’s eyes so much I didn’t need to try on another outfit.
The first one was the winner.
We hit one other shop where Logan picked out some ridiculously expensive underwear, and I fell in love with a cute pair of black lace open toe Luna Jimmy Choo shoes. They are higher than anything I’ve ever worn. I doubt I’ll be able to walk in them without the aid of a net, but I’m damn well going to try.
The colour drained from my face when we got to the till.
Logan appealed to my aesthetic appreciation of the shoes at least, as a work of art. He told me I could treasure them away for special occasions, if it made me feel better, or put them on display for all to see, after tomorrow evening.
Either way, he was buying them, and I would be wearing them.
My feet falter when I look away from the retreating taxi and see an unfamiliar man standing at Logan’s front door. Logan slips his hand in mine and strides confidently to approach the immaculately dressed stranger. The man turns and offers a stiff yet friendly smile. His hand outstretched toward me. Logan steps half in front, blocking the hand like it was some sort of weapon.
“Miss Parker?” The man addresses me, confusion and suspicion crinkling the corners of his unseasonably tanned face. I know its summertime, only we never get that much sun in London. His thick grey hair matches his bushy, intense brow. His demeanour strikes me as someone used to brooking more respect than Logan is currently displaying. Stepping around Logan, I offer my hand, despite a low, audible grumble of displeasure emanating from the rigid wall of man beside me.
“Yes, and you are?” I nudge Logan with my elbow and flash him a stand-down-solder scowl, which he completely ignores.
“I’m Sebastian Waterhouse. I’m the Kraus family solicitor.”
“Oh.” I swallow the instant panic down along with the lump in my throat. His handshake is firm, and his warm smile is completely disarming.
“ And that would make me your solicitor.”
“Oh.” I mouth because confusion has robbed me of my voice.