She had mixed emotions when seeing the repurposed warehouse that held Logan’s loft-style apartment. It reminded her a little too clearly of the old warehouse Andrei had repurposed for a clandestine meetup location. It was spacious, even cavernous. Tall ceilings to echo the sound of a slap to the face.

On the other hand, his apartment was clean and well lit, and smelled deliciously of Logan. Maybe it was the pine floors. Her emotions were mixed, too, her mind flooded with memories. Though she never had any memories of him at his new apartment, standing there in the large open-plan room still brought her back to that time, a more innocent time, when they’d been dating. It reminded her, specifically, of that first night. Her convenient car trouble after the movie. An excuse to stay over and spend the night.

It was similar to what Logan had done, minus the date beforehand. He’d made her decision to sleep over seem so logical and benign, just like he had in the past. She supposed that it was nice to have this bit of ordinariness come through. At least some things didn’t change. Just like the way he’d stacked about a weeks’ worth of dishes in the sink. Was that really the way he left his apartment before going away on a trip somewhere?

“Sorry,” he said, pointing to the kitchen with a wince. “I know it’s terrible. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“You were probably still expecting to be in Mexico.”

He grinned but said nothing else.

“How long were you away for that?”

Logan made his way into the kitchen, arriving at the fridge. “Not long enough for anything in this fridge to go bad. I hope.” He opened the door and laughed.

“Do I even want to know?” Holly stepped around him to take a look at a mostly bare refrigerator, save for a few beers, a jar of salsa, and something in the vegetable crisper that she’d rather not know what it was, or what it used to be. “You know,” she said, “you actually need something in the fridge for it to go bad.”

“I’ve got that lettuce in there,” he said.

“It’s liquefying.”

“Yeah. That’s the lazy way of juicing it.”

“Gross . . .” She walked away from the fridge, feeling even less hungry than she had before seeing the liquefied produce.

Logan was still lingering around the kitchen, threatening to try some home cooking. “Maybe I could whip you up a bowl of salsa?”

“No thanks.” She found her way back to the sofa, collapsing onto it and letting out a big sigh. “Home at least, huh? I still can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m here.”

Logan, still at the fridge, said, “How about a beer?”

“How about something a little stiffer?”

For a split second he stared at her with a blank face, then said, “Hmm . . . I think we can probably do that.” Logan came back with two ice-filled glasses and bottle of whiskey. “This stiff enough?”

She grabbed a glass. “So far, so good.”

“How much?” He tilted the bottle to pour her some whiskey.

“Go ahead,” she said, watching him pour. “All the way.”

Logan chuckled. “One of those kinds of nights, huh?”

“One of those kinds of fucking weeks,” she said, laughing as she took the cold glass to her lips. “Oh.” She stopped herself from drinking, offering to clink glasses with Logan before continuing on with the beginning stages of subduing her brain sufficiently to even try the process of forgetting, just for one night, for one hour, the horrors of the world. She could try forgetting in Logan too, in his pretty smile. In the halcyon memories they’d had together, in his old apartment.

What was there for them in this new apartment? Safe refuge?

Logan, without missing a beat, had called a local Chinese restaurant and ordered her favorite, broccoli mushroom stir-fry. He’d done this without even asking, as if she and her tastes had been transported back seven years. Their relationship, encapsulated forever in a remembered restaurant order. She wondered what else he’d remembered.

The whiskey on rocks, certainly, was a new one. There had undoubtedly been a few new developments, the most dramatic of which was her cousin’s kidnapping. It had brought on a certain vulnerability that she’d never felt before, but she was glad to at least have Logan to feel it with. It was okay, under his watchful eye and in his protective arms. Though they’d been at arm’s length since the mission, he was still there. Still close by, still protecting her.

She wanted him closer. Two drinks in, and Holly wanted those arms tightly around her, if just for a moment. If just for one little kiss.

She shook the idea from her mind after taking another sip of straight whiskey, shaking away some of the queasiness, too. She wasn’t used to drinking strong alcohol like this, or feeling so tempted by a man. Her life and its impulses had always been controlled, managed, eschewed. She had CIA work assignments to be done, assignments long overdue, or at least some hacking project that could keep her hands and her mind busy.

What would keep her busy now? For better or worse, the work of rescuing Beth had been placed squarely in the hands of DARC Ops. It was a relinquishing of power, but an inevitable one. Without them, she might not have even been able to brave the first meeting with Godev. She wasn’t used to this real-life shit. She was used to keeping her hands busy on a keyboard, and now that it wasn’t necessary, where would she keep her hands busy?

“Feeling better?” Logan said. “Feeling hungry?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” He patted the sofa underneath them. “You can take the bed tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”

She hadn’t even thought about it.

Though she knew it was only a one-bedroom apartment. Spacious, yes, but only one bedroom. His bedroom. His bed.

Where did she assume he’d be sleeping?

“What’s wrong?” he said. “It’s comfy, I promise.”

“The sofa? No, I like it.”

“I know it’s a little old and lumpy. It’s ancient, actually. Do you even remember it?”

“The sofa?” she laughed.

“Would you believe I had it moved here from my old place?”

“I’d believe it,” she said, despite actually having some difficulty picturing him schlepping the old piece of furniture so many miles. Especially since it had been so intimately tied up in her memory. It was hard to imagine it was the same sofa she’d sat on. Her cheeks heated. They’d done more than just sit on it. Why the hell hadn’t he gotten a new couch? “What’s the problem?” she said. “Jackson not paying you enough?”

“I like it the way it is. Old and broken in. You know, you can’t get them new like that.”

She couldn’t even bring herself to joke about some of the ways they had broken in that sofa. She looked down at it now in a whole new light. It should have, in a way, grossed her out, but like his arms, she felt an unexplained comfort and familiarity. A safe harbor in a stormy sea took many forms.

“Refill?” he said, filling her glass again with another few ounces of the golden, potently aged whiskey. “Not that I’m trying to get you drunk or anything, but I think you need at least some sort of mind alteration.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I do.” She thought about a better type of alteration. One that could be brought about more easily, and enjoyably, and without the hangover.

The guilt might still be there, though . . .

Logan smiled and filled his glass. “I think I need it, too.”

What did he really need? What did this man really need in life since their breakup? And why hadn’t he already found it?

“Did you find that tracking device yet?” Logan asked. “They’re designed to be invisible as well as . . . untouchable.” He shook his head and said, “Is that even a word? Untouchable?”

“Of course it’s a word.”

“But I mean, does it make sense in that context? I guess I should have probably said, unfindable.”

“Now that’s not a word.”

“Okay,” he said. “Well, have you found it, regardless?”

She laughed. “No, I haven’t even thought about it.”

“You might want to find it. If it did get discovered, we’re not the only ones who could track it.”

“I suppose a shower won’t deactivate it?” Holly said. “Or at least lodge it loose?”

“Well, let’s be sure,” Logan said, inching closer, the sides of their bodies touching. “Do you mind?”

“Well, you put it in there, so . . .” She had turned her head away, staring at the darkened hallway that she assumed led to his bedroom. She felt him move closer, his hands combing through her hair now, her body this time loosening with it. This time, without the worry of meeting her Russian kidnapper immediately after. This time, in the quiet privacy of Logan’s apartment.

She felt him say, “Hmm,” with his face leaned in close, looking, fingers tickling through. “Your hair smells nice, by the way.”

Was he just saying that? It was hard to remember when she’d last had a shower.

It was only a day ago. God, it felt like forever.

“Got it,” he said, pulling away from her.

“Thanks.”

His hands returned, this time in an attempt to fix up the hair he’d messed and knotted up with the search. He kept them there, lingering, feeling through.

Holly said, “Now what are you looking for?”

“Nothing.”

His hands moved lower, out of her hair after patting and combing it flat, then onto the back of her neck, both hands moving out toward her shoulders. Both hands gently squeezing the sore muscles at the base of her neck. When he used a little more pressure, Holly couldn’t help letting her head fall back, loose and limp at his commanding touch. A familiar touch, his fingertips applying the right amount of force to the right muscle groups. A healing energy worked through, but still there was something more. It was beyond just a therapeutic massage. There was something hungry in his touch. A yearning that she knew all too well.

A quiet moan escaped from somewhere deep inside. After, when it was too late to reel it back, she almost felt embarrassed about how it sounded. Then he continued his massage and she’d already forgotten all about it.

Was he moaning, too?

No . . . but his breathing . . . his other hand rested on her shoulder, and she reached back for it, folding it in to her neck and then down, their hands together traveling over the ridge of her collar bone. He didn’t offer any resistance, and she couldn’t resist plunging that hand inside the top of her shirt, letting him do the rest.

He moved in without further guidance, his hand coming tight around her breast as she felt his mouth at her neck. The transition was quick and reckless, and likely just what they’d both needed to get past any silly lingering thoughts about staying cool and professional. It was hard enough to go a full day of professionalism around her ex-lover. A whole night, too. Even just the start of it in his apartment would have been a whole other level of difficult.

Why not make things easier on each other?

Why not help his hand slide underneath her bra, as he squeezed onto her tighter?

His kiss at her neck ended, his weight shifting slightly on the seat next to her, him almost falling against her as he settled in, and stared at her in the eyes for a moment.

He looked just as hungry, and perhaps just as apprehensive.

Wasn’t it too late for apprehension? For taking things back and forgetting them? Certainly too late for forgetting him. She could still remember his touch, his taste, seven long years later.

For a half second, she worried he’d begun to actually think, and think too much about what they’d started. And when his expression changed, as if he’d come to some conclusion, Holly was sure she would hear the words that would keep them apart. Words of de-escalation, regret. She was sure they’d just fucked up, and now it was time to reel it back in.

Then his face darted against hers, almost too fast and rough, with his sandpapered chin grazing her face as he kissed her. The moment his lips touched hers, she forgot the small bite of pain and the reason for discomfort. She forgot herself and began living only through her lips, through their kiss.

Holly had already fallen backward, sinking ever deeper into the old, comfortable sofa, falling and falling. With his weight firmly on top of her, it felt like the descent would never end, her consciousness buried under his kisses. She was happy to be there. Under him, under everything. It was the safest she’d ever felt.

Hands were underneath her shirt again, this time from the bottom. And this time, Holly was doing more than guiding them, working together to remove her shirt completely, and the bra, allowing her man the access he needed. Something he’d perhaps always needed, judging by the speed and voracity of his attack. Of his mouth sucking hungrily on her nipples while she unfastened his belt. He paused. “Let me grab a condom.” Holly reached up and pulled him back down. “No need,” she mumbled against his lips. “I’m covered.”

“Me, too,” he said, punctuated by kisses. “I’m clean. Testing is part of the job.”

In the quiet of Logan’s apartment, things like belts and clothes slid away with the most glorious sounds. It was exciting, hearing Logan freeing himself of his pants, his breathing getting louder as he worked away Holly’s. She felt hyper perceptive of their sounds in the otherwise dead-quiet safety of that moment on his sofa.

His groans pierced the air as she fondled and stroked him. Soon after, she heard the muddled voice of a woman, pleading, slurred with heavy breathing. It didn’t sound or feel like her own voice. The hand between her legs wasn’t her own, either. For too long, it had been. It was the sad, boring reality of life after someone like Logan. Her own hand could never compare. It couldn’t measure to his size. Nothing could. Neither could all of her toys match the warmth of him when he slid inside her, the shape of him when he broke her open and began pumping deep inside her with his love.

He was a lot rougher than she’d expected. But it was okay. She liked it. There was something about him tonight, something about the way he needed her clothing off and how he needed Holly on her back with her legs spread wide open . . . something about the way he plunged himself into her made it clear that something real had changed in him. There was an impulsiveness, perhaps born from fear. God knew she felt the fear, too. Fear from many things. From the latest horrific events of the outside world. And from their own internal world, her and Logan, fear of what they were doing, fear of what they needed. Fear it may never happen again.

It was with this impulse that she pulled him into herself harder and faster, her body shaking with his work. She closed her eyes and focused on how good he felt, hardly feeling his finger slide between her lips, then between her teeth. She sucked on it, feeling nothing else but an unrelenting urge to allow the warmth of her orgasm to shake through her body. With the knuckle of his finger clenched firmly between her teeth, Holly groaned and quivered and came.