The After Party (A Badboys Boxset) Read online

  I heard noises from downstairs and hurried to see if he was back.

  But it wasn’t Logan in the kitchen closing the door. It was Miles. He’d just come inside. All night he’d rotated positions back and forth from his car parked on the street, to the family room, to the kitchen.

  “Elle, sorry, did I wake you?”

  I shook my head. “Have you heard anything?”

  Miles looked anywhere but at me. “Declan just called me—”

  “What did he say? Is Logan hurt?” The voice wasn’t mine, but it was asking the identical questions I was about to ask. It was Sean’s, and he was standing in the pantry alcove with a can of coffee in his hand.

  “Mr. McPherson, sorry, I didn’t see you,” he answered. “Logan’s fine. He found Tommy, and nothing happened.”

  Relief coursed through me and I could see Sean visibly sag in his own relief.

  “It seems the DEA was following Logan and he didn’t catch the tail. They broke into the room when Logan was with Tommy before Logan could talk to Tommy.”

  Step by step, I made my way to the table and sat down.

  Sean did the very same thing.

  Walking toward the sink, Miles spoke. “Whenever you’re ready to go, Elle, I’ll take you to your townhouse.”

  I didn’t have to ask why. I knew what that meant. Logan hadn’t accomplished whatever it was he set out to do. And he had arranged this as his backup plan. The walls had gone up. He wasn’t coming back until I was gone.

  I had no choice in the matter.

  I was too raw from the night’s events to discuss anything any further. Sitting for a short while, I made myself get my things and let Miles drive me home.

  Once there, I escaped to my room. Just wanting to shut everything out, I lay back on my bed. I had Michael to deal with, but it was too early to call him.

  Michael O’Shea was the brother-in-law I never knew I had up until three months ago, and his daughter was the niece I fell in love with at first sight. It was because of her that I decided to leave the gypsy-like lifestyle I’d adopted and move to Boston. It was also because of her that I’d done what I’d done and Michael had done what he’d done.

  The catalyst for coming to Boston was my missing sister, Lizzy, who still hadn’t returned to her husband and daughter. The last time I saw her was fifteen years ago when she walked away from me. My hope was now that the danger had passed, she’d turn up and maybe we could repair our damaged relationship.

  Just as I closed my eyes, my phone started to ring. For one second, I thought maybe it was Logan, but I knew it wouldn’t be. Holding a breath, I looked at my screen. It was Michael’s name on it.

  Nerves rattled me. Did he check with the delivery service and know the cocaine had actually been delivered last night? They were one of those third-party services and my hope was that the fly-by-night guys wouldn’t be able to be reached directly. Was I wrong? Did Michael know about Logan? About what he’d done?

  “Hello,” I answered, trying to swallow my nervousness.

  “Hi, it’s me. I just wanted to check with you and see if you’ve seen the news?”

  “Yes, I have.” I kept my response short.

  “I’m glad the delivery never arrived. It seems somehow the DEA got wind of it and intervened.”

  Details weren’t given on where the product was found, so Michael really didn’t have a clue. “Does that mean everything will be okay and Clementine is out of danger?”

  “I hope so. With the Blue Hill Gang behind bars, I think whatever Lizzy did will be the least of their concern.”

  I really didn’t want to talk about this. There was so much I wanted to know, but not while lying to Michael. Changing gears, I asked, “Do you think Lizzy will come home now?”

  “I don’t know, Elle. Listen, I have to run and get Clementine from my sister’s. I’ll call you later.”

  “Yes, of course. Give her a kiss for me.”

  He hung up. That was strange. I was worried about my lies, but he seemed so preoccupied, I didn’t have to be.

  With that behind me, and while Miles worked on increasing security, I sat on my bed and pondered what I should do about Logan.

  I thought long and hard, remembering my conversation with his father—“be patient with my son.” With his words fresh in my mind, I tried to call Logan.

  He didn’t answer.

  I didn’t leave a message because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say.

  And he didn’t call me back, either.

  By ten A.M., I knew I couldn’t sit around anymore. It was Friday, and I had to get to my newly opened boutique, The House of Sterling.

  Logan must have been in touch with Miles, because he insisted on driving me to work and spending the day with me. Knowing that, I was certain Logan would call or text or something.

  Nothing.

  Miles drove me home, and later that evening after he finished working on my security system, he left assuring me I would be locked safely inside. I was just about to head upstairs and go to bed when there was a knock on my door. Startled, my heartbeat sped up, but then I chastised myself for thinking it would be anyone who’d come here to harm me. It was probably just Miles. Perhaps he had forgotten something. But a peek through the peephole told me it was Logan.

  Right away, confusion clouded my thoughts. He hadn’t called all day. Why was he here now? My heart was already in a tangle and my mind was a web of questions. Seeing him wasn’t going to help me figure out what to do.

  I should have known Miles had left for a reason.

  Staring at Logan, anger threatening to erupt but need overtaking me, I debated whether or not to let him in. I hated that he’d given up on us so easily. I wanted him to fight his fear of what might happen. Don’t get me wrong, I understood I could be in danger, but I truly believed Tommy was using that fear to further ruin Logan’s life.

  “Elle, it’s me,” he said, his voice low, husky.

  Uncertain, I stood behind the door considering my options. I knew what would happen when I opened the door. I’d see him—his knowing eyes, his hard square jaw, his even harder body, and just like that, I’d let him off the hook for thinking I was safer without him. I’d melt like the schoolgirl I knew better than to be. It would be that simple. But our situation wasn’t that simple. It was so much more complicated. And I hated that it was.

  The knocking persisted until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I longed to see him, to smell him, to touch him. I didn’t want to be apart from him.

  “Elle, please.” His voice broke.

  My heart stilled at the sound of his tone. He was the stronger one, my protector, and yet right now, the dauntless, fearless man needed me and I couldn’t shut him out no matter how much I knew I should. The truth was, deep in my heart, I knew there was no way this thing between us was going to end well. He just wasn’t willing to accept that he wasn’t responsible for my safety, and that fact was going to continue to eat at him and destroy us.

  Still, I couldn’t turn him away.

  All I could do was hope that I was strong enough to make this work for the both of us.

  With a shaky hand, I opened the door and there he stood, all male, all need, all hard and yet soft. With his head down and his sorrowful, regretful hazel eyes blazing into mine, I was his. Any sense of self-preservation I had been feeling vanished.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping toward me and putting his hands on my hips.

  Even upset with him, my body flared to life. Lust and love and something that felt a lot like my own fear swirled around me like a mini tornado. I wanted to push him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to fuck him. I settled for throwing my arms around him. I needed to touch him. To comfort him, as odd as that sounds. With my mouth unbearably close to his ear, I whispered, “Don’t shoulder this situation we’re in on your own.”

  He buried his head in my neck. “I can’t think straight. I’m so fucking worried about you.”

  Oh God, that
ache in his voice killed me. My fingers threaded through his hair and as I touched him, I breathed him in. All Logan. All everything I never knew I wanted but now needed so very desperately.

  Moments passed. Seconds. Maybe minutes. I knew I had to push him away. I had to talk to him with a clear head and I warred with myself until I finally did. “Logan, I’ll be all right. I can take care of myself.”

  His sigh told me he didn’t believe it.

  Clarity set in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going out of my mind. I had to see for myself you were safe.”

  “I’m fine, Logan. I‘11be fine,” I lied. Physically maybe, but emotionally, I didn’t think I would.

  The doubt in his stare made his hazel eyes look icy.

  I chose to ignore it and press on. “Why didn’t you come back to your father’s this morning?” I asked, even though I knew why. Still, it was a start to the bigger conversation.

  His face was worn, his eyes tired. He rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t know what to do. I had to figure things out. And to do that I needed, I need, some time alone.”

  Being alone meant not being with me, which in turn, in his mind, meant I was out of danger. I got that. I just didn’t agree with it. I didn’t want him to be alone. I didn’t want to be alone. But he was worried that if he stayed with me, something bad was going to happen. If something bad was going to happen, I believed it would happen either way. Was he here because he just couldn’t fight his need to be with me? Or had he decided we were in this together? I had to know. “And what has changed?” I asked, trying to make him think this through. Hopefully see that we were better together.

  Logan stared at me with blankness in his eyes.

  I knew right then nothing had changed. I should have asked him to leave—I didn’t. Instead I pressed on, hopeful. “Logan, what has changed?” I repeated, hoping for a miracle.

  There was a slight shake of his head. His beautiful hair was tousled, his stubble longer than usual. Everything about him screamed that he was lost.

  And even though I felt anger that he couldn’t see what I saw, that we should fight together, I couldn’t fight my longing to take the lost boy and comfort him. Maybe make him see things the way I did. That if anything was going to happen, it would happen either way.

  “After everything that happened last night, I had to make certain you were okay,” he said, avoiding my question.

  No matter how many times I tried to reassure him that I would be fine, that I could take care of myself, it didn’t matter. I could see the turbulence he was suffering in his eyes—that he didn’t see it the way I did.

  “And we need to talk. Get our stories straight,” he further clarified.

  I nodded.

  He took the lead, the alpha in him back in action, as he led me to the sofa. Once we sat down, we were only inches away from each other, but it felt like miles. I watched the way his lips moved as he spoke, the way his jaw tensed when I told him about Michael’s call. I couldn’t turn my emotions off, but I tried as our conversation turned even more serious and we discussed our situation in detail—the delivery, what he’d done, his father, the DEA, Tommy, and what had happened after he left me last night.

  Facts. Facts. And more facts.

  Nothing that changed our tragic situation.

  When the talking had ceased, the what-to-say-if-asked agreed upon, we stared at each other. I was searching for the right way to discuss his fear, but I never found the words.

  I don’t know who moved first, him or me, just that his lips were on mine and they felt so good I wasn’t going to deny the moment.

  I opened for him. My mouth, my arms, my legs, and of course my heart.

  His hand curled against the back of my neck, possessively, drawing me nearer.

  Need so big, so large it was like an ocean, a mountain, the world, consumed us.

  Without words, he rose, picked me up, carried me to my bed, and set me down.

  My heart was pounding.

  He unbuttoned. Unzipped. I tugged my shirt off, my leggings, my panties. Eyes only on each other, both naked, our bodies found one another.

  Frantic for each other, we kissed. We touched. We tangled ourselves together.

  His hands roamed.

  Mine did the same.

  Then his lips found my skin and he kissed my mouth, my jaw, my chin, my neck.

  The lights in the room were on and I could see everything. All of him. The leanness of his body. The pale, smooth skin that covered his ribs, his stomach, the jut of his hip bones, and his beautiful, long, fully erect cock. I reached for it, and the feel of him in the palm of my hand made my clit pulse with so much dizzying need that I had to close my eyes. “Fuck me.” The words slipped from my mouth.

  He made a noise and for a second, I wasn’t certain he was going to, but then he rolled us over and before I knew it, I was staring down at his handsome face, straddling him.

  I drew a line over the scar under his eye. The one Tommy had given him. I wanted to lick it, to kiss it, and to tell him everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to ruin the moment with words. So instead, I shifted a little, raised myself the smallest of amounts, and then he was inside of me. Ecstasy. With a shudder, I squeezed my knees against his sides and absorbed the pleasure.

  After a few moments, he started to move. Slow. Easy. Up and down. In and out.

  My hands flattened on his chest.

  His body continued to lift and fall, his hands now possessively gripping my hips.

  My mouth lowered to his, and gasps of pleasure escaping through open-mouthed kisses filled the room. It was hard to concentrate on kissing him when with every slide of his cock there was a glorious press against my clit.

  The pleasure kept building.

  Higher and higher.

  On the edge, I needed more. I pushed upright and rode him. Faster. Harder.

  Eyes locked, he fucked upward and I rolled my hips.

  Over and over.

  In rhythm.

  I arched my back.

  My heart beat faster.

  My breath rushed out.

  And then I was coming.

  He was coming.

  It was fast.

  Intense.

  My body quaking in perfect spasms of ecstasy, I looked down at him. He stilled, groaned, and I could feel his cock pulse inside me as he rode out his own release. Once our breathing slowed, he pulled me to his chest and held me tightly. Kissed my head. I didn’t ever want this to end but soon, sleep pulled me under.

  Early in the morning, too early, I awoke in my bed—alone.

  On the pillow beside me was a note:

  I had to go to New York City. Not sure when I’ll be back. I’ll be in touch.

  The blood in my veins felt like ice water.

  He wasn’t going to be in touch. I knew this. I felt it. Hell, I knew it from the moment he set foot inside and told me he needed time.

  Still, I couldn’t stop the flood of emotions. Anger surged through me. He’d left me—again. He didn’t even wake me to discuss things. He made the decision for us to face what might never come—separately.

  Suppressing any tears that threatened to spill, I pressed my fingertips to the place where his head had lain last night and said out loud, “Screw you.”

  Screw you. Right, I thought with a small huff of laughter, as I was on my way to New York to bring him home.

  To be fair, I’d held onto my anger for a good solid six hours after I’d read the note. I’d gone to work, tried to make it through the day without thinking about it. But then the anger began to subside and the tears fell. Somewhere around noon, I rationalized that he was scared, and the only way he knew how to deal with fear was to run. After all, he’d done it his whole life. And so had I. Moving from job to job, from country to country, trying to escape my childhood. But no more. If I wanted him in my life, I had to go get him and make him see it was time for that cycle to end. For him. And for me
.

  I’d enlisted the help of his father. Sean thought Tommy could be making empty threats, but wanted me to be cautious and reluctantly agreed to give me Logan’s address in New York City. He also called the doorman and told him to let me up when I arrived. Miles was much more hesitant about my impromptu trip. Still, he brought me to the station and promised not to tell Logan. In exchange, I promised to call him on my way back so he could pick me up, in case I came back on the train—alone.

  That was how I’d come to board the train exactly 215 minutes ago on this Sunday afternoon. The Amtrak Acela Express came to a screeching halt at Penn Station and my heart started to pound. Logan was everything I needed in my life and nothing I’d known I was looking for. Not a white knight or a prince charming but a man I loved fiercely, and who loved me with equal fierceness. He didn’t have to say the words I love you for me to know that he did—it was in his voice when he said my name, in his eyes when he looked at me, and in the way he touched me with a protectiveness that somehow I’d grown to need.

  I exited the train with no luggage in hand but a mission in mind. When Logan and I were together, everything in the world was right no matter how wrong things were. And that was why I was here—to remind him of that.

  To catch him if I could.

  Walking fast to keep up the pace of the other passengers wasn’t a challenge because it would get me to him faster. The smell of food permeated the air, reminding me just how hungry I was, but my mission didn’t allow for stopping.

  Madison Square Garden was my point of entry into the city and I quickly hailed a cab. “Eighty-third and Fifth, please,” I told the driver.

  Even though it was late afternoon, the traffic was still stop and go. It seemed to take forever to get to the Upper East Side and my nerves had started to rear again. When the driver finally arrived at my destination thirty minutes later, my pulse was pounding. I paid, and once I was standing on the sidewalk, I began to second-guess my decision. I’d never been inside this part of Logan’s life. This was the elite half, the high-society side he didn’t care for very much. But it was still a part of him.