Blow Page 7

  “Where exactly will the sex toys be displayed?” Logan asked with a sinister purr in his voice.

  Sensing I was only going to be even more turned on if I saw his face, I didn’t turn to face him when I spoke. “Over here, next to the counter in this antique Chinese glass case.”

  I knew he was approaching me with that long, lean body of his when I smelled his delicious scent. “I have to ask. How much do the items in your hand retail for?”

  Drawing in a breath, I unlocked a drawer behind the antique counter that once sold tickets for a carousel in Vienna and set the items inside it. “Each will be tagged one thousand dollars.”

  Logan gave a low whistle. “Nice. At least it’s not as much as Beckham’s gift to Posh back in their day.”

  Laughing, I gave in and glanced over at him. “No, I highly doubt, even with my mad selling skills, that I could sell a million-dollar item. To be honest, I’m not even certain these will go, but Peyton insisted we give them a try.”

  The smile he gave me felt electric. “Oh, they’ll sell. In fact, you might want to order a case of those.”

  Discussing devices used to provide pleasure should have been awkward, yet somehow it wasn’t. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  With folded arms, he leaned back against the counter. “About the wealthy residents of Boston, absolutely. And here’s a small suggestion.” He bobbed his chin toward the ornate Chinese glass cabinet beside him. “Put those items out tomorrow, and as soon as a customer asks the price, casually mention your supply is low, and I bet they buy them up.”

  I raised a brow. “Experienced in high-society sexual dynamics, are you?”

  His grin was devilish. “You might say that. I also have a few friends back home that as soon as I mention upscale sex toys, I’m sure will be interested.”

  I tilted my head. “Will I have to pay you commission?” I was seriously flirting with him now.

  There was just something about him.

  We were facing each other and the noise he made from deep in his throat rumbled through me. “I’m sure we could work something out.”

  My cheeks flamed and I wasn’t a blusher, or I hadn’t been before I met Logan.

  “Show me around.” His tone was commanding again.

  I couldn’t understand why I liked it.

  I shouldn’t have.

  More than happy to escape his lustful stare, I circled the counter and pointed. “To my left I have rugs from Persia, silks from China, and perfumes from France. To my right I have the finest cotton sheets from Egypt, English soaps, Wiley Wallaby gourmet licorice from Australia, Himalayan gourmet salt, and Hacienda La Esmeralda coffee beans from Panama.” I continued around the space, pointing out all the finest things I’d managed to find around the world.

  Logan was right next to me and I watched as he picked up a few items with keen interest, whistled at one or two, and raised an impressed brow every now and then.

  When I finished, we ended up back at the vintage cash register stand and near the sex toys I’d locked away in the drawer beneath it.

  He glanced into the empty cabinet meant to house them. “I’m telling you, I’d put those items out for opening day.”

  I tilted my head. “You would, would you?”

  His gaze was bold. “Trust me.”

  The key was on the counter and I unlocked the drawer. “Maybe you’d like to buy one? For someone in your life, I mean.”

  “Wh-what?” he stuttered with a laugh.

  A shyness lingered in his eyes that made me yearn for him.

  He stepped closer to me and I breathed him in.

  With shaky fingers, I opened the drawer.

  Logan leaned even closer and whispered, “If I had someone to buy one for, I would.”

  I chewed my bottom lip as I hurried to transfer the items, secretly ecstatic I now knew for sure he didn’t have a girlfriend. “Okay, done.” I sighed with relief.

  His eyes were warm as he looked around, taking everything in. “Elle, this is really incredible. And I’m not just saying that.”

  The compliment moved me and I searched for how to respond.

  “How long did you say you’ve been in Boston?”

  Um . . .”Three months,” I answered, not certain I had mentioned that and if he’d make the connection to or knew that my sister wasn’t really in rehab . . . that she was missing. That she had been . . . for three months.

  Logan casually leaned back against one of the display tables, his palms flat on the wooden surface. “Where were you living before you moved here?”

  Feeling more at ease, I leaned back against the counter behind me. “Nowhere.”

  Curiosity glittered in his eyes.

  I shrugged. “I was somewhat of a nomad. A gypsy, is what Peyton calls me. I had a small place in San Francisco but I rarely ever went there. For the last five years, I’ve just traveled the world and sold my treasures on the Internet.”

  Logan picked up a silk scarf that lay on the table and ran his fingers over it. “You liked moving around so much after your childhood?”

  “It was the only life I knew until I came here.”

  “Weren’t you lonely?”

  I shook my head and gave him a forced smile. “Isn’t everyone in their own way?”

  Forcing his own smile, he said, “Well, I think what you’ve done is really impressive. And I can see you really love it.”

  Things seemed to be getting serious between us again and I felt myself needing to push him away. “I don’t want to keep you. I can walk home. It’s less than a mile from here.”

  He stepped forward and tugged my hat off. “I said I’d see you home and I’m a man of my word.” He glanced over his shoulder out the window. “And besides, this,” he held my hat up before setting it on the counter, “isn’t going to keep you dry. Nor is your trench coat with the winds as high as they are.”

  He had a point.

  I laughed. I’d laughed a lot with Logan. “Okay, then would you like to help me move these boxes downstairs?”

  Logan looked at the stacks of cardboard boxes, some empty, some not. “Sure, I’ll get the heavy ones.”

  “So chauvinistic,” I teased.

  He pretended to be pained and placed his palm on his heart. “And here I thought I was being chivalrous.”

  I clapped my hand to my forehead. “What was I thinking? Of course you can carry the heavy boxes.”

  Logan moved closer to me still. “Are you mocking me?”

  I squeezed his biceps. Electricity struck and my flirty voice fell. “No, not at all. Just testing your strength.” Breaking the connection, I bent to lift a box. “I’m much stronger than I look, you know.”

  He raised a brow and then purposely shifted his gaze down my body. “I bet.”

  The heat between us was palpable and I found myself setting the box back down so that I could take my coat off, but then feared I might have looked weak. “I am. Yoga, Pilates, kickboxing, boxing, Tae Bo. You name it, I’ve done it.”

  The corners of Logan’s mouth tipped up. “I don’t doubt your abilities. Something tells me you have mad self-defense skills and can hit your target as well.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Wing Chun and point blank.”

  It seemed like I was boasting as soon as the words left my mouth. “Not that I’m bragging,” I added.

  He ran his fingers up the sleeve of my blouse. “Not at all. I respect the fact that you know how to protect yourself.”

  “I didn’t have much choice.” My expression must have portrayed my anguish, even though I hoped it hadn’t.

  Immediately, Logan asked, “Why? What happened?”

  With a shrug, I dislodged myself from his hold and nudged past him to the boxes. “Too long and too sad of a story to share now.”

  There was no way to explain my life easily. That since I was fifteen, I’d basically been on my own. And that I’d had to learn to protect myself because I didn’t know what to expect. That since t
hen, I’d only ever relied on one person—Charlie. And that didn’t end well. So ever since, I’d believed the only person I should rely on is myself.

  Logan seemed impervious to my mood. Either that or feelings weren’t his thing.

  Not that they were mine.

  He removed his jacket and moved his head from side to side as if preparing for a workout before rubbing his hands together. “I think I’m ready. Where do you want the boxes?”

  Okay, definitely impervious.

  Our conversations were up and down. They went from brutally honest, to serious, to funny in the blink of an eye. And as I looked at him now, I had to laugh. In fact, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was easy that way. He made things easy. I liked that.

  “Downstairs.” I pointed.

  He hefted the box I’d just set down. I went for the empty ones.

  Just because.

  Boxes at my sides, I saw the metal tucked in his waistband as soon as he stepped in front of me. His shirt mostly covered it, but I was good at catching things like that. I didn’t say anything. After all, I, too, carried protection everywhere I went—it wasn’t tucked in my pants, but it was zipped inside my purse.

  We made almost a dozen trips up and down the stairs. Our conversation was light. We talked about Boston, the weather, and baseball. Once all of the boxes were out of sight, he helped me break down the ones that were empty and restock the items into inventory that I didn’t need upstairs. Finally, I made one last lap around the boutique. “I think it’s ready.”

  He followed the path I had taken. “I think you’re right.”

  The cuckoo clock from Germany started to go off. The little bird popped its head out and as soon as the music started to play, the dancers spun with the music and the bell ringers rung their bells. Nine times this cycle continued.

  Logan stared at the clock. When it finished, he looked at me. “I hope to fuck that sells right away.”

  I crossed my arms and tried to look insulted, but I couldn’t fight the smile.

  He snapped his fingers and pointed one at me. “See, you feel the same.”

  Knowing exactly what he meant, I moved toward him and lowered his finger. Sparks flickered when I touched him. I dropped my hold and recovered. “I refuse to speak ill of any of my treasures, but I do hope the clock finds a home quickly.”

  Logan smiled softly. “Speaking of homes, it’s time I take you there. I’m sure you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

  I did.

  Still, I couldn’t help but think about him in ways I knew I shouldn’t for so many reasons. And the main reason wasn’t even the gun he was carrying. I glanced out the window, pondering what was going to happen when he got me home. I noticed the rain had let up, so while I put my coat on, I left my hat behind.

  Logan and I had spent only four hours together, but it felt like so much longer. I felt like I knew him. Not well, but I’d gotten closer to him than I had to anyone in years. Michael and Peyton didn’t count—they were people brought into my life by circumstance.

  But then again, if I thought about it, I supposed he was, too.

  “Where to?” Logan asked as he got in the Range Rover.

  Still pondering my last thought, I answered quietly, “Thirty-six Melrose Street.”

  Logan knew where he was going. He did a U-turn and headed south on Charles, then made a right on Melrose. We were in Bay Village and on the quiet tree-lined street in no time.

  “It’s right here on the left.”

  He stopped in front of the brick row houses, and I indicated the end unit with the red door and black painted steps.

  “That’s mine.” I pointed.

  Logan searched the deserted street before he got out and came around to open my door. I stepped out and started walking, assuming he would be coming in.

  Again, he stopped and studied the street as if assessing the neighborhood and the building.

  When I threw him a curious glance, he simply said, “It’s nice.”

  Suddenly very nervous, I fumbled for my keys. “I like it. It’s one of the only original row houses still standing in Boston. The architecture and very cheap price is what sold me. It’s small and needs a lot of work, but it’s more of a home than I’ve had in a long time.”

  The way he looked at me, I felt like he was staring through me. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

  More than ready to do this, I turned and unlocked the door, pushing it open but not stepping in. “How about now?” I whispered.

  Logan focused on my mouth but didn’t answer me.

  I was already nervous; I didn’t invite men into my personal space, and his silence was making me uncertain. I rephrased the question. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t drink. With two alcoholic parents, I quit long ago. Figured it gave me a better chance of not turning out like either of them.”

  “Then coffee? I know you drink coffee.” My nerves were showing and I was babbling.

  Logan pounced. He caged me within the open door, his arms gripping each side of the jamb as his mouth neared my ear.

  Frightened wasn’t the word to describe what I was feeling. Aroused fit much better, as desire shot right to my core.

  Warm breath gusted down my neck as he exhaled a string of raspy words. “If I come inside, you and I both know what’s going to happen.”

  The hush of the night sky made everything he said seem hotter. Yes, I did know what would happen, and I wanted it. “Logan,” I gasped.

  His mouth was practically on my ear when he spoke again. “But you have a big day tomorrow and even though I want to fuck you like I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone, I also respect you enough to know I shouldn’t cross over your threshold. Not tonight.”

  Crushed, I felt my body stiffen as rejection wove its way through me. Who said no to sex when it was being offered with no strings?

  Logan stepped back and lifted my chin. “Hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You know I do.” He let his words trail off. “You know it.”

  Obviously my disappointment had shown in my body language. Yes, he’d said that, but I couldn’t help but feel unwanted. The night had started out with expectation in his words. And now this. What had happened? Had I shown him too much of the real me?

  When I didn’t respond, because frankly I didn’t know what to say, he stepped into me, close again, so close that there was only a breath between us. He stared at me, really stared at me, for the longest time. When I blinked, his hands shifted and he grabbed my face. Crashing his mouth to mine, he forced me to part my lips.

  Electricity sparked. I felt dizzy. Even though his mouth was moving in a harsh manner, his lips felt soft, tender even. His tongue met mine and the minute it happened, I felt a tingling travel down my body all the way to my toes.

  I couldn’t help the low moan that escaped my throat. Desire was taking me over, but I tried to stop it. He’d just told me he wasn’t coming in.

  This was just a kiss.

  A good-night kiss.

  But oh, what a good-night kiss.

  Whether it was on purpose or simply reflex, his hand traveled down my body, sending me all kinds of mixed signals. One signal that was quite clear was that this feeling, whatever it was, had consumed him as well.

  Whatever his intention, it felt good, even if it was just the slightest of touches. Unexpectedly, he found my hand and laced his fingers between mine. His lips still moved against mine with a fervor I savored. Somehow, he managed to drag our hands inside my coat and under my blouse. We were skin to skin—his knuckles against my bare stomach.

  Yes, I wanted him. I wanted him like I hadn’t wanted anyone before. Enough to let him take me in the doorway of my home, but then I remembered he had already said no. No, just that he wouldn’t come in.

  As his kisses grew harder and his grip tighter, I knew if I didn’t pull away he might just try to put his cock inside me right here.

  The worst
part? I might have just let him. “You have to stop,” I whispered against his lips.

  A deep sigh escaped his throat and then he tugged at my lip one last time. My lips felt swollen, but I missed his mouth on them.

  “I know, but I don’t want to,” he whispered back.

  Masking my disappointment, I gave him a slight smile. “And we already determined I have to get to bed.”

  With a drop of his forehead to mine, he breathed heavily. I was doing the same. His hands, though, stayed where they were, still under my blouse. He hadn’t forgotten they were there, either. Purposefully, he swiped his thumb across my abdomen and played with the waistband of my leggings.

  With an ache between my legs that was anything but sweet, I gave him one last brush of my lips.

  This was the hardest good night.

  I craved his touch.

  I wanted to feel him skin to skin.

  All of him.

  But I did have a big day ahead of me and needed to get some rest.

  Besides, I was confused. And after that kiss, I knew if he came in, there wouldn’t be any sleep. So I did what I didn’t want to do. I took the one step up and broke his hold of me. “Logan McPherson, I had a really nice time with you tonight.” It was all I could say.

  He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Elle Sterling, the feeling is mutual.”

  I smiled at him sweetly.

  Logan didn’t return my smile but instead turned and walked toward his Rover, getting in and driving away without ever turning back.

  We didn’t exchange numbers or make plans to see each other again. It was when I realized this that I figured it out—we had both known all along that it could never be.

  And what I’d thought was a good-night kiss was really a goodbye kiss.

  LOGAN

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I slammed the wheel.

  I wanted her. Wanted her more than I had wanted anyone in a very long time. I had tried to turn it off. My emotions were like a chick’s.

  Hot.

  Cold.

  Up.

  Down.

  Where was my fucking head? I had to stay focused. I knew I needed to get to my father and find out what Patrick had planned for O’Shea, but then after that kiss, I wasn’t able to pull away.