Crush(13)

The flip in my belly was from the sound of that voice, and that voice alone. No one had ever made by body react the way he did. No one had ever made me feel the way he did. And no one had ever loved me with the intensity that he did.

Slowly, I turned back. With just that one glance, I knew instantly I had to try to make him see things my way. I loved him way too much not to. Dressed in a designer suit, crisp white shirt, and sharp tie, I wanted to lunge for him but settled on staring as I slowly approached him.

His gaze raked down my body and took its time drinking me in on the climb back up.

As always, the air between us was thick. I drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Logan,” I managed as sternly as I could, considering that my entire body was shaking with need from head to toe. “We need to talk.”

With a slow nod, he stepped aside to let me in.

My feet moved but I don’t remember telling them to do so. I wasn’t even sure they were mine.

Suddenly his hand pressed against the small of my back and my body hummed in delight, making me more than aware of what was mine.

I entered his spacious apartment and felt that just by doing so I had entered his other life. It was a strange yet satisfying feeling. Like he had invited me into his other world, although I knew it was really that I had barged in.

My eyes darted toward the huge expanse of windows. The place was grand in its natural form, yet it reflected who he was. The furniture was sparse, and what was there was simple and functional. There was a lot of black, a whole lot of glass, and not a bit of color, yet the windows were magnificent and the light shining through them more than spectacular. On the walls were photographs of the Brooklyn Bridge taken from many different angles, including an incredible aerial shot. If photos could be sexy, these were super-sexy.

Curiosity rose within me. I was just about to ask him about them when the ding of the elevator from the hall struck me as odd. I stopped looking around. Then, I turned and noticed he hadn’t closed the door behind me, which made me wonder if he wasn’t expecting me to stay long.

Someone cleared his throat and my eyes darted to my right. That’s when I noticed Logan wasn’t alone. Oh God, I’d been so involved in him, in his place, that I’d never looked anywhere but at the room in front of me.

My belly flipped again, and this time the feeling was unpleasant.

What if I’d interrupted something important?

A distinguished older gentleman was now standing next to me with his umbrella in his hand, looking as if he was about to leave.

I realized then that Logan had been seeing his guest out when he opened the door. It wasn’t some cosmic intervention or crazy twist of fate.

The handsome man was without a doubt Logan’s grandfather, the wealthy Logan Ryan. He looked to be almost six feet tall, not as tall as my Logan, but almost. He was long and lean, like my Logan. His hair had gone silver at the temples but remained dark everywhere else. And he was dressed in a finely tailored suit, nothing ostentatious but very professional looking.

My eyes landed on the watch he wore, which was almost identical to the one Logan wore, except his band wasn’t made of rubber but rather a fine metal.

Logan’s job here in New York was with his grandfather’s company, the Ryan Corporation. His title was Associate Counsel, Litigation and Employment. Which meant he pushed a lot of paper—something he really didn’t enjoy. About six months ago, he started to go to Boston two days a week to work with his father, whose family law practice was in trouble due to an alcohol problem that was now under control. Working at his father’s practice was much more hands-on, and Logan really enjoyed his work there.

Starting sometime last month, though, his grandfather demanded he commit fully to his job in New York. Logan refused and told him that he wanted more time in Boston. That’s when his grandfather began to cut him off financially, revoking his access to his trust fund, and most recently putting a hold on his paycheck. Logan’s personal savings had just about been depleted. He must have been meeting with his grandfather over his finances. I knew money was of concern to him, but only because he needed it to buy information and hire help to assist in whatever quest he had masterminded in his head.

Glancing between the older gentleman and Logan, it was odd because I could see pieces of him in Logan, just as I had when I looked between Logan and his father. Different pieces, though—these were the more refined ones.

“This must be the lovely young lady you were telling me about,” the older gentleman said to Logan.

Logan’s hand spread wide against my back and the possessiveness in his touch sent delicious chills up my spine. “Yes, Grandfather, this is Elle Sterling.” Logan spoke with a pride in his voice that had my heart swelling. He was talking to his grandfather about me.

“Logan Ryan,” the distinguished older gentleman said, offering me his hand.

“Mr. Ryan, really nice to meet you.” I smiled, taking my red hat from my head. Suddenly, I became conscious that my attire was anything but appropriate for meeting a powerhouse like Logan Ryan. He was a legend in the business world and here I stood before him dressed for comfort in a pair of black leggings, a white blouse, and a red sweater with matching red ankle boots.

Logan’s body seemed to unconsciously drift closer to mine. Like the two magnets we were, we couldn’t stay far from each other.

“I was just leaving, but I’d love to take you and my grandson out to dinner one night. How long will you be in town?”