Crush(47)

As soon as my bare toes hit the tile, Logan grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me.

I let it absorb some of the water and then slipped it off. Barefoot, I had to tilt my head to look at him. “Take me to bed and make love to me,” I whispered.

Fire burned in his eyes. “There’s nothing I want to do more.”

Our mouths met, ravenous and devouring. Hungry for only each other.

When I was with Logan like this, there was just him and me, and everything that wasn’t quite right around us disappeared.

We spent the rest of the night making love over and over. It was the best way we had of communicating with each other. Of letting our feelings for each other truly shine. Words just didn’t seem to be enough. Not in the midst of the craziness that surrounded us, anyway.

When we were both sated and spent, he pulled me to him. My back was to his front, in a spooning position.

Finding comfort in him, I molded my body to his as tightly as I could and then turned my head. “How did you know to get red candles and red flowers?”

Logan let out a breath and kissed my forehead. “Because red is your favorite color.”

Overwhelmed that he had figured that small detail out on his own, that he paid enough attention to me to notice, I started to weep.

“It’s nothing to cry about,” he soothed.

“I can’t help it.”

“Come here,” he said, turning me toward him.

Tangling in the sheets, I rolled my body to face his. “Do you want to know why red is my favorite color?”

Logan used his thumbs to brush away the tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you want to tell me.”

I did. This was something I’d never told another. “Because it represents the warrior inside myself.”

His voice was soft. “Red is definitely a color of strength.”

My eyes on his, I opened up even more. “It’s more than that, though.”

“Tell me,” he whispered.

I nodded. “We were living in France and I was going to school on base since I didn’t know the language. They were having an eighth-grade father-and-daughter ball, and I was so excited. I’d never gone to a ball and I’d never gotten to be a princess. I was twelve, but I still loved Disney movies. My sister thought it was ridiculous. I didn’t care, because I knew just what I wanted to wear—a red dress. Mulan had just come out and I wanted to be just like her. I was determined to be a legendary princess warrior.”

Logan leaned toward me and kissed the corner of my mouth where the tears had accumulated. “I can believe that.”

I took a deep breath and blinked away the blur. I wasn’t crying over what I was about to tell him. The incident had long ago passed. I was crying that he cared enough about me to figure things out no one had ever even attempted. “My father didn’t like us to spend money on needless things but my mother thought that occasion deserved a new dress, so she took me shopping and I found the most perfect red satin dress. It was almost identical to Mulan’s. When I put it on I felt strong and brave—it represented everything I wanted to be. My mother did my hair and I got all ready and then waited for my father. He was late, as usual, and beeped the horn for me to come out when he arrived. I had my coat on already and ran to the car.”

Logan was softly caressing the bare flesh of my shoulder, and I had nestled myself farther into his chest as I continued to speak.

“Needless to say, my father didn’t see my dress until we arrived at the dance. As soon as I took my coat off, his nostrils flared. I knew he was angry but had no idea why. The night went on and I had fun walking around. When it was time for the fathers to dance with their daughters, mine was nowhere to be found, so I stood alone in the corner where no one could see me. As soon as the dance ended, my father grabbed my arm and told me it was time for us to leave. By then he smelled of alcohol and I knew he was drunk. We got in the car and he turned toward me and said one thing, and one thing only to me. It wasn’t how pretty I looked, or how proud he was of me, though; he simply told me only whores wear red.”

“Fucking *,” Logan muttered under his breath.

I lifted my head. “Without another word, he took me home and ordered me to my room to take my dress off. Once I did, he took it and locked the door. He and my mother argued for a long while, but I don’t really remember what was said. What I do remember, though, is the next day my dress had been shredded like pieces of red silk ribbon and was laying all over my parents’ entire room. I vowed not to cry for that dress. And I didn’t. Instead, I vowed to be stronger and to not allow him to crush my spirit. Ever since that day, red has been my favorite color. He might have had a need to control everything in our house, but I knew I’d never let him control who I was.”

Logan pulled me to him and held me tightly, stroking my back with his fingers. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am that you grew up with a man like him for a father. You’re beautiful, Elle, inside and out. Despite him.”

There was probably something more to say, something profound, like that my inner warrior blossomed under his tyranny, but exhaustion had taken hold of me and I closed my eyes.

His voice was soft when he spoke. “Hey, I have to leave early in the morning. Miles arranged for me to see Tommy, and then I need to run by Brighton House and check on my gramps. Do you want to drop me off at my old man’s first thing tomorrow, or can you wait until I get back and we can go pick up his car then?” he asked quietly.