Blow(56)

I shook my head. “No, we’re not on opposite sides. We’re on the same side. I promise.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

I brushed some hair from her face. I knew I shouldn’t be touching her but I had to. “Because all I want is to keep you and that precious little girl sleeping in the other room safe.”

She leaned into my touch and I felt it everywhere in my body. “I don’t understand. Why? Why would you help us?”

There was no way I couldn’t be honest. Not when she was this close to me. Not when her voice was pleading with me to tell her. “Because, Elle, you remind me of someone I should have helped but didn’t. Someone I failed.”

Our eyes locked. I swear her lips parted. I know I felt my own mouth open and I couldn’t stop my tongue from sneaking out and licking my bottom lip. In my mind, I was imagining how much better she’d feel about all of this if I could drive my cock deep inside her. What a f*cked-up thought. I shook it away.

Finally, I cleared my throat. “I want you to stay here tonight. And then tomorrow, when O’Shea gets back, you’ll talk to him. I can’t help you if I don’t know what he’s planning to do. But Elle, you can’t tell him you’re talking to me. Not yet.”

She nodded in silent agreement as if she didn’t want him to know either.

Interesting.

“You take the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here.”

She nodded again. “Do you mind if I take a shower? It’s been a long day.”

“No, go ahead.”

Oh f*ck, the things I was already picturing.

Elle stood up and I watched her as she grabbed her bags and went back into the bedroom. She paused at the door. “Thanks, Logan. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said.

If she knew what I was thinking, she wouldn’t.

She disappeared into the darkness and I refocused. My dirty mind aside, I couldn’t help but think to myself, Please trust me.

Trust in what I told you.

Trust me when I tell you how dangerous this is.

Because if you don’t—we’ll both be dead.





ELLE


Nausea twisted my gut.

If what Logan had told me was true, and Michael was in over his head, he wasn’t wrong—we were in trouble.

And something told me there were no lies in Logan’s words.

Michael had told me just enough, hinting at the danger but making it sound like everything would be okay. Was he being overly optimistic or was Logan being paranoid?

I just had no idea.

Stepping inside the large space, I left the door open a crack from the bathroom to the bedroom in case Clementine woke up. I dimmed the bathroom lights and looked around. Marble covered almost every surface and the heat lamps in the ceiling were supposed to warm me, but the chill I was feeling wasn’t one that could be cured by supplied heat.

My clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as I stripped out of them and let them fall to the floor. When I turned on the shower faucet, the water sprayed from jets in every direction. I stood outside the shower and decided to allow my skin the luxury of being warmed by the steam as the water got hotter.

When I felt ready, I stepped inside. A bar of soap sat in a small alcove built into the shower along with bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. The soap and shampoo had been used, but not the other two. I cracked open the body wash and the scent of lavender filled the large space.

The liquid seemed to caress my body as I smoothed it on, almost as if it might help wash away the danger that lay ahead. The water beat down on me from all directions and I enfolded myself in it. In this sanctuary, I could let myself be afraid. I could cry because I was scared. I didn’t have to be strong.

The emotions I was holding in gave away, as did my wall of strength. Like a rag doll, I limply slid down the wall of the shower. After a few moments, I cradled my head in my hands and let the tears flow. I cried for as long as I could and when I knew I had no tears left, I resolved to cry no more. It was time to be strong, if not for me, then for that innocent little girl sleeping soundly in the next room.

Fortitude was a virtue I knew well and, as I forced myself to rise to my feet, I reminded myself of that. Finding the shampoo, I scrubbed and rinsed my head. When I looked at my fingers, they were wrinkled, and I wondered just how long I’d been in the shower. Running my hands through my silky smooth strands, I scrubbed some more and then rinsed again, finally adding the conditioner and rinsing one last time.

My mind felt freer by the time I turned the shower off. Logan assured me we’d be safe, and for a reason I didn’t want to examine too closely, I believed him. Logan—what was it about him? What were these feelings that were whooshing through my belly just thinking about him? Was I genuinely attracted to him, or was my reaction simply a by-product of the fear I was feeling? The answer could easily have been yes to both questions.

Steam filled the air in the room. Something came over me in the haze—lustful visions that I couldn’t control. When I stepped out of the shower, I tried to block the image I had in my head of Logan’s parted lips—soft, sensual. As soon as the cooler air hit me, my nipples peaked. I ignored the desire that was blooming within me and reached for the fluffy white towels that were just beside the counter.

First, I wrapped my head in one and then my body. The terry cloth absorbed the water instantly but I still rubbed one corner over my skin to dry it thoroughly. The arousal I had been feeling blossomed beneath the surface of each place I rubbed and I made sure to leave no place untouched.