Blow(64)

His eyes darted to mine and the heat that I saw in them was almost volcanic. “Yeah, sure,” he managed to say through a voice full of gravel.

His mind was right where mine was—somewhere it couldn’t be right now.

With one hand on my back, I bent to scoop up Clementine.

“You can leave her here. She seems perfectly content playing in between bites of food.”

I looked at him. “You sure?”

“We’ll be fine.” He looked up at me. “And there’s some Advil in my bag on the bathroom vanity if you need one.”

I headed for the bedroom. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”

“Hey,” he called.

I glanced over my shoulder.

“It will happen again.”

For a moment, I was confused.

But then what he meant clicked at the same time he mouthed, “The f*cking.”

Shivers ran up my spine as arousal flooded me even more. If the words were meant to be a promise, I found myself looking forward to it. This man was complex and yet I felt I understood him. I didn’t know what drove him, but I knew the multitude of emotions behind his reactions were complicated for a reason. Defense mechanisms of some sort was my guess. I think I got him because he was a lot like me.

As soon as I entered the bathroom, memories from last night, his hands on me, his cock inside me, the way he moved, were everywhere. Once the water was hot and steamy, I stepped in and palmed the bar of soap I knew he had rubbed over his skin. I did it until it lathered and then I smoothed it all over me.

It was odd.

I was certain that we would f*ck again, too, but everything else in my life held a chilling uncertainty. The words I had spoken to him were true, though. I wanted to be with him again, but that was all there was to it. I was damaged goods. My father so much as told me that the first time he saw me in the hospital after the surgeries. He had said, “I told you not to do this, Gabrielle. No man will want you now.” I think he might have even had a tear in his eye. It was the only one I ever saw him shed, although I did hear him crying many nights after my mother’s death.

In his own way, he truly believed what he had told me to be true. At the time, I hadn’t believed him, but years later his words rang true with Charlie.

The water cascaded over me and I turned my face into the spray. Once I rinsed all the soap away, I quickly toweled dry and dressed in the running clothes I had thrown in my bag yesterday when I thought I’d be staying at Michael’s. My plan was to get up early and run in the park, but that was before I knew I’d have Clementine with me.

I brushed my hair and pulled it back in a ponytail, then decided the Advil was probably a good idea.

The black toiletry bag sat on the vanity and I opened it. The bottle of Advil was right beside a partially empty box of condoms. An odd wave of jealousy hit me from out of nowhere. That was one emotion I’d never had to deal with.

Where was this coming from?

Logan’s words whispered in my head—“I’m not really good at anything when it comes to women except f*cking”—and my fists clenched at my sides. The thought of him with someone else was something I couldn’t think about, whether it was before or after me.

Those kinds of feelings weren’t healthy. Not for me. Not for him. Not for us.

I swallowed the pill in one gulp and turned the bathroom light off. Out of sight, out of mind.

Sunlight gleamed through the bedroom window in abundance. Maybe spring was making an appearance today. I grabbed my phone to check the weather and saw I had a text from Michael telling me he’d be back late afternoon and that he would be stuck in mediation all day. I texted back that Clementine was fine and we’d see him later, and then pulled up the weather app. With the prediction of a sunny, 60-degree-high day, I decided it was a perfect day for a walk in the park.

The living room was quiet and as soon as I walked in, I knew why.

Logan was hovering near Clementine with his shirt pulled up to his nose, exposing those washboard abs I had run my fingers over last night.

I wet my lips at the sight.

It took me a moment to find her, but Clementine was hiding behind one of the chairs, making the noises that I knew only too well.

A soft giggle escaped my throat and caused him to glance up from his vigilance over her.

The look on his face was one of sheer horror. “I don’t understand it. How does something so small smell that vile?”

Laughter rolled through me as I waved him away from her. “She likes to poop in private.”

He raised his hands in defeat. “No problem by me.”

Leaving her alone to let her finish, I started to gather our things.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Packing up. It’s time for us to go.”

“Elle.”

My gaze shot to him at the sound of my name. I liked the way he said it.

“O’Shea back?”

“No, he texted me that he’d be home late afternoon.”

Logan crossed the room. “I don’t want you going back to his house until he returns.”

Goose bumps rose on my arms under my fleece. “Logan, this has to stop. All of this talk is making me paranoid.”

The most serious hazel eyes stared back at me. “It’s not paranoid if you are in trouble. Your sister, and now Michael, got into bed with the Mob and didn’t deliver. Patrick doesn’t tolerate f*ck-ups for any reason. I don’t know the specifics, but there’s a reason O’Shea is still alive, and the only reason I can think of is that it has to do with a shitload of cash flow. And once Patrick secures that pipeline, who the f*ck knows what he’s going to do.”