Blow(77)

He had me believing it, too.

He reminded me that his house was equipped with state-of-the-art security. And it was. He had alarms on every window and door. Call buttons scattered every ten feet or so that were wired directly to the security service. He even had a panic room.

He was right—there was no way someone was in his house, garage door opener missing or not. It was sealed up tighter than Fort Knox.

I’d let that conversation fall and waited until after Clementine’s bath to broach the subject of Lizzy’s ties to the Blue Hill Gang.

“Where’d you hear that?” Michael snapped.

I swallowed and told him Peyton had mentioned to me in passing conversation about Killian McPherson, and that I had drawn my own conclusions from there.

It wasn’t a lie.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Michael turned to me with an icy expression on his face. “I told you to stay out of it and I meant it. You know all you need to know.”

That was the end of our conversation.

Frustrated, I left shortly afterward, letting Logan know I was heading home.

“Everything okay?” Logan asked as I approached him.

His voice reassured me. Michael might think I was being paranoid, but I knew Logan believed me. Things weren’t adding up. Something more was going on.

His smile faded. “Elle?”

I realized I hadn’t answered. “Everything’s fine. It’s just that Michael wouldn’t tell me anything and he assured me no one was in his house.” With a frustrated sigh, I added, “I couldn’t find anything out.”

Logan was calm. “It’s okay. I honestly wasn’t expecting much. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need him.”

I gave a frustrated sigh.

Logan’s mouth was on mine so fast I wasn’t ready for the kiss and it made my knees wobble. Our tongues met. We were hungry for each other. His hands anchored my hips and mine gripped his shoulders as our kiss sizzled in the chill of the night.

His lips—soft and smooth.

His tongue—wet and wild.

I kept pace with the frantic way he consumed me, or maybe he was responding to the frantic way I was consuming him. I wasn’t sure. But soon it wasn’t enough. Needing more of him, my fingers traveled up to his neck and I twisted them in the softness of his hair. Playing with it, tugging it, making him groan.

I felt alive in his arms.

He needed more too. With what I think might have been a growl, his mouth left mine to trail along my jaw, down my neck.

It felt so good.

I loved it when he did that.

I wondered if he knew I did.

Giving myself to him, I tossed my head back to allow him full access. His teeth were sharp as he dragged them down my throat, but the moisture of his tongue soothed away any lingering sting.

In the faint distance, I heard my neighbor’s door open. I ignored it. But the sound of it slamming closed was impossible to ignore and I was forced to pull away. It was then that I realized I’d been so lost in Logan I’d forgotten we were still outside. In public.

Logan had told me he wanted to make sure I was safe inside my house, but we hadn’t made further plans for the night. Feeling bold, knowing what I wanted, I extended my hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Logan kissed me again, almost as if in defiance of being made to behave in public. “That’s probably a good idea,” he mumbled against my mouth.

I laughed into his kiss. “I think we have an audience.”

The moment I spoke the words, Logan’s body stiffened and he pulled away, scanning the area left and right, front and back. “Let’s go,” he said in a serious tone, all playfulness gone.

Moving fast, he led me to my door. I unlocked it and as soon as we were inside, he closed and locked it. Fast as sin, I was pressed up against the door and his lips were on mine again, devouring me. Our mouths were glued together in a sensual, consuming kiss and I felt all of him. From his mouth on mine, to his hips holding me in place, to his thigh pressing between mine.

Something was bouncing in my belly and I shooed away the idea that it was butterflies. I was a grown woman, for God’s sake.

Grown woman or not, the heated moment had me breathing hard. I broke away, pushing lightly on his shoulder to give me some space to move. “Follow me.”

He did.

Up the stairs, down the hallway, to my bedroom.

Like two magnets, we were together as soon as the door creaked closed.

My bedroom was a reflection of me, much like my boutique. Nothing too frilly. Various paintings hung on the walls that I had collected from all the favorite places I’d been and loved. They were my treasures. In addition to the paintings, throughout my home I had sculptures, pottery, and various items I’d collected in my travels as well. In this room was also the last piece of my childhood I’d brought with me—the oval braided vintage rug that had belonged to my mother. My father had wanted to throw it away after she died, but I couldn’t bear to see it discarded. I’m not sure why I kept it, but I did.

Whereas my home was a reflection of who I was, my bedroom was even more of a reflection of my inner being. On the walls were the places that I’d searched for myself and found peace. Sharing this part of me with Logan seemed appropriate.

Logan tugged my shirt off. I pulled his over his head. I wanted to feel his smooth skin against mine, to touch and caress it.