Blow(93)

There was a feeling of ease with Logan. One where the truth was the only thing that needed to be spoken. No games. No beating around the bush. “I’d say I think it is too.”

“So can we agree to figure out what we are—together? Because I have to admit, this is all new to me too.”

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe he had a point. I didn’t have to be asexual or sexually repressed or whatever it was I thought I was. It didn’t mean I was a sex addict either. Maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t turned out like either of my parents. “Yes,” I answered, and launched myself at him.

Just as my lips found his, my stomach roared with the loudest hunger cry I’d ever heard.

Our mouths connected, we both laughed.

“I need to feed you,” he said.

I sat up again. “I skipped lunch and I am a little hungry.”

As he rose to his feet, his full form took my vision—the width of his shoulders, the length of his torso, the narrow hips. I was hungry all right, hungry for him.

“Elle,” he said.

I bit my lip. “What?”

“I asked what you feel like eating.”

Okay, so I wanted to say you. “It doesn’t matter. Anything.”

The room service menu was on the desk and he glanced down at it. “Fish, steak, or pasta?” he asked.

I twisted my lip. “Pasta, I think.”

“Good choice. I think I’ll have that too. Spaghetti, linguini, or penne?”

“Spaghetti, please.”

“Carbonara, Arabiatta, Bolognese, tomato, aglio olio, or lemon capers.”

I laughed. “Too many choices. I’ll go with the traditional tomato sauce and a meatball.”

His eyes twinkled. “You’re easy.”

“I prefer simple,” I said saucily.

He shrugged and picked up the phone. “Easy.” He winked.

“I’d like to place an order,” Logan said into the phone.

I liked what this was between us. It seemed with our secrets confessed everything was lighter, easier, and dare I say fun.

His harsh tone drew my attention. He was still on the phone. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow, I said, for now, just deliver my order. I’ll pay with cash.” Logan’s voice was gruff and laced with anger as he slammed the phone down.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

He stalked toward the bedroom. “Nothing. I’m going to take a shower before the food arrives.”

Whoa.

Mood change much?

“Logan,” I said, my voice harsh.

He stopped.

“What we just talked about—the figuring out what we are, you talking to me is part of it.”

Even before I finished speaking, he had turned around. He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My grandfather wants me back in New York and to get me there, he’s frozen my accounts. The front desk told me my company credit card was declined earlier today, and now they won’t allow me to charge to my account.”

Not expecting anything like that, I offered, “I have some money if you need it.”

His laugh was dry. “I’ll take care of it. I might have to move to my pop’s until I can talk to my grandfather, but trust me, I’ve got enough not to worry about paying this bill.”

Logan was out of the room before I could respond.

Why is it everything in life comes with a price? I thought.



Logan didn’t need me to point out which one was Lizzy.

Her red hair gave her away.

While we were eating, he had filled me in about what the day had brought. Like him, I was certain the woman Declan had mentioned had to be my sister. I just wished I knew more.

“It was the only picture I could find,” I told him. I was on my phone searching for other photos of my sister on Michael’s Facebook page—Lizzy didn’t seem to have one—and as far back as I went, I still found only that one picture of her in some group shot with a bunch of people. I had no idea who they were. I found it really odd and it was bothering me.

“The one you sent me was fine—don’t worry about finding another. If Declan finds anything out, he can just point to her in the group photo.”

I didn’t like it. I wanted a picture of just her. I zoomed in on her face and cropped the picture and then texted it to Logan. “There. Just her.”

It made me feel better to be reassured Declan would be able to show Lizzy’s picture. It made her more identifiable.

Satisfied, I swallowed one last bite of deliciousness before I pushed my plate away and watched Logan across the table.

“What?” he asked, catching my gaze.

“So help me out—you did or you did not grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth?”

His laugh sounded anything but genuine. “Hell, no. I did not. The Ryan name has so many strings attached to it. Even my mother avoided it for as long as she could.”

“What do you mean?”

“My old man says she was different when they were younger. She didn’t care about what her father thought or the money or the differences in lifestyle.”

“What changed her?”

“Life, I guess. Growing up. Marriage. Having to pick what mattered more. Who knows? Don’t get me wrong: as a child I never wanted for anything, but between my gramps and my father, they made sure I understood money—and Ryan money in particular—wasn’t all there was.”