Exposed (Madame X, #2)(14)

“This is not the first time you’ve said that,” I say. “And you know, do you? Who he really is?”

“Certain things, yes.” He takes a long drag on the cigarette, holds it in, blows it out through his nose again.

“You sneaked in here to tell me Caleb’s secrets?”

He shakes his head, almost angrily, blond hair waving around his shoulders. “No, I didn’t,” he confesses. “You made the wrong choice. You should have stayed with me. We could have had something amazing.”

“There was never a choice, Logan.” It feels a little like a lie.

“Yes, there was.” Another long inhalation, exhaling smoke through nostrils like a dragon. “Whatever. Not gonna argue with you about that. What I came here to tell you was that I did some digging.”

“What do you mean, digging?” I need something to do with my hands, somewhere to look that isn’t Logan.

“I looked around for information on you.” He says it quietly, flicking his thumb across the butt of the cigarette, ash dropping away and scattering in the breeze.

“Did you find anything?” I almost don’t want to ask.

I pluck the lighter from his hand, and it is warm from his palm. Translucent green plastic, a centimeter or two of liquid sloshing at the bottom. Black tab, silver wheel, and a mouth for the flame. I roll my thumb over the wheel, creating sparks. Do it again while pressing down on the black tab, watch flame spurt to life. The pack of cigarettes is on the rooftop by the toe of his boot. He sits cross-legged beside me, shamelessly, openly eyeing my body, my cleavage, my thighs, the black sliver of silk over my core. I reach over, take the pack of cigarettes. He watches me, but does nothing. I withdraw one of the cylinders and fit the tan, speckled end to my lips, as I watched him do. Spark flame, touch the flame tip to the end of the cigarette. When smoke rises, I inhale.

“You’re going to cough your brains out,” Logan warns.

Smoke fills my lungs, too much, too hot, thick and burning. I hack and hack and hack, eyes watering.

“Why do you do this?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Habit, one I can’t quite quit. Not that I’ve really tried, though, I guess.” He takes a drag. “Try pulling it into your mouth first, and then inhaling. Or just don’t inhale. It’s a shitty habit, absolutely horrible for you. I feel a responsibility to tell you that you shouldn’t start smoking.”

He doesn’t try to stop me, though, doesn’t take the cigarette from me. Just watches as I do as he suggested, and though I still cough, it’s not as bad as the first time. I become dizzy, faint; it is a heady feeling, and I think I understand the attraction of this habit.

“What did you find out, Logan?” I ask, after a few minutes of silence.

He doesn’t answer right away. Not for more long minutes of thick, tense silence, smoke rising in a thin curl, an occasional drag for him, for me. I let the silence hang, let it weigh as heavily as the clouds.

I like smoking. It gives me something to do to fill the silence, the taut space between my words and his.

“Information is power.” He stabs out his cigarette with a short, angry twist of his wrist. “I want to blackmail you with this, what I found out. Not tell you unless you come with me. But then I’d be no better than Caleb.”

I digest what he’s insinuating. “You think Caleb knows who I am and isn’t telling me?”

“I think he knows more than he’s told you, yes.” He stands up, unfolding his lean frame, and strides away from me across the rooftop, stopping to put his hands on the waist-high wall separating him from the tumble into space. “Do you remember that day in my house, in the hallway? When I got back from walking Cocoa?”

I swallow hard. “Yes, Logan. I remember.”

This is the second time he’s brought this up. I remember it all too well. It recurs, a dream, a fantasy, memories assaulting me as I bathe, as I try to sleep, lost details of hands and mouths when I wake up.

To get away from the renewal of the memory, I look up. At the sky. Dark with clouds, hazed with smog and light pollution.

I wish I could see the stars. I wonder what they look like, how I would feel looking up and seeing sky full of scintillating diamond points of light.

His words echo in my soul, throb in my ear, and I am pulled back down by the ache of need in his voice. “You were naked. Every inch of your f*cking incredible skin, bare for me. I had you in my arms. I had you, X. I had my hands on you, had you on my lips, on my tongue. But I let you go. I . . . made you walk away.” He turns, glances at me. As if he can smell me, as if he can see what lies beneath the fabric of my dress. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much that cost me, to walk away from you. How much self-control that took.”

I shake all over. “Logan, I—”

He turns away, resumes staring out at the skyline, speaks over me. “I am haunted by that. I had you, and I let you go. I’m not haunted by the fact that you’re gone, though, that I let you get away. It’s more the fact that I still know it was the right thing to do. As much as I hate it, as much as it hurts . . . you aren’t ready for me.”

“That again? What does that mean, Logan?” I stand up now, tug the hem of the dress down. Seven strides, and I’m standing a few feet behind him. “I thought you said you found something out about me.”