Exposed (Madame X, #2)(35)

“Why?” I ask. “That’s kind of weird.”

“Protesting animal cruelty in the food industry. I don’t know. Good for them if that’s what they believe, but I like meat.”

“Me too. So no, I eat meat, just usually salmon and free-range chicken and turkey, along with salads and fruit. Mostly vegetarian, I suppose. Not a lot of red meat.”

“I’d go easy on the pizza then. If your body is used to cleaner foods, the grease in that might sit heavy in your stomach.”

This is so weird. Bizarre. Surreal. Just sitting in Logan’s kitchen, drinking beer and eating normal food.

I have a normal name.

I’m not Madame X anymore.

I’m not with Caleb anymore.

My heart twists at that last thought, and I shut that line of thought down. I will not go there, not now.

Except Logan speaks up, casually, not looking at me, through a bite of shawarma. “What happened, Isabel? With Caleb? What made you leave, finally?”

I sigh. “He—we . . .”

Logan interrupts before I can work out what I’m going to say. “I don’t want to pry, and I’ll respect your privacy if you don’t want to talk about it. But it seemed to have messed you up.”

I finish a slice of pizza and wash it down with a swallow of the beer. And Logan is right, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat my normal fare again without thinking of this meal. Indulgent, unhealthy in the extreme, but so, so good. I take a bite of shawarma, trying to formulate what to say.

“He brought me back to his place. The penthouse? It’s the entire upper floor of the building. Anyway, he brought me up there, and at first it was . . . fine. But not normal. He kissed me, which he doesn’t usually do. That was a little strange. And then . . .” I sigh again, closing my eyes. Just say it. Just put it into words. “But then he pushed me down to my knees. He put . . . himself—into my mouth.” It’s so hard to say it out loud. Why? It feels as if saying it makes it more real. More than real. “At the end, he finished on—on my face. And then cleaned me up with his tie, kissed me as if nothing had happened, and just . . . left.”

“That’s rape, Isabel.”

I have to shake my head. “It wasn’t. Not entirely.” I tremble. “But then, it also was. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing with him. He gets in my head, and makes all my thoughts somehow . . . not make sense. Not . . . my own. I don’t know. He’s all I’ve ever known, from the moment I first woke up. It’s always been him.”

“So before, in my conference room—”

“I wanted that, Logan. Please believe me. I wanted it so badly. I loved every single second of it. The way you touch me, the way you kiss me, I’ve never known anything like it and I’m crazy for it.” I spin on the stool so I’m facing him, grab his knees as he twists to face me.

He eyes me carefully, his blueblueblue eyes seeing into my soul. “Don’t ever lie to me, or tell me what you think I want to hear. Okay? Please? I’d rather hear the unpleasant truth than an easy lie.”

“I promise I will always be truthful with you.”

We’ve somehow finished all the food and both beers, and Logan slaps the countertop rather suddenly. “Movie time.”

“What?” I’m baffled by the sudden change in topic.

“I swore to you that I’d bring you home, feed you beer and pizza, and binge-watch movies with you.” He nudges an empty bottle. “We’ve had the beer and pizza, so now it’s time for a movie.”

“Okay.” I don’t know how to say that as much as I want to watch movies with him, I want to finish what we started in the conference room even more.

He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, which I haven’t seen yet. It’s simple but beautiful, and comfortable, like the rest of the home. Muted green paint on the walls, thick dark carpeting on the floor, exposed beams on the ceiling, a wide bed on a high, dark wood frame, a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall opposite.

He gestures to the bed. “Only place to watch TV, so get comfy.”

I smooth my dress over my hips with my palms, a nervous gesture. “Okay.”

The bed is high, and my dress isn’t really made for climbing. At least not gracefully or modestly. I try to slide up onto the bed backward, keeping my knees pressed together. I’m not sure why I’m trying to be modest, considering what we did not that long ago, where his fingers were, but it feels necessary. I don’t quite make it, and only end up pressing my backside against the edge of the mattress and wiggling gracelessly. I try to catch a foot on the edge of the frame, but I can’t quite manage that either, not without flashing Logan. Especially not wearing heels.

He laughs, and I can’t help but laugh too, because my efforts to get on the bed were rather comical. “Isabel, honey. That dress is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. But . . . would you like something else to wear? A shirt of mine, maybe?”

“Wouldn’t your shirt be rather large on me?” I ask.

He nods. “That’s kind of the point. It’d be like a nightgown.”

“Sure. I’ll try that.” I manage to sound casual, but the idea of wearing one of Logan’s shirts has my stomach in twisting knots.

He pulls open a drawer of the bureau underneath the TV, pulls out a neatly folded black T-shirt, hands it to me. “That’s one of my favorite shirts. I’ve had it since I was in high school. It’s really soft and comfy, so . . . yeah.” He turns away. “I’ll give you a second to change.”