Logan (Wild Boys After Dark, #1)(20)

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Felt herself go damp and her knees weaken, and grabbed ahold of him to keep from dropping to the sidewalk.

“And from your grip on my arm, you want to wrap those pretty long legs of yours around me. Me, Stormy. Not some other random guy.”

He pressed his lips to her cheek and guided her forward. She had no idea how her legs were carrying her. People pushed past in a blur of movement while she tried to get her brain to start firing again. He was right. She wanted Logan so badly that just the thought of him brought back memories of him perched above her, his muscles straining against the pleasure, holding back his release until she achieved hers. She could still feel every inch of him moving in and out of her, and if she thought hard enough she could remember the feel of his impressive girth in her mouth, taste the saltiness of his come as it covered her tongue and slid down her throat.

Oh God. What am I doing?

She had no place in her life for a guy like Logan. She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus.

“Logan.” Talk, talk, talk. Come on, Stella. You can say this.

She didn’t want to push him away. She wanted more of him.

His arm moved up and claimed her shoulder as they arrived at NightCaps. It was ten thirty, and for a moment she wondered how he knew when she was expected at work.

“Yes, Stormy?” He said Stormy with so much sarcasm that she couldn’t suppress a smile.

She needed to change the subject, because as much as she wanted him, she also knew it was selfish to give in and admit whatever was simmering between them felt like way more than a one-night stand. Logan didn’t need her life weighing him down.

“How did you know what time I had to be at work?”

“I saw it on the schedule when we were in the office.” He slid his free hand casually into his pocket.

“God, you’re like the worst kind of stalker.” She looked away knowing that wasn’t anywhere near the truth. Kutcher was the worst kind of stalker. Logan was a sexy, caring stalker.

He drew her chin back with his index finger.

“No.” His intense stare went warm and soft, drawing her in again. “I’m the best kind. I’ll keep you safe. Tell me about Kutcher.”

“How…?” She remembered how he knew his name. She’d let it slip. She didn’t know what his game was. He must want something, or maybe he just wanted to get laid again. She’d cut loose for one night. She wasn’t going there again—even if every step made the muscles she hadn’t remembered she’d had spike with the most exquisite reminders of their night together.

“Kutcher, Stormy. Where can I find him?”

“Oh no, Logan. You can’t do anything. This isn’t your problem. I can take care of myself.”

His arched brow said everything that was sailing through her mind.

“Let me rephrase that. I can handle it. I’ve got three days to figure it out.” Her heart raced at the realization that Kutcher’s time in jail was speeding to an end.

His eyes narrowed. “Three days to figure what out? Stormy, if some guy is looking for you, New York isn’t that big. If he’s good, he’ll find you.”

“He’s better than good,” she said in a hushed tone, hating to admit that Kutcher was good at anything. The bastard.

Logan stepped in closer and lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. His eyes warmed again, the way they had last night. When he spoke, his tone was sweet, caring, and it tugged at all the places that made her want to go soft in his arms.

“Stormy, no one’s better at tracking than me. Let me keep you safe. Give me something to go on. Why three days? Why the timeline? Is he out of the country? In jail?”

Why did he have to make her feel so vulnerable? She needed to be strong, and with him she felt like strong wasn’t strong enough, like she needed him. After last night’s attack, she wasn’t so sure she didn’t.

“He’s found me everywhere I’ve ever gone. I barely escaped with my life, Logan. I…I’m afraid to tell you who I am, because I’m afraid he’ll make the connection somehow and then he’ll come after you.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I felt the scar on the back of your left shoulder and the other just beside your spine.”

Stella’s blood ran cold. She turned out of his reach, breathing hard, feeling the pain of the knife as if it were entering her skin for the first time. Kutcher had gotten her bad that time. She should have turned him in, shouldn’t have lied about her attacker, but she’d been too scared that he’d avoid the police and come back and finish the job.

Logan’s arms snaked around her waist, his cheek met hers again, and she closed her eyes, willing her tears away.

“You’re not alone in this. Let me help. Just tell me this, is he a free man?”

She shook her head.

“Good. That’s good. Then I have three days to make sure he stays in the pen.”

She was trembling, and she didn’t know if it was from the memories, the threat of Kutcher’s release, or the strength of Logan’s grip. His heat seeped into her skin through her thin cotton shirt, and she imagined his strength finding its way in, too. She held on to that thought as she reached for the door. Logan got to it first and held it closed.

“I’ve got to get to work.” She hated herself for sounding so ungrateful, but she was scared, and she liked Logan more than she probably should, which she knew could put him in danger. And he was as relentless as Kutcher, only in a good way. She had no clue how to handle the emotions swirling within her. Should she throw herself into Logan’s arms and accept the help he was willing to provide and give in to the feelings that were developing at the speed of light, or run as fast and as far away as she could get before Kutcher came after her?