Logan (Wild Boys After Dark, #1)(42)

He split another log, then rested the ax on his shoulder and wiped his brow with his forearm. None of it mattered. Not why she didn’t love him or why he loved her. All that mattered was keeping her safe. It had to be a mission now, nothing more. And it probably should have been one all along.

He’d f*cked up. That was the bottom line. He knew better than to get involved with someone he was protecting, and before Stella he’d been damn good at staying on the right side of that line.

His phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and smiled at his brother’s name on the screen. He needed the distraction.

“Hey, Coop. How’s it going?”

“Just wrapped a photo session with none other than Siena Remington—you know that hotter-than-f*ck model?” Logan’s brothers Jackson and Cooper ran one of the most prestigious photography businesses around. They were always shooting famous models and actors.

“The Captain Morgan girl?”

“Yeah, she’s the one. Came with her firefighter fiancé. He was cool, though. I actually pulled him into the shoot. It was hot.”

“Cool. You going to Mom’s for dinner?”

“’Course. That’s why I’m calling. Can you cover cooking tonight? I can’t get over there early enough.”

“Sure. I’m at my cabin, but I’ll be there.”

Stella came out the front door wearing a pair of jeans and a tight tank top. Their eyes caught—and held—blazing a familiar path between them. Logan didn’t drop his gaze. The longer they remained connected, the harder it was to break away—and the deeper her denial cut.

He tore his eyes away, mumbling a curse.

“Did you just curse at me?” Cooper asked.

“No. Just nicked my finger. I’ll be there.”

“Cool. Thanks, man,” Cooper said. “I owe you one.”

Logan shoved his phone in his pocket and paced, willing himself not to look at Stella. No wonder he’d kept his heart on ice for so long. This sucked.

He heard the sound of dry leaves crackling beneath her feet but didn’t turn to greet her. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. The ball was in her court, and it was going to stay there until she made up her mind whether she wanted him or not. He couldn’t play the half-in, half-out game any longer. Logan wanted a committed relationship or nothing.

“I want to have faith in you, but I’m so scared.” Her voice slid over his skin and melted the ice he needed around his heart in order to remain detached. She placed a delicate hand on his arm and walked in front of him, looking up through impossibly long lashes. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been crying.

His heart broke a little more.

“Wanting is a start.” He was putty in her hands. He wanted to be hers.

“I’m sorry. It’s not easy for me. Yesterday…when we—”

“I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I made you feel dirty and cheap, and it was a prick move. I was satisfying my own greediness for you. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair to try to figure out why she had the power to melt his soul to liquid. “I’m sorry.”

“You gave me a choice, Logan.” Her tone was cold and exact.

“And you chose to f*ck me. I get it, Stella.” He swung the ax blade into the tree trunk he was using as a mount and headed for the cabin.

“Yes, Logan,” she called after him. “I chose to f*ck you.”

Her words shouldn’t sting. He was a man, a soldier. He shouldn’t care if she just f*cked him. He’d f*cked plenty of women without a second of remorse. But this was Stella, and he did care. He cared a whole f*cking hell of a lot.

She fell into stride beside him. “Remember when I said I liked being dirty with you, but not with just any guy? Well, last night I wanted you to f*ck me, because when you’re inside me, it doesn’t matter how dirty the words are, or how rough we are with each other. Everything we do feels different. It feels like…”

He stopped walking but didn’t meet her gaze, afraid she’d see the hope in his eyes. Goddamn hope.

“I wasn’t just f*cking you, Logan. I was…”

He lifted his gaze at the softening of her tone just in time to see her crinkle her nose and look away, as if she were straining to find the right words.

“Love-f*cking you,” she spat.

“Love-f*cking?” His shoulders lifted with a silent laugh.

She swatted his arm. “Yes. Love-f*cking.”

“What the hell is love-f*cking? I think you just coined a new phrase.”

“Love-f*cking. You know. When you’re falling for someone but you still want them to f*ck you hard. Love-f*cking.”

She crossed her arms, then nervously flung them straight again.

“So you’re falling for me, but you don’t want me to love you?” He had no idea what she was trying to say or how to respond.

“You can’t love me, Logan. I’m just telling you that I wasn’t f*cking you. I was—”

He held up a hand, not wanting to hear it again. He’d felt the flicker of hope when she’d begun explaining, and now he was done. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw to push his hopes away and regain perspective. He’d like to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized that the heat that sparked every second they were together, and the lust that practically oozed from their skin when they kissed, was real. But he’d no sooner do that than allow himself to hope. He was done with hope. Hope was for losers, just like he’d told her. It was for weak people who couldn’t change a damn thing and looked for some magical element to shift things into place.