Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(20)

At the sudden thought of her . . . and him, I slapped a palm over the strings, effectively killing the music my fingers had created so effortlessly from them.

My heart ached, but I forced the guitar from my lap. Forced it from my hands like another moment in my clasp might somehow poison me. I set it down beside the futon, against its case, not even taking the time to put it inside. Later. I would touch it later. Right now I just needed distance.

I turned off all the lights except for the small light above the stove. At the bed, I pulled back the covers. I had one knee on the mattress and was arranging my multitude of pillows to my liking when I heard footsteps, growing in volume.

I froze, eyeing the opening that led to the stairs, wondering who was coming up here this time of night. Surely not Pepper or Reece. The bar had quieted in the last hour and I assumed it was closing up for the night if not already fully closed. The bottom door that led to the stairs had a lock, which I had utilized, but clearly that hadn’t stopped this person.

I managed to push up off the bed, but couldn’t move otherwise. I stood frozen—prey caught in the crosshairs as Logan ascended the steps to the top floor of the loft.

I recognized him even in the dim light. The long, lean lines of him. The broad shoulders. The weak light limned his hair like sunlight and cast one side of his face in a golden glow. My heart squeezed tightly as I drank up the sight of him, eyes trailing over the square-cut jaw, the shadowed slant of his lips.

I reached for my bedside lamp, fumbling to turn it on.

He beat me to it, flipping the switch on the wall where he stood a split second before I turned on the lamp. Light from both sources flooded the room.

It was inescapable. The blast of light. Him. The full impact of his face. The deeply set eyes with criminally long lashes. The strong angles that my fingers itched to trace. And the dark blue eyes drilling into me.

“Fuuck,” he breathed, dragging a hand over his close-cropped hair as his gaze swept over me.

Heat scored my face. I didn’t do obscenities all that often. I grew up in a household where the word crap got you grounded. With that kind of upbringing, curse words tend to get stuck in your throat. But yeah. That word about summed up my feelings on seeing Logan Mulvaney standing in my doorway when I wasn’t wearing anything more than panties and a tank.

My chest locked up, not even lifting to draw air as our stares collided.

I unfroze. Straightening, I brought both feet down to the ground gingerly. Like too sudden a movement might break the spell and spur either one of us into movement. And I wasn’t certain what that movement would be. Me running from him or to him?

My bare feet flexed on the floorboards as we watched each other like two wary animals. Okay, well maybe I was the only one wary. He just looked . . . surprised but not all that wary. No. He looked like an apex predator ready to pounce.

I shifted my weight and tried not to think about the fact that I was standing there in my boy shorts and a tight tank sans bra. I wore swimsuits that revealed more skin and yet I felt like I was standing before him naked. I never even felt this exposed with Harris. But then I couldn’t recall Harris ever looking at me the way Logan was.

His gaze traveled over me. I felt it like a physical caress, roaming my face, my naked shoulders, then down my chest. My breasts grew heavier under his inspection, achy against the cotton of my tank, and my treacherous nipples hardened. I resisted the urge to bow my shoulders and cross my arms over my chest, convinced it would be a sign of weakness. An admission that he affected me.

The deep blue of his eyes darkened. He snapped his gaze to my face. “What are you doing here?” he asked thickly, the tendons of his throat working as he managed to get out the words.

I lifted my chin. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here. My brother owns the place.” He angled his head, looking at me, waiting for the obvious to sink in.

“Reece said I could stay here over the summer.”

Logan sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “Of course.”

“He forgot to mention that to you?” I asked, feeling both relieved and a little angry. Relieved because he wasn’t stalking me. And angry because he wasn’t stalking me.

Great. I’ve turned into that girl. Another Annie who liked the bad boys. The ones wrong in every way.

Logan nodded, resting a shoulder against the wall. “Yeah. He might have left that out. Sometimes I stay the night here when I close up. Since it’s so late. I sleep on the futon. Pepper started insisting on it when she and Reece got together.”

That was so like Pepper, always looking out for others. I glanced at the clock. Yeah. It was really late for him to be driving home. I know he lived half an hour away.

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked tired. “Reece and Pepper moved into the new house . . . I just assumed it was empty up here.”

I nodded, my face still burning even though I knew this was a simple misunderstanding. Reece was busy with the move, his relationship with Pepper, running two bars now—and I had sprung it on him that I would accept his offer to move into the loft. No surprise he hadn’t mentioned me moving in here to his brother. The fact that Logan and I had kissed, that not a night went by without my touching myself and thinking about him didn’t make this awkward. Not at all.

Okay, it was awkward, but it didn’t have to be. I could be an adult about this.