by Lee Taylor
Logan responded casually. “Hell, Elliott, you’re aware that I’ve supported newcomer candidates in the past. In the case of Dean Pritchard, I’m proud to say that my support contributed to his surprising victory.”
“Granted. But Pritchard was a genuine candidate. Aiden Maxwell is a figment of Gia’s imagination.” Elliott was thoughtful. “Given how fucking smart she is, there’s gotta be a reason she picked that lightweight. It’s only a guess, but I have to believe that she chose him because he is squeaky clean. She’s coming up from the body blow she took when her all-time hero—her father—donned his orange jumpsuit.” He concluded with an ironic snort, “The one thing you could say about Big Bart and every candidate he hawked was that they wouldn’t be squeaky clean if that was their given name.”
His friendly squabble with Elliott faded into the background when Logan saw her. She was wearing a sleeveless white leather jumpsuit. When she turned her back to him, the mystery of how she got into the skin-tight marvel was solved. An inviting zipper started at the top of the scooped neckline and ended an inch above her butt crack. At that moment, Logan declared that if anyone other than the audacious woman unzipped that scintillating closure tonight, it would be him. Five-inch hooker heels completed her everyman’s go-to jerk-off ensemble. But as gorgeous as her body was, her truly lovely face mesmerized him. The stormy Irish seas that had captured him in his travels churned in her emerald eyes. Adding the mass of black curly hair that he’d twisted in his hands two nights ago, Logan declared that for better or worse, the gorgeous woman was his for the night.
Having made his claim, he settled back against the bar, choosing a post to observe her. Given that the question of whom she was going to leave with had been decided, he bided his time watching the master—of the female persuasion—at work. Every guy who strode through the crowd for his moment in the sun was replaced by the next one in line. Chatting with the political wannabes angling for his support, Logan never let her out of his sight. He knew from her searching gaze when he changed positions that she was as interested in his whereabouts as he was in hers.
After an hour of tedious conversations with eager candidates seeking his support, Logan saw her move toward the coat check stand. When the attendant handed her a faux-fur, white and silver boa, he came up behind her.
“Leaving so early, Gia?”
She startled and shrugged as she tossed the ostentatious wrap around her shoulders. “I promised Granger that I would stop by tonight.”
He smiled at her provocation. “Who’s Granger?”
She shrugged dismissively. “A family friend.”
Logan cocked a questioning brow. “Care to be more specific?”
“Sure. Granger is the head honcho at the HT&M.”
“Which is?”
“The Hard Times and Misery Saloon.” She smiled, then taunted him. “I don’t know if you’d stoop to drink there given that Granger sells booze the rest of us can afford.” She glanced at his pricey wardrobe and said dismissively, “And how unlikely it is that you ever get down and dirty.”
Logan laughed at her open confrontation. “Hey, that sounds like a place one should go to at least once.”
She tossed her head. “It’s on the corner of Market and Priest. You can’t miss it. It’s where all the trucks are parked. Oh and, if you’re interested, the ‘ladies’ waiting out front are a fixture of the joint.”
Logan walked her to her car and opened the door for her. After she got in, he leaned over and drawled, “As for if I ever get down and dirty, in some aspects of my life, that’s what I do best.”
He grinned and flicked a casual finger, then closed the door firmly and ambled across the parking lot toward his car.
****
“Hi, Granger. This is Logan Fowler. He decided to go slumming tonight. Can you look in your locked cabinet and see if you’ve got something other than the pig swill you serve the rest of us?” She added with a teasing grin, “As you can see from the looks of him, he is a particular kind of guy.”
The mammoth man, his face emblazoned with a crevice-lined brow, studied Logan for a long moment, then lifted a dismissive shoulder. “Hell, sugar, as long as you vouch for him and he doesn’t try to stiff me for the bill, I’ll serve him.” He nodded to Logan. “What’ll it be, hotshot?”
Logan grinned. “I’ll take your best single malt. And bring one for the lady.”
Granger grunted and pinned him with a hard glare. “Glad you understand that, hotshot. Even though she likes to show off more of that body of hers than either her daddy or I approve of, she is a lady through and through.”
“We’re agreed.” Logan smiled as he pulled out the chair beside him for Gia. “Oh, and bring the bottle. Ms. Tremaine and I are going to be here for a while.”
The huge man grunted in what Logan took to be grudging approval, then lumbered across the crowded floor back to the bar. Noting that Gia had led him to a secluded table in the back corner, he assumed that move declared her exalted position in the crowded bar. It was also clear from Granger’s protective stance that anyone wanting to approach his impressive companion would have to go through the mammoth, glaring man. Turning to Gia, he helped her into the chair, then took the fuzzy wrap from her shoulders and draped it across the back. As he settled onto the seat next to her, he murmured, “Trust you won’t get cold.” He gazed at the front of her low-cut bodice that was doing its best to keep her swelling breasts contained and winked. “It’s just that I don’t want anything to spoil my view.” He glanced at Granger’s retreating back. “But don’t worry. I’m not insane. I can only imagine what happens to the asshole who makes an unwanted move on you.”
Gia laughed. “You’re a quick learner. Some guys need Granger’s enforcer—that would be the Louisville Slugger he keeps behind the bar—to understand that when I say no, I mean no.”
Logan nodded and said with a slight frown. “I’m glad that you have protectors, Gia. I can only imagine how many times Granger has had to chase after a drunken asshole who thought he had a chance with the princess.”
If she was surprised at his description of her, Gia just smiled, then by way of explanation said, “Granger is like a second father to me. Our house was next door to the HT&M. There was a well-trodden path between the two ‘establishments.’ ” She laughed. “I spent more time in the HT&M than any kid should.”
Logan glanced around the noisy, smoke-filled bar, taking in the mélange of people ranging from hardcore bikers to men in business suits. In addition to the sheer size of the crowd, it was most notable for what looked to be a seventy-thirty ratio of men to women. The small number of women accompanying their men were outnumbered by the “ladies” Gia had referred to. Apparently, a good portion of them were comfortable inside the HT&M as well as on the street corner.
Picking up on her assertion that she’d spent years of her life here, he asked, “Is this where you learned to be a political phenom?”
“Among other places.”
His attempt to build on that equivocal statement was interrupted by the arrival of Granger, who plopped a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two glasses on the table. “This work for you, hotshot?”
Logan nodded and said with a grin, “It will do nicely, thank you.”
Not bothering to respond, Granger shot Gia a narrowed gaze and muttered, “Let me know if you need anything, sugar.”
“You know I will, Granger. But don’t worry. Mr. Fowler is just fulfilling his slumming quotient for the year.” She added with a pert smile, “He’s harmless.”
Grunting in apparent agreement, Granger glared at him. “You got a card, hotshot?”
Not hiding his surprise at the unexpected request, Logan shrugged and reached in his breast pocket to retrieve a slender leather case. Managing to keep from grinning, he handed the stony-faced giant one of his embossed business cards. Without looking at it, the glowering man shoved it in his pants pocket, then nodding to Gia, he turned and headed across the room. Logan noted that he di
dn’t speak to any of his patrons, who cleared a path for the big man as he lumbered back to his perch at the bar.
Chapter 15
Phew!” Logan couldn’t hide his amusement. “Damn, woman, how long will it take that mastiff guard dog of yours to figure out that I’m Jack the Ripper incarnate and come back here to claw my heart out of my chest?”
Gia laughed, a lovely tinkling sound that sent a spike of interest to his ever-ready staff. “Probably no more than five minutes—at least to find out if you are who you say you are.” She added, “Now, if you have a shadier background than the high-tech genius you profess to be, never fear, he’ll have those stones uncovered in short order.” She added with a narrowed gaze, “For example, he might even learn how you managed to break into my house without so much as disturbing the lock.”
Choosing not to pick up the gauntlet she’d thrown, he chuckled. “Hmm, forewarned is forearmed. But don’t worry, even as determined as I’m confident Granger is, my most nefarious tracks are buried deeper than Jimmy Hoffa’s decaying body. Even Geraldo couldn’t find them.”
Gia frowned. “Why do I think you might not be kidding?”
His grin widening, Logan shrugged. “C’mon, Gia. What’s interesting about an open book?”
When she didn’t bother to answer, they sipped on their Maker’s Mark for several long moments, then Logan decided to brave the formidable protective wall she’d built around herself.
“You said that your father and Granger raised you. I’ve met Granger. Tell me about your father.”
Her frown spoke volumes, but when he held her gaze, she gave a dismissive snort. “What do you want to know that you haven’t already learned from your cohorts?”
When he just smiled, refusing to take her bait, she shrugged. “My father is the most handsome man you’ll ever meet and the most engaging. He’s also the most corrupt. He ruled electoral politics in this county, hell, most of the state, for nearly twenty years. Unfortunately, or fortunately, his enemies and the law caught up with him.”
She was quiet for a long moment and then reached for the bottle of Maker’s Mark and poured herself a hefty shot of the potent alcohol. Tipping up the glass, she emptied it in a single swallow. “As you well know, he’s in prison and I hope to God he dies there. Regrettably, knowing Big Bart Tremaine, he’ll probably fuck some female judge and get out early on good behavior.”
When it was clear she wasn’t going to add to the cryptic tale, Logan said, “That’s a tough story, Gia. A multilayered one. I’m not surprised you’re challenged by it.” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “How about your mother? How did she handle your imposing father?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? She didn’t. Handle him, that is. My mousy, God-fearing mother decided she’d rather be harangued by the priests and the nuns. In some weird way, the fact that the clergy and their women despised her for her supposed sins was preferable to the disdain her husband and daughter showered on her.”
Gia was quiet, then picked up the bottle and poured herself another hefty shot. Glaring at Logan through a forbiddingly narrowed gaze, she said curtly, “Just so you know, you’re wrong. I’m not challenged by any of this. My father taught me what not to do in a campaign and never to trust a man. My mother taught me that being a God-fearing woman and loving your husband was beyond counterproductive.” She shrugged. “Given everything that they did or, in the case of my mother, didn’t do, my parents are great role models. I thank them every day of my life for making me what I am today: a strong woman without any illusions about what is important and what isn’t.”
Logan let the silence between them stand, then followed her lead and poured himself a hefty shot of the fortifying alcohol. Knowing he was likely to encounter more land mines, he pointed to her ring. “Tell me about that.”
“What’s to tell?”
Meeting her gaze, he said, “I guess given your father’s profession, I’m surprised that you’re choosing to marry a politician.”
Gia gave a harsh laugh. “Good God, Logan. You know as well as I do that Aiden Maxwell doesn’t have a political bone in his body.”
He chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, I do know that. In that we’re agreed on that rather important point, may I presume that your attraction to Mr. Maxwell overrode your usual political insights?”
She looked genuinely surprised, then said with a frown, pointing to her ring, “No, actually, this was an afterthought.”
“In what way?”
Gia hesitated, then buoyed by the significant amount of high-end booze she’d imbibed, she decided, what the hell? Since Logan seemed genuinely interested in who and what she was, why sugarcoat the truth? Waving her ring finger, she said, “To be specific, this speaks to a business relationship. At least on my part.” When he continued to regard her evenly, she said, “I know enough about men and relationships to know there is interest of sorts—at least fleetingly. I learned at my father’s knee just how transitory that interest is, how quickly the eye wanders. Accepting that truth, I determined what is apparently good for the gander is more than good enough for this particular goose. To be crystal clear, my interest in Aiden is political. While I love politics, I will never run for office. I also know that the ultimate political power is the power behind the throne. Hence this.” Flashing her ring finger again, she said blithely, “So when Aiden’s interest fades—and mine never happened—after I get him elected, my power is assured.”
Seeing Logan’s frown, she said casually, “C’mon, Logan, fess up. Why aren’t you running for office? You could win any race you entered without breathing hard. And if anyone ascribes to my degenerate father’s view of women and where they rank in your hierarchy of importance, it’s you.”
Logan cleared his throat and pinned a narrowed gaze on her. “At some point we can discuss your ‘power behind the throne’ theory which, in part, I ascribe to. However, I do take issue with what I consider to be a demeaning way of looking at men, myself included—”
She interrupted him with a snort. “Really, Mr. Fowler, remember to whom you’re speaking. According to my research calendar, you literally have a different woman every night of the week. Not that you don’t double dip. You just don’t ‘do’ any of them two nights in a row.”
Ignoring his frown and rigid jaw, Gia shrugged. “I guess that’s your ‘gentlemanly’ way of ensuring that they know you’re not in it for the long haul.” She lifted her chin and smiled impudently. “Although, you do have a declared type. If she’s blonde and irons the tiniest threat of curl out of her stick-straight hair and nary a lock is ever mussed, and she’s thin as a rail, that lucky lady gets a return engagement. Oh, and not one of them has a ‘career,’ except to live on their inheritance and attract the appropriate spouse.”
As annoyed as he was, Logan couldn’t help but acknowledge that while her assessment was demeaning as hell, it contained more than a little of the truth. “And how might you know that, Ms. Tremaine? To be specific, what research calendar are you talking about?”
She lifted a dismissive shoulder and shot him an ironic grin. “While I was figuring out how I was going to get in front of you, I tracked your movements for a week. It was enlightening.”
Logan startled, then managed to laugh. “So Arnold was right? You are a stalker.”
She tossed her head. “I prefer to think of myself as a determined sleuth. I needed to meet you.”
“Why?”
“Simple. I need your money.”
He guffawed and said equally ironically, “Don’t feel you have to apologize for your intrusive actions.”
She smiled at him and winked. “I don’t.”
****
They were quiet as he walked her to her car. Seeing her staring at the ground in front of her, a frown creasing her brow, Logan had to believe that Gia was troubled by what she’d revealed. When she tipped up her chin and smiled at him, he admitted that he was likely the one who was troubled. As if to confirm the significant blows she’d recei
ved in her young life hadn’t been strong enough to penetrate her impregnable defensive system, she looked almost blasé. Unfortunately for Gia, Logan had spent most of his life cracking supposedly “uncrackable codes.” That ability had made him the intrepid warrior and now wealthy businessman that he was. He’d seen more than enough evidence in their remarkable conversation to know she’d been badly hurt. That her denial was as profound as it was only confirmed the extent of her pain.
When they closed in on her car and she was digging in her purse for her keys, he reached for her. At first he thought the reason he wanted to hold her was, in some crazy way, to try to erase some of the hurts she’d suffered. That noble reason lasted about three seconds when he pulled her into his arms and breathed in her compelling scent. The heady mix of lemon, spice, and sexy woman shot a blast of heat to his more-than-interested cock.
Taking her purse from her and placing it on the hood of her car, he drawled, “Hold on, Gia . . . Where do you think you’re going?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Ah . . . home?”
He shook his head as he pressed her against the side of her car. “Not quite yet, princess . . . at least not until I do this.” He wove his hand into the mass of curly hair flowing over her shoulders. Dragging her head back, he forced her to meet his intense gaze. Giving a harsh laugh, he pressed his lips against her neck and groaned. “Fuck it, sweetheart. You’ve converted me.”
When she struggled against him and stammered, “How . . . what . . . ?” he guffawed. “I admit, blondes used to be my go-to girls. But your hair has captured me.” He murmured, “It’s not only the color . . . the midnight magic it promises . . . it’s the wildness . . . and the fragrance . . . Jesus God, Gia, your smell . . . it’s so fucking sexy.”
He was as shocked as he was sure she was at what he did next. Separating her legs with his knee, he lifted her up on his strong thigh, then drove his fulminating arousal hard up against her crotch. At her surprised cry, he ordered, “Dammit, Gia, ride me.” When she cried out and dug her fingernails into his back and clung to him, he doubled down. “Yes, sweetheart, God yes, like that!” Pressing her against the car door, he didn’t know how, if ever, he could let her go. At least not until he’d driven the hardest fucking arousal he’d ever had into the lush pussy he felt straining against him. He pressed his lips against the seam of her lips and muttered, “Open for me, Gia. Let me kiss you.” To his amazement, she cried out, then opened her mouth, letting him in. In seconds their tongues were tangling, their teeth clashing in a passionate need to inhale each other.
