by Lee Taylor
Rousing herself from her foggy state, she forced herself to come to grips with her challenging situation. Granting that it was impossible to go home, at least for the next couple of days, she decided she needed her car. At least if she had her car, she could find a sleazy motel and hide for a few days while she determined how and when she would rejoin the world. She’d let Ben know where she was, and together they’d map out the final disintegration of the Maxwell campaign. Just saying the campaign name silently to herself was painful. Shrugging at the draining thoughts, she texted Granger and told him where she was and to have one of the guys bring her car to the pier. Allowing herself a little more time to drink in the calming ambience of the lapping waves, she rose to her feet and trudged from the sandy beach toward the pier.
She was relieved when she heard the sound of an automobile engine in the distance. She hoped that it was Tank or Felix and not Granger who was bringing her car. While she’d been drunk out of her mind, she hadn’t been so sloshed that she didn’t see Granger’s shattered countenance. She knew he had to be devastated at what had happened. She didn’t know if she could handle his pain along with her own. Sighing, she conceded that whoever brought her car was going to be upset.
Closing in on the pier, she stopped dead in her tracks. As her battered, ten-year-old Toyota turned the corner, she saw a gleaming, silver Ferrari convertible parked at the pier. Lounging against the side of the sleek automobile, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded across his chest, was a tall, lean man. His rigid jaw and deep crease between his brows belied his relaxed pose. Even though his designer shades hid his eyes, the anger radiating off the frowning man was unmistakable. It didn’t take his seemingly calm assertion as he strode toward her to confirm that he was pissed as hell.
“You’re a hard woman to run to ground, Gia.”
Managing to find her voice, she tossed him a dismissive shrug. “Maybe because no one has—or ever will—run me to ground.”
Chapter 22
When Granger finally texted him, Logan began to breathe somewhat normally. “I just heard from her, Logan. She’s been hanging out at Sturgeon Lake. I shoulda thought of it. It’s where she used to go when she was a kid and had to get away. She asked me to send one of my guys with her car. You need to understand, Logan. She can’t be alone.”
He’d responded, “Don’t worry, Granger, she won’t be.”
Striding toward her, Logan wasn’t surprised at the rage flooding him at her saucy rejoinder to his understated quip that she was a hard woman to run to ground. What the impossible woman didn’t understand, but soon would, was that no one, not even the most brazen woman he’d ever known, was going to saunter away from him as if that were an option.
He turned to the bulky, dark-skinned men who were exiting her automobile. “You’re Tank, correct?” When Tank nodded, Logan spoke to his partner. “And I presume you’re Felix?” At his nod, Logan grasped Gia’s arm and pulled her up next to him. “Thank you, gentlemen, for bringing Gia’s car. However, as I indicated to Granger, Ms. Tremaine is coming with me. You can take her car back to the HT&M. When she is able to return to her home, I’ll see that she gets it.”
The two men cast a questioning glance at Gia, then, apparently convinced by Logan’s stern expression and grip on her upper arm, shrugged. Nodding to Gia, they climbed back into her Toyota and sped out of the parking lot.
Glancing at her retreating Toyota, Gia pressed her lips in a hard, straight line and attempted to free her arm. Glaring at Logan, she spat, “Did it occur to you that I might not want to go with you, much less to your place?”
He tightened his grip on her arm and said tersely, “Did it occur to you that’s too fucking bad?” Hauling her over to the Ferrari, he opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
She twisted away from him and said with a dismissive sniff, “Don’t you mean please get in my car, Gia?”
Grasping her under her arms, Logan physically lifted her onto the passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt across her chest, then said curtly as he slammed her door closed, “No, I think we’re at the point we can dispense with the niceties.”
Rounding the automobile, he climbed into the driver’s seat and punched the ignition release, bringing the powerful automobile to life.
She grabbed his arm. “Dammit, Logan. I do not want to go back to your condo. I insist you take me to Ben’s or to a motel. Anywhere but your place.”
Reducing the engine to a middling roar, he turned to her and pinned her with a narrow-eyed glare. “You may recall my admonition regarding who decides when ‘we’re done.’ That warning applies threefold when I tell you that I need go to a meeting and I expect you to be waiting for me when I return.” He nodded cryptically. “It’s apparent there are a number of things you need to learn about me, Gia. Fortunately, we have the weekend ahead of us. Ample time for me to make clear the brazen, disrespectful behavior that I will and will not tolerate.”
Ignoring her surprised gasp, he propelled the car into gear and with a fearsome roar, peeled out of the parking lot, throwing up a shower of gravel in his wake. Speeding across the freeway, he turned onto the city streets, and before she could figure out how she was going to get away from the arrogant man, he was pulling into his private garage.
As angry as she was, she was more appalled at how her body had reacted to his outrageous threats. Remembering the untoward way she’d responded to his aggressive assault when he told her that he would decide when they “were done,” she was horrified that his insulting threat regarding what he would and would not tolerate shot a flurry of unwelcome sensations skittering between her thighs.
And this was the man who thought he would have sole access to her for two uninterrupted days? Fat chance! She would escape somehow. She had to. She couldn’t control her reaction to him. He frightened her and, she admitted, he was sexy as hell. But no one, especially not the arrogant man who had a different woman every night of the week—women of a decidedly different class than Gia—was going to tell her what she could and could not do. She refused to be his go-to girl of the moment, even if she was the only dark-haired woman who made his choosey roster. It was like she told Granger, when he went to the HT&M with her, Logan was slumming. She was a plaything, an amusing novelty to torment before he returned to his wafer-thin, wealthy women. The women who’d been bred to accompany men like Logan Fowler. Women like Savannah Phillips, who’d made it clear that Gia wasn’t in the same universe as she was and never would be.
Pulling into the spotless garage, Logan brought the FF to a squealing stop and in seconds was at her side. With an exaggerated wave of his arm, he swung the door open and quipped, “Welcome home, Gia. Your opportunity to redeem your bad behavior awaits.” He added with a grin, “As I indicated, our time together these next few days will give me ample time to administer the remedial lessons you clearly need to learn.”
Knowing he was intentionally taunting her, Gia folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his amusement. She knew that her cheeks had to be bright red at his provocative teasing, and she smashed her lips together, determined not to cry.
He squatted down beside her and grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Your choice, princess. You can walk or I’ll carry you.”
When he reached for her, she smacked at his hands. “Don’t touch me!” Ignoring his grin, she shoved past him and marched to the elevator. She saw him reach into the trunk of the car and grab a large shopping bag, inscribed with the pricy logo “Moschino,” then followed her to the elevator. She was surprised when he pressed his fingerprint on a raised plate beside the door, then gazed at it. When a light flashed and the elevator doors slid open, her curiosity overcame her anger. “Is that a retinal scanner?”
Guiding her into the elevator, he said, “Among other things.”
Amazed and intimidated by his high-level security measures, Gia acknowledged how difficult it was going to be to escape, something she fully int
ended to do as soon as she could figure out how. Inside the elevator, she pressed into the back corner, refusing to stand beside him. Watching the floor numbers flash by, she couldn’t squelch the anxious words that sprang unbidden from her lips. “Will Arnold be here?”
He laughed. “No, I’ve given him and my housekeeper the weekend off. As I told you, we have a lot of work to do in the next couple of days, whipping you into shape. The last thing we need is an audience.”
Even though she knew he was teasing her, her stomach did a triple somersault at his brazen threat, making it impossible to shutter her gasp. He grinned at her and winked, confirming that he’d seen her problematic reaction—a response he’d clearly intended.
When the elevator opened to his condo, he dropped the shopping bag in the corner, then met her gaze with a more serious one of his own. Frowning slightly, he said, “You have to be hungry.”
Planting her feet firmly, she shook her head. “No, I’m not. I don’t want to eat. Period. In fact, I don’t want anything from you.”
He studied her for a moment, then allowed a slight smile to quirk his lips. “Hmm, I see you are ready to begin your training.”
Now thoroughly angry, Gia tipped up her chin and growled, “Dammit, Logan, you’re not funny and I’m not going to eat. As I said, I’m not hungry.” Gia was surprised at the effort it took to snap at him, and even more to her horror, she was afraid she might cry if he didn’t leave her alone.
Stepping toward her, Logan’s gaze narrowed further. “A couple things you need to understand, Gia. First, there is nothing funny about your current situation. You are exhausted, almost clinically so. Except for the extraordinary amount of alcohol you drank, you obviously haven’t eaten anything—probably for the last two days. An issue we will deal with now.” He pointed to the gleaming counter across the room. Reaching for her arm, he said, “Our first lesson will take place in the kitchen.” Ignoring her attempt to pull away, he put his hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the counter. He lifted her onto one of the stools and slid it tight against the counter, ensuring that she would stay seated.
Striding to the refrigerator, Logan took out several covered dishes. “One of the things I did while I was trying to find you this morning was make soup for you. And yes, I like to cook. In fact, I’m damn good at it.” He reached into the refrigerator and plopped a bottle of water in front of her. “While I’m heating your soup, I want you to drink this.” At her frown, he added, “All of it, Gia, now.”
Seeing that he was serious, Gia picked up the bottle and took several long drinks, acknowledging that she had to be dehydrated after the overload of alcohol she’d consumed. Determined to ignore him, Gia was surprised when within a couple of minutes Logan put a steaming bowl of soup in front of her. When he added a plate of colorful fruit and several slices of toasted bread, her give-away stomach growled loudly in anticipation. He laughed, then frowned when she stared at the opulent display and shook her head. “I don’t think I can eat this, Logan. I’m . . . I’m really not hungry.”
“Hmm, that’s not what your tummy is saying, Gia.” Circling the counter, he sank onto the stool next to her. Refusing to let her look away, he insisted she meet his narrowed gaze. “Okay, princess, we can do this my way or we can do it my way. Understand. You are going to eat at least some of this. If you prefer, I’m happy to feed you. Although, I’ll have to hold you on my lap to do that.” At her horrified expression, he said quietly, “Or you can pick up that spoon and taste my seafood chowder, which if I do say so myself, is damn good.”
Gia hesitated, surprised at the tears that were threatening to fall. Seeing his frowning concern, she forced herself to take a small mouthful of the steaming soup. It was surprisingly tasty, and within a couple of minutes she’d eaten at least a third of the savory concoction. When she stopped, not sure how she could eat more, Logan handed her several grapes. She did her best to eat them, but the lump in her throat made it difficult to swallow. She didn’t want to make him angry, but knowing that she couldn’t eat another bite, she shook her head when he handed her a strawberry.
She was relieved when Logan pushed back the plate. “Okay, princess, that’s a good start. Now, how about you crawl into bed and sleep for a while? If you’re as exhausted as you look, you need it as much as you needed that food.”
She reared back and shook her head. “No! I . . . mean, no, I don’t want to sleep in your bed.”
Ignoring her refusal, he quirked a brow as he lifted her off the stool. “Again, your choice, princess. You can walk to my bedroom and get into my bed. Or if you prefer, I will carry you and tuck you in bed.” He held her gaze. “I prefer the latter.”
She shoved at his hands and managed to saunter past him, which was a minor miracle given how shaky her legs were. She clung to the doorknob for a moment to get her balance, then walked inside, slamming the door behind her. Leaning against the door until she was sure he wasn’t going to follow her, she moved carefully toward the big bed. She stripped off her jeans and sweater, and, doing her best to ignore his provocative fragrance that was still on the bedclothes, she crawled in and within seconds fell into an exhausted sleep.
The tantalizing smell of food woke her. She was surprised that the room was dark and shocked when she saw it was after nine o’clock, confirming she’d slept for nearly six hours.
Befuddled and not sure what to do next, she turned on the lamp and got out of bed, preparing to go to the bathroom. By the door, she saw the Moschino bag that Logan had taken from his trunk. Glancing inside, she saw an array of clothes. Women’s clothes. Angry at his presumptiveness, she dragged on her jeans and sweater and strode through the door. He was sitting in a leather armchair, his iPad on his lap. He rose to his feet, then apparently seeing her irritation, a slight frown creased his brow. Before he could say anything, she dropped the bag on the floor and glared at him.
“I can’t accept these. I don’t want or need you to dress me. I can manage quite nicely by myself, thank you. Besides, I don’t want to look like all your other women. I want to look like me.” Fierce, she tipped up her chin. “And just so we’re clear, I’m leaving soon, so I won’t need them.”
He drew in a deep breath and then audibly exhaled. Focusing a narrow gaze on her, he said quietly, “You may not tire of your jeans and sweater for the next couple of days, Gia, but I will. How about you hop in the shower and then we’ll decide about clothes.”
Fighting the rush of anger sweeping her at his dismissal of everything she’d said, she startled when he took several steps toward her. Seeing his deepening frown, she swallowed hard, then smashed her lips together, preparing to take him on when he shook his head and nodded toward the bathroom.
“Do as I said, princess. The shower first. Then we can discuss what you will wear.” When she stepped back but didn’t go toward the shower, he moved a step closer, and said softly, “The shower, sweetheart.” His voice dropped dangerously lower. “Now.”
When she turned and ran into the bathroom, preparing to slam the door, he called after her, “As for any of my other women looking like you, princess? Impossible. They couldn’t if they tried. You, my feisty woman, are an original.”
Chapter 23
Gia leaned against the shower wall, wishing that the pounding water would wash the commanding tyrant down the drain. Arrogant asshole that he was, Logan actually thought he could tell her what she could and couldn’t do. When and if she could leave. He even thought he could make her eat when she wasn’t hungry. And for God’s sake, she knew she looked like hell, but that didn’t mean she was exhausted. She just looked like she was. Fine, she admitted, she had needed to sleep, but she didn’t need him to tell her that.
Breathing out a heartfelt groan, she acknowledged that it was impossible to dismiss the man waiting for her a room away. She could no more forget his piecing dark eyes, rigid jaw, and sensuous full lips than she could his tall, lean physique. But more challenging than his stunning good looks was what he did to h
er. Specifically, what he did to her wayward body and spirit. She chided herself. As if she could forget how she’d felt in the HT&M parking lot when he held her tight against his strong, muscular body. And then brushed his lips across her throat, whispering all the things he was going to do to her—whether she wanted him to or not. That memory alone had her squeezing her thighs together as if it were possible to quiet the sensations rioting over her susceptible body. God, how could she make it clear to him that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him make her feel this way?
Wanting to focus on how bossy and arrogant he was, she couldn’t help but remember the soup he’d made for her, insisting that she needed to eat. He’d even created a colorful arrangement of fruit, hoping to entice her. And although she would never wear them, he’d bought clothes for her, knowing that she couldn’t get into her apartment to retrieve her things. Squeezing her eyes shut to quell the tears threatening to fall, she admitted what she really wanted was for him to hold her tight against him and help her drown out the hideous memories that were threatening to take her down. Shaking her head at the verboten memories, she castigated herself. For God’s sake, since when did she start feeling like she was always about to cry? She snorted and acknowledged it was probably since the fucking bottom of her world had dropped out of sight. Make that been smashed to smithereens.
Deciding she’d tortured herself enough, she got out of the shower and tried to come to grips with what she was going to do next. Retrieving her jeans and sweater from the bathroom floor, she walked naked into the bedroom and faced the issue she could no longer avoid. Glancing at her disheveled clothes and underwear, she conceded that she couldn’t wear them again. Even she didn’t wear the same thing two days in a row, at least not unless they’d been laundered in between. She looked over at the bed, which apparently he’d made when she was in the shower, and saw the ensemble he’d laid on the foot of the bed. What looked like a lounging outfit was lying beside a bra and matching panties.
