by Sasha Burke
“Logan, if you can honestly tell me that what I did was wrong, not just dangerous or scary, but actually wrong, then I swear to you right now I’ll never do anything like that again.”
He hisses his displeasure at my words, shoving his hands in his pocket and grudgingly maintaining his silence.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “If you let me work with Hannah, I assure you that I’ll take the same kind of calculated risks to ensure her safety.”
His gaze is equal parts annoyed and incredulous when he finally says, “You don’t argue fucking fairly at all.”
I smile. That’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.
Gazing at me with hooded eyes, he asks quietly, “You really think Hannah needs therapy?”
“It wouldn’t be therapy. Any time I put in with her will be totally pro-bono.”
He gives me a dry look. “Is that your nice way of telling me I can’t afford you?”
Ah, humor. Now we’re getting somewhere. “If I charge you, she’ll become one of my therapy clients, which I honestly don’t think is necessary at this point. I just want to teach her some overarching techniques that could help her out. That’s all. It’ll just be me hanging out with my friend’s daughter.”
Maybe I’m reaching by calling us friends. I’ve known the man for years, but he hasn’t exactly been ‘friendly’ with me during all that time. Respectful, yes. Cordial, sure. But fairly distant, always.
“Anyway,” I continue. “We can add in the climbing part later, only if you’re both comfortable. In her case, I think she would really benefit from it.”
He grunts. It’s a thoughtful grunt, but I can tell he’s still not fully on board.
“Do you promise to be doubly careful with her up on the wall than you are usually?” he asks then. “Not just because she’s younger, but because she’s my kid?”
I can’t help but smile over that. Most folks would’ve worded that in reverse. The man is like a big, growly grizzly bear, fiercely gentle with no one except his cub. “I promise,” I say
I arch an eyebrow at him then and toss back, “Do you promise to not be overbearing and overprotective and over-questioning of my methods at every turn?”
“Hell no.”
It was worth a shot. I grin up at him. “So, are we doing this?
“I’m still not convinced she needs this.”
“Duly noted.”
“This better not interfere with her schoolwork.”
“It won’t.”
“You better not change her. She’s perfect the way she is.”
Gah, this man. “I think she’s pretty special, too, Logan.”
He mulls this all over for another few seconds, pacing and running a conflicted hand through his thick, chestnut brown hair, mussing with it at every pivot.
It’s almost unfair that the more he musses, the sexier he gets.
Eventually, he stops and gives me a look. “My agreeing to this doesn’t mean I don’t still think you’re more than a little nuts half the time.”
“I’m totally okay with that. A little proud, to be honest.”
His lips twitch up at the corner. “Okay then. You have my permission to talk to her about this or whatever she needs to work through, so long as you don’t go all full-therapist on her. And from there, if she says she wants to climb, I’ll let her go up with you once a week to start.”
Victory!
“And…thanks. For wanting to help,” he adds gruffly.
Aw. Bigger victory. But this one has me more melting than pumping my fist in the air. “Entirely my pleasure, Logan.”
Dammit, why did that come out so breathy and…suggestive? “She’s a great kid,” I add quickly. “I’ve always thought so.”
A pride-filled, affection-lit grin softens his expression at my compliment. As far as I’m concerned, these adoring, overprotective papa bear tendencies are just the most heartbreakingly attractive qualities in the male species.
“Thank you for catching me when I fell earlier,” I say then for reasons I can only attribute to an impaired mental state affected by my floating around in a puddle of swoon.
His eyes darken at the reminder of my fall.
Shoot! Just when I’d managed to defuse things. I brace myself for more shouting.
But his voice is quiet this time. “If you’d gotten hurt out there…”
His eyes search my face like I’ve got answers to questions he can’t ask. “That would’ve fucked me up big time. I probably would’ve needed therapy or some of your psychological voodoo. Which means I would’ve made damn sure to ride your ass during your rehab until you got well enough to get back to work and be my therapist so you could shrink my head back to normal. So…yeah, it’s a good thing you didn’t get injured.”
Goodness gracious, the man just has no idea how sweet he can be sometimes.
5
* * *
| NICOLE |
My stupid, confused heart is going haywire over his words, slamming against my ribs and making me lightheaded.
It doesn’t help one bit when I see his gaze drop down to fixate on my lips. It makes me powerless to stop the urge to fixate on his lips as well. Or the thousand other perfectly beautiful things about the man.
All this time, I’ve been so careful about overlooking how attractive he is. I’ve sort of been thinking of him like a breathtaking masterpiece you see in a museum. The kind you’re only allowed to look at from behind the velvet rope and never touch. If you do try and touch it, alarms will blaze and armed guards will tackle you to the ground.
Yep, that’s been Logan for me.
But now, here he is, letting me behind the velvet rope, giving me a private showing, even.
I have to be honest, without the threat of alarms and armed guards, I’m really worried I’m going to reach out and touch the no-touching masterpiece. Who hasn’t wanted to run their hands over a sculpture before? Or feel the rough canvas of a stunning work of art?
Seeing him this closely for the first time in all the years we’ve known each other, I realize that his classic good looks are far less All-American country boy than I once thought…especially when he’s looking at me the way he is now.
Those intense, piercing amber eyes of his have always been a weakness of mine. Especially when they darken to that warm, woodsy tone it does when he smiles (there’s a reason I don’t look directly at him when he’s in a good mood).
Okay, museum’s closed. Now just avert your eyes, Nicole. Or shut them. For chrissakes, just stop looking at the ridiculously gorgeous man.
I choose to ignore my brain’s perfectly wise instructions for a change. In fact, my ability to be rational seems to be short-circuiting altogether. All thanks to the proximity of Logan’s tall, ripped body—perhaps the most magnificently muscled build I’ve ever seen in real life, made even more arresting by that quiet, powerful confidence he has no matter what he does.
It takes me a bit to register that we’ve been standing in silence for quite some time now, and that he’s studying me like he’s concerned I’ve gone catatonic.
“Are you doing okay?” he asks worriedly. “Do you want me to drive you to the doctor to get checked out?”
Ah, yes, the fall. Let’s go with that as the reason for all the staring.
“No, I’m fine. The way you held me until the adrenaline crash wore off actually helped immeasurably. Whole-body deep pressure has been known to do that. It’s like how cattle are put in a squeeze chute to calm down when they get injections. That’s actually what inspired therapeutic hug machines,” I ramble on like some kind of runaway psychological encyclopedia.
“Took everything I had not to do more than just hold you,” he admits in a low, heated growl.
The confession downright stuns me, and sends me on a freefall to dangerous depths unknown.
It’s just the shock from earlier talking, I remind myself. He’s saying things he shouldn’t, and I’m interpreting it in ways I really shouldn’t. All we need to
do to get back to our status quo is change gears. Simple.
“Hey,” I switch the subject then in a stroke of genius, drawing on a working theory I’ve always held about him. “What do you think about a little friendly climbing competition between you and me?”
His gaze instantly releases me from its magnetic hold. He blinks at me in surprise. “I’m listening,” he says, the intrigue in his tone confirming my hypothesis: The man likes a challenge.
Between his affinity for climbing and his reputation for taking on bold investments that most of his billionaire colleagues won’t touch, Logan thrives a bit on adventure. Which is why, while my brilliant intervention definitely changed the dynamic of our conversation, the air feels somehow even more charged now, in a new, different way I hadn’t counted on. I back up to give myself some much-needed breathing room to articulate what I have in mind.
“I know you don’t ever climb for speed,” I explain. “And I don’t either. But what do you think about doing a little speed test? Just for fun? Your brawn against my build.” I may not have the reach or strength he does, but my being smaller also makes it possible for me to be considerably faster. It’ll be an interesting match-up.
“Which wall?” he asks.
“I was thinking the Red Rock. First one to the top wins.”
He arches an amused eyebrow at me. “And what happens when I win?”
Cocky bastard. At least he’s not being all swoony and intense anymore. A bit of a lateral move, but I can work with it. “You forget, I’ve been climbing here almost every day for the last couple of years, while you’ve been mostly cooped up in offices and planes.”
I say it teasingly, but the truth is, I can’t remember the last time I saw him get a good climb in. Admittedly, this little challenge has a little something to do with that as well. The man clearly misses it. I see it in his caged expression when he comes back here after one of his many meetings in the city, only to have to head straight to his office.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he says. “What do I get when I win?”
I really should be annoyed that he’s not considering me a real climbing threat here, but oddly, I find his gruff confidence more entertaining than anything else. The man’s fun to lock horns with. “I don’t know. What do you want?” I toss back without thinking.
Big mistake.
I watch, almost mesmerized as he does some sort of Jedi mind trick on me, saying nothing and yet somehow getting me to blush. Then, a hazy minute later, he holds his hand out with a smile and I reach out to shake it—an automated response we’re hardwired to do according to some interesting articles I read a while back.
Wait a sec. Did I just black out? Did I miss what his terms were?
From the way he’s smiling and not letting me pull my hand back just yet, it’s clear he knows the psychology behind handshakes as well. Damn him. “What did we just agree to?” I ask, more than a little nervously. “What does the winner get?”
His hand squeezes mine just a little bit firmer, and I feel him mentally tugging me in just a little bit closer.
“If I win,” he says in a way that’s somehow charmingly arrogant, “I get the kiss I didn’t take earlier when I was holding you.”
He slowly lets my hand go, but still manages to keep me tethered to him by an invisible cord. “And if you win, you get the option to get out of it...but only if you can truly, honestly tell me that you don’t want me to kiss you.”
Holy crap.
See, this is why you should never do a deal with a billionaire.
The stakes are usually just way too high.
6
* * *
| LOGAN |
Close to a week later, I arrive at the gym after dropping off Hannah and see that Nicole’s early again. She’s waiting for me this time. I have no idea why that pleases me so fucking much, but it does.
I texted her last night to confirm we’d be doing our little climbing contest today. Only after my on-site doctor gave her a full medical work-up to make sure she didn’t suffer any residual injuries from her fall, of course.
“So, did you get the results of my bloodwork and invasive body cavity search from Dr. Sings-While-He-Probes?” she grouses by way of greeting.
For a woman in a related medical field, it’s funny to discover how difficult a patient she could be.
“Hello to you, too. And yes, you have the all-clear to climb today. Congrats.”
Lordy, the woman has a spectacular glare.
At the door, I punch my security code in while Nicole uses yet another one of my workers’ keys to unlock the deadbolt. “How early did you get here this morning?” Seeing the neon pink pepper spray keychain on the borrowed key ring, I ask curiously, “And are those Becca’s keys?” Weird. She’s hardly ever on the opening crew.
“I’ve been here a while. And yes, Becca came in a bit early today,” she answers with an amused lip twitch.
“Did you tell her about the race?”
Another lip twitch. “Didn’t have to,” she says cryptically. With that, she heads off without another word to go get limbered up and I stay where I am for a few seconds longer to watch her feline grace from the back.
Pity I won’t get that view when we’re up on the wall together. Seeing as how I don’t intend to fall behind her at any point during this climb.
She’s right about the fact that she’s been clocking in way more hours climbing than I have the last couple of years. And I know she’s become a hell of a climber; I’ve watched her get stronger and more skilled with no small amount of admiration.
But, I’ve got one significant edge over her in this little competition.
I really want that fucking kiss.
On the main floor, I see my normal morning crew gathered at the Red Rock wall, plus about a dozen others who aren’t scheduled.
That’s when I realize what had her smiling earlier.
Not only did my own workers let her in here to get some last minute practice runs in, but even now, they’re huddling around her feeding her different tips on how to beat me.
Traitors.
To be fair though, she probably used all her psychological witchery on them to get into their heads and on her side. Honestly, if the woman wasn’t already very happy and successful in her career of choice, I’d hire her as my corporate negotiator. She’s that good.
As we both stand before the wall, her studying the route she wants to take up, and me studying her, my workers start taking bets on who’s going to win. I know my people love me; most of them have been with me since I opened the gym. But be that as it may, the bets are friggin’ nine-to-one in her favor.
“Okay, let’s do this.” She reaches for a harness and pulls it on while I do the same. Her hands are quick and sure, but I’m still done before she is.
“One second,” I say before she can reach for the wall.
I drop to my knees in front of her to tighten the straps around her thighs. The open form of the harness secures at the thigh and waist, but she left too much room on both like most people do.
“They don’t have to be that snug,” she protests and I glance up at her, realizing my face is practically buried between her legs.
She’s lucky I was too focused on getting her properly geared up to notice earlier or I would’ve been sorely tempted to kick all my workers out of the gym and make much better use of our current position.
“They do need to be this snug,” I inform her gruffly, as I stand up to tighten her waist straps the same way. “I’m not taking any chances with your safety.”
She gazes at me for a second before reaching over to my harness straps, worriedly tugging on them to test their tension the way I did hers.
“Just checking,” she says.
This damn woman and her bleeding heart.
“Ready?” calls out Derick, checking in with the belayers holding our ropes as well.
All four of us nod.
“Go!”
She jumps at the
wall, pulling herself up with quick, sure movements.
Shit, she’s pretty fast.
Still, I pull ahead of her in two long reaches, climbing on feel alone. I never got into painting by numbers as a kid, and I never got in the habit of climbing by color-coded handholds either.
Not even a minute in and I’m officially having a grand fucking time. I’ve missed this. I’m not sure when I stopped focusing on Nicole and switched my attention over to just enjoying the hell out of the climb, but before I know it, we’re at the halfway point.
I look over and do a double take, impressed that she’s keeping pace with me.
“You’re having fun,” she says between slightly labored breaths, her eyes lighting up with pleasure over that fact.
It’s like she’s taken a seminar on how to make herself insanely adorable to me.
And now I’m back to giving her all my attention.
She’s got her lower lip in her mouth and she’s chewing on it in her concentration. I can see her motions slowing down a bit. It’s the fatigue setting in. If I’m feeling it, she has to be also.
“You’re doing great,” I say. “But, you’re using your forearms and biceps to pull you up too much for some of these angles. Push off more with your legs. You’ll fatigue less that way.”
“You’re trying to help me win?” she asks, surprised.
“Nah, just trying to help you come in second.”
I see her frame shake with laughter. “Stop distracting me.”
Likewise. The woman’s very existence is a distraction. And the thought of kissing the living daylights out of her later is starting to make my harness uncomfortable.
Dammit, dumbass, think of something else.
We fall into silence as we make our way past the three-quarter mark. She’s a half a body length behind me now, and slowing down.
Nothing against her; she’s in good shape, but this wall is punishing. Up this high, the holds on this particular route are fewer and farther apart. Handling the gaps requires pushing your body past the ache, past the exhaustion, and keeping your mind sharp for each successive move you decide to make.
