Chapter 8
Logan
Lottie slept beside me, tight to my side. She had her arms wrapped around my waist, her head in my neck, her breaths soft puffs of warmth on my skin. If I shifted, she followed. I had the feeling she liked being held.
I liked holding her.
On occasion, simply for fun, I liked to play in the subway. I enjoyed watching people’s reactions to hearing music. It changed the atmosphere, often lifting it and making the aura lighter in the station. I didn’t play for money, but whatever cash was tossed in my case went right to the homeless shelter or the food bank. There had been a time when I’d needed that money and those places to survive, so I liked to give back.
Our meeting happened by chance. I was on my way home, a song stuck in my head, and I decided to stop and play it out. I only intended to play for a few moments, long enough to stop the swirl of notes in my head, but then it happened.
She appeared, and I looked at her, focusing all my attention in her direction. It wasn’t the first time I had noticed her. The pretty girl with the rich chestnut hair who caught my eye. She always looked solemn and lost in her own world, and I was used to the almost blank expression on her face as she walked past me, never noticing anything around her, it seemed. She always intrigued me, and the urge to speak to her grew each time I would catch a glimpse of her.
But that night, she had looked as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders and the burden was too much for her to handle. She collapsed onto the bench, her legs seemingly unable to hold her upright for even one more step. Concerned, I turned in her direction, focusing my voice toward her. For a few moments, there was no reaction, then she lifted her gaze. I was close enough to see the unusual ice-blue of her irises, and the pain, sadness, and turmoil I saw in her eyes hit me like a punch in the gut.
I had never seen a gaze contain that much emotion. Pain I desperately wanted to ease. I watched as she listened, her body relaxing, her shoulders losing the tension that held them tight. The station faded as I sang to her—for her. I directed every word her way, strummed every note, and fed each line with my voice. She sat straighter, no longer broken, but slowly coming back to life.
I didn’t stop. I sang and played for as long as she was there. When she stood and came closer, I was unable to take my eyes off her. She was beautiful. Small, delicate, and fragile. Yet stronger than an oak tree, standing tall and proud. The expression I thought was blank was nothing more than a mask. I saw the real woman tonight. She paused in front of me, meeting my eyes, her emotions hidden unless she allowed you to see.
And she showed me.
She tossed some money in the case, but it was her voice that made me falter.
“Thank you,” she murmured and walked away.
I followed her with my eyes until she disappeared.
After that, because I had no choice, I returned every night to serenade her. Sometimes I waited, playing only when I saw her, but I was there. I couldn’t explain the draw to this tiny woman. I couldn’t possibly articulate to anyone the possessive need I had to surround her with my music. Somehow, I knew she needed it. Needed me. But I had no idea how to approach her, other than to offer her the gift of my music.
And she inspired me. I wrote daily, my once intermittent habit of jotting down phrases and notes now a seemingly endless stream since she had appeared in my life. I sang all the words and notes that would explode onto the pages to her.
Because they were all for her.
When she fell asleep on the subway bench, so exhausted and worn-down, I sat as close as I dared, watching over her. Desperate to touch and hold her, I held back and remained a silent sentinel for her. When she woke in a panic, I knew I could no longer simply be the voice and song in the background.
Her eyes told me she needed me to be more than that.
I needed to be more than that.
And now I was here, with her, in her home. She was in my arms, safe, content, and slumbering.
How, I wondered, would she feel in the morning when she woke? Would she regret the day? Regret giving herself to me?
I didn’t know her whole story, nor did I know her parents. I did, however, know enough to recognize that they were blind when it came to her. That she needed to find a different path in life in order to be happy. It seemed to me, every decision Lottie had ever made was in some way to appease or please her parents. That way of life was slowly going to drain hers away—especially when they could not be appeased. It had something to do with her brother, that much I had surmised, but exactly what it was, I had yet to discover.
I looked down as she slept, her beautiful hair flowing down her back, her long eyelashes resting on the pale shadow of her skin. Even now, exhaustion was etched into her face. I thought of how beautiful she had been all day. How much she loved the cold and the snow. When flakes settled on her cheeks and hair, glistening in the light like small diamonds, she looked like a queen. A snow queen. My Snow Queen. The name suited her, and she smiled when I called her by it. I loved seeing her set aside the usual worries of a workday and simply be with me, enjoying the moment. The first time she had laughed, she looked startled, as if she weren’t sure who had made that noise. As the day progressed, it slipped out more. She had eaten and enjoyed the food. Savoring it as if she were tasting for the first time. She was open and caring. Sweet and kind.
Lost and seeking.
I wanted to be what she was looking for. I wanted to show her she wasn’t lost, and I was there for her. To show her there was more to life than a job that slowly killed you. Encourage her to do what she loved, not what she felt she had to do.
Whether she would listen or not, I wasn’t sure. But I knew I had to try. I meant it when I told her I had lost my father to the rat race and I didn’t want to lose her as well. She was already too important. She had been since the day I first played for her.
I only hoped I was important enough to have a chance to show her how different life could be.
Lottie was endearingly shy when she woke up later in the morning. I was awake long before her, relaxing with one arm tucked behind my head, the other holding her close as I watched her in the early morning light. She was wrapped around me, her head on my chest, her arm draped around my waist. As she woke, she stretched, her toes curling against my calf, her fingers tightening on my skin. I felt the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinked awake, slowly lifting her head, meeting my eyes. I smiled at her incredible beauty. Her hair was messy, her mouth still somewhat swollen from mine last night. There was a small mark at the base of her throat from my teeth. Faint traces of red from my beard along her collarbone. Her breasts pressed against my chest, her nipples little points on my skin.
And her lovely eyes. Luminous and soft. Peaceful. I had never seen them look so peaceful.
I cupped her cheek, drawing small circles on her skin. “Hey,” I whispered. “Morning, my Snow Queen.”
She yawned and turned her head to kiss my palm. “Hi.”
For a moment, there was quiet, our eyes having a silent conversation. Mine beseeched her not to regret last night, not to regret me. Her gaze, already soft, became warmer, and she tightened her grip on me.
“I have never woken up with another person in my bed,” she confessed.
“Ever?”
“No. My parents didn’t allow the sleepover thing.”
“Boyfriends?” I asked, even though I hated to think of her with anyone but me. “I wasn’t your, ah, first.”
“No.” She looked away for a moment. “But there haven’t been many. And the two relationships I had, neither were the ‘stay with me’ kind. I usually went to their place, and I never stayed over. I never felt that need to wake up with them.”
I was surprised yet somehow pleased. “I’m honored.”
She blushed slightly, making me grin. She lowered her eyes, then peeked up at me. “So, I assume since you’re here, and um, naked, I have free access?”
I chuckled. She was already sli
ding her thigh along my leg, dragging herself against my erect cock. “I’m completely accessible to you, Lottie.” I spread my arms wide. “Do with me what you will.”
I groaned in pleasure as she sat up, throwing her leg over me and straddling me. The heat of her burned into my skin as she slid herself along my erection. “I want you like this,” she murmured.
I cupped her full breasts, stroking the nipples with my thumbs. I reached for another condom and handed it to her. “Have me.”
A long, slow groan left my lips as she slowly lowered herself on me. Inch by inch, I slipped into her heat, the sensation of being surrounded by her addictive and astonishing. When we were flush, she whimpered, fisting her hair with one hand as she braced herself on my chest with the other, her fingers spasming.
“Logan,” she moaned. “You feel so good.”
I flexed my hips, settling deeper, groaning with pleasure. “Ride me, Lottie.”
She grasped my hands, guiding them to her hips. “Show me.”
I set the pace, going slow, wanting to draw out her enjoyment. I loved watching as she lost herself in the motion and feel of our bodies moving together. Forgot about everything but us. How we felt together. The long buildup of ecstasy was so great, our bodies shook from the intensity. As her groans and pleas became louder, I sat up, encasing her fully. She buried her face in my neck, gasping at the intense connection. I gripped her hair, holding her close and speeding up, my thrusts hard and short. With a low cry, she convulsed, her fingernails digging into my skin as she orgasmed. I shouted as I spiraled, filling her until we both collapsed, our sweat-soaked skin pressed together.
I lifted her head, kissing her. She sighed, snuggling tight to my chest, and I held her close. She was starved for affection, and I wanted to give her as much as she needed. I felt an odd sense of pleasure knowing she hadn’t stayed with anyone else, that she hadn’t sought out this connection with anyone but me until now.
“Breakfast?” I asked.
She eased back, her eyes dancing. “Is that all you think about? Food?”
I winked. “I think I just proved I have something else on my mind a lot as well.”
She laughed. “I suppose you did.” She glanced down. “I think I need to shower.”
“Good idea. Want me to come and wash your back?”
“Maybe I want to wash yours.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “That, we can work with.”
Lottie
I eyed Logan over the rim of my coffee cup. He had insisted we go back to the diner he had taken me to the first night for breakfast.
“The Saturday morning breakfast special is awesome,” he insisted.
“I can make breakfast.”
He snorted. “Lottie, I looked in your fridge. It’s barren.”
“I do need to go grocery shopping,” I admitted. “I’ve been busy.”
He handed me my coat. “The diner it is.”
We had walked hand in hand to the diner. It felt normal, as if I was supposed to hold his hand. He was affectionate and sweet this morning. Teasing and playful. I liked this side of Logan. I liked it very much.
He met my gaze as he drained his coffee and set down his cup to wait for a refill. He crooked his head to the side, studying me. “You, ah, have a little something on your neck.”
I lifted my hand, brushing at my skin. “Did I get it?”
He leaned close over the table, touching my skin, then sat back, trying not to laugh. “Oh, I don’t think it’s gonna come off.” He offered the waitress a wide grin as she filled his coffee, then looked back at me. “It should fade, though.” He winked, looking mischievous.
I rolled my eyes. “How old are you? You gave me a hickey?”
His amusement grew. “Several, I think. Most of them are, ah, private.”
I felt the heat build in my cheeks. I knew when most of those happened. When he’d followed me into the shower, he had insisted on washing me. I was, it seemed, filthy, given the inordinate amount of time he spent soaping up my body. Especially my breasts. Those were indecent. He had done a thorough inspection after rinsing me off—using his mouth.
Once he had me pressed against the tile, he had dropped to his knees, lifting one leg to his shoulder.
“I need to check this sweet little kitty,” he growled. “It needs a lot of attention.”
Now, sitting across from him, I was certain I had never been so clean. Or so thoroughly sexed-up. Logan was wicked with his tongue and his hands. Never mind what he did with his cock. I was quite surprised I was able to walk this morning.
Logan eyed me, his expression indulgent.
“I can’t believe you can blush after what we did last night.”
“I’m blushing because of what we did.”
He reached across the table, linking our pinkies. “You liked it, Lottie?”
“Very much so.” I cleared my throat, feeling nervous. Logan had way more experience than I did—that had become obvious last night.
“It was, without a doubt, the most erotic, passionate night of my life,” he stated sincerely. “And just so you know, Lottie? I have never stayed the night with anyone else. Ever.”
“Oh.” I paused but had to ask. “Why not? Why me?”
He shrugged. “Sex has always been about release. It’s never been emotional for me. Until yesterday. And why you, you ask? I have no idea, except you’re different. What I feel about you is different.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m not particularly proud of my past. But before you jump to conclusions, I was always honest with my partners, and there haven’t been as many as you’re imagining in that pretty little head of yours. I’m not a manwhore.”
“Oh,” I repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you think I thought you were.”
“I’m simply being honest. I was monogamous with each of my partners—but they all ran their course.”
“What happened?”
He frowned. “They moved on. Found relationships with a future.”
“But I’m different?” I asked.
“Yes. You are my future.”
Our breakfast arrived, and I looked at the overflowing plate, trying to take in his words.
“Eat,” he encouraged. “We’ll talk this through. We’ll figure it out.” He pushed my plate closer. “This is too heavy a discussion before I’ve had breakfast.”
I picked up my fork, hesitating.
“Lottie,” he murmured, waiting until I looked up to speak. “You are different. You’re everything I’ve been waiting for and didn’t know. I want you in my life. As long as you feel the same way, we’re good.”
“Okay.”
“Eat your breakfast while it’s hot.” He scolded gently. “I need you strong.” He winked lewdly. “I have lots of plans for you to burn it off.”
His expression made me giggle, and I started to eat.
He tucked his shaggy hair behind his ear and picked up his fork.
“You need a trim.”
He grimaced. “I know.”
“Do you wear your hair down when you teach?”
“Usually not. I pull it back.”
“The front of your hair is really blond.”
He chewed and swallowed, then chuckled. “One of my roommates has a girlfriend going through hairdressing school. She needed to practice, so I let her add what she called lowlights. But they bleached out in the sun over the summer. I’m trying to let them grow so I can cut them off. She wants to cut it now, but I’ve been waiting and haven’t taken her up on the offer. I will eventually.” He ate more off his plate, then eyed me warily. “You don’t like it? The hair, I mean.”
“Actually, I do. I think it’s very sexy.” I paused. “I think everything about you is very sexy.”
He grinned so hard, his incredible eyes crinkled. “I like knowing that.”
I patted my mouth with a napkin and took a sip of my coffee, unsure what else to say. He shook his head, still grinning. “You are adorable, Lottie Prescott. Totally adorable.”
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br /> I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond. I hadn’t been adorable since I was six years old. But I kinda liked him thinking that way.
We stopped at a small grocer in the neighborhood. It was a rarity in Toronto. A family-run operation where you could still grab necessities, without having to go to a huge supermarket. They had a small produce and meat section as well, and I picked up a few things for my barren fridge. Logan carried the bag with one hand, his other holding mine. As we rounded the corner, I stopped, horrified at what I saw in front of my building down the block.
Logan frowned and followed my gaze. A large black town car was outside my building, running, the exhaust hanging in the air.
I stepped back, dragging Logan with me.
“Your parents?” he guessed.
“Oh my god,” I groaned. “I had no idea they would show up this morning.”
“I imagine your dad isn’t happy about yesterday.”
I grimaced in annoyance. “I took a day off. One day off. This is overboard, even for him.”
“So, I assume this is where I leave you.”
My gaze flew to him. He was regarding me sadly, but his eyes showed no hurt. Only understanding. “I, ah—”
He cut me off. “I’m not offended, Lottie. I’m not ready to meet your parents either. It would be better if I met them under different circumstances when I don’t want to tell them what I think about how they treat their daughter.”
I widened my eyes at his words. He traced a finger down my cheek. “I am sad to leave you, though. I wanted more time with you today.”
“They won’t stay long.”
He huffed. “That seems even worse.”
I remained silent. He bent low and kissed me. Gently, sweetly—his mouth tender, his lips ghosting over mine.
“My place is two blocks past yours. Number fifteen hundred. Unit twelve. Come find me when you’re ready.”
He hooked the grocery bag over my arm. “Now, go.”
“What are you going to do?”
Heart Strings Page 7
