Logan

by Melissa Foster

  I wish she was in my hands, but I have a feeling she’s going to run like the wind as soon as you leave.

  “Well, right now I’m in Dylan’s hands. I have to finish my shift.” Stormy reached for the doorknob.

  Heath shot a curious look to Logan.

  “Dylan said you’re done for the night,” Logan reminded her.

  “Dylan isn’t the one who needs the paycheck.”

  “I’ll let you two hash this out.” Heath embraced Logan and gave him a hard pat on the back.

  “Thanks again, bro,” Logan said. “See you Sunday?”

  “Always.” Heath took a business card from his wallet and handed it to Stormy. “Call me if you have any trouble, and take care of those cuts.”

  Stormy tried to follow him out, but Logan stepped in front of her, shutting the door behind Heath.

  “Do you mind?” She worked her jaw from side to side.

  “You’re not serious. You heard what he said.”

  “And you heard what I said.” She crossed her arms again and reached for the door.

  Christ Almighty. Really? What was it about her that made him care? He took out his wallet and fished out a few hundreds.

  “What are you doing?” She stepped back, as if he’d offered her money for sex.

  “You need the paycheck, and I need you safe and healing. I’m giving you your paycheck. Give me a number.”

  “You can’t buy me.” She looked away, her jaw set.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and remove the veil of confidence that had her body trembling and her eyes blazing. He couldn’t help but reach up and smooth her tangled hair.

  “I’m not interested in buying you. What happened to you tonight wasn’t normal. It wasn’t okay, and it’s not something you just kick under the mat and move on from.”

  She glared at him. “Says the man who’s never had to fight for his life.” Fear and anger coalesced in her eyes, turning them a shade darker. He was sure she meant to look tough, but it revealed her underlying vulnerabilities and tugged at him again.

  He stepped closer, lowered his voice, and couldn’t help that it came out as a low growl, filled with intensity from harsh memories. “I fought for my life every day for four years.”

  Her brows knitted together, her lips parted, but no words came.

  “I think you should take tonight off and heal for a few hours. You’ll be sore tomorrow, and—”

  “I’m not—”

  He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. Torture. Pure torture. He didn’t know why—wrote it off to a stressful night—but hell if he wasn’t fighting the urge to seal his lips over hers and make her his.

  “Don’t. I’ve seen too much for you to tell me you’re not sore. You’re sore. Your head is throbbing, your back is pulsing along those deep, long scratches. Your muscles are aching from tensing up, and your mind…Your beautiful, strong mind is going to be exhausted tomorrow after realizing, accepting, and trying to move past what that man could have—would have—done to you. Save your breath, darlin’.” He took a step back, giving her room to make a decision.

  “But you’re right. I’m not your father, and I certainly don’t own you.” His eyes slid to the pulse point in her neck and fought the urge to soak in the rest of her. “Not all guys are assholes.”

  Air left her lungs in a rush of heat. She pressed her lips together, as if she meant to stop it, and pushed past him—heading right back out to finish her shift.

  Chapter Four

  JESUS CHRIST. DID everything Logan Wild say have to ooze sex? Stella had never met anyone more masculine, more virile. He wasn’t frighteningly aggressive, like Kutcher was. No, Logan was a different type of brawn altogether. She could tell by the confidence he possessed, the words he chose, the way his blue eyes darkened and narrowed and his voice took on a guttural quality, that when he pleasured a woman, he didn’t just take her; he consumed her. She was trembling from anger and fear, her mind was a whirlwind of chaos, and still she got damp when he stepped in so close she could smell his scent and taste the liquor on his breath. She’d had to run out of the room to finish her shift just to remember how to breathe. She’d been on the verge of throwing herself at him and fucking him against the door, on the table, bent over the chair. God, she wanted him—and she felt like a slut for wanting him after what had just happened.

  She hated that she felt like a slut for wanting something that other people did all the time without second thoughts. She hated Kutcher for making her afraid. Goddamn it. She felt like she was going to explode, and Mr. Blue Eyes was sitting at the end of the bar the whole fucking time, watching her like she was some precious gem that he had to protect.

  I’m not a precious gem.

  I’m strong. I’ve survived this long without a guy taking care of me. I’ll be damned if I need it now.

  Her shift was over at midnight. She glanced at the clock. In five minutes she’d have made it through one more day. In five minutes she’d be closer to the day Kutcher would be released from jail. In five minutes—four minutes now—she’d have three more days to live her shell of a life before she was forced to start looking over her shoulder again, because he’d appear. Oh yes, of that she had no doubt. Kutcher always appeared. She’d made one big mistake at the last gas station she’d stopped at and mistakenly used her credit card for food. She’d been lucky when he’d been jailed for assaulting the guy at the gas station, but that didn’t dull the ache of knowing he’d attacked that poor man because he was looking for her.

  She was on borrowed time until the lion would be released to stalk his prey.

  Stella went into the back office and grabbed her purse. Dylan turned away from his desk with an irritated look in his dark eyes. He’d been pissed when she’d returned to work, but he’d finally given in and allowed her to finish her shift.

  “Stella, do you want a ride home, or is Logan still out there?”

  “He’s out there.”

  She lived only a few blocks away, and she was used to walking home with heightened senses, listening for footsteps following too closely, her eyes darting to the alleys as she passed. She hated always being on alert, too, but even though Kutcher was locked up, he’d left a trail of awareness that she couldn’t shake. Because of the attack tonight, she was dreading the walk home even more than usual. No matter how many times she played tough, inside she was still that girl from Connecticut who wanted to live a safe, comfortable life. Only now she wanted to live it with that darker side he’d exposed, the side that loved raw sex and visceral, animalistic passion. It scared her as much as it excited her. She knew she couldn’t have both. She’d seen the dark side—and it was too dark. But part of her knew that she was no longer the white-fence type of girl. She was stuck in some middle ground she knew nothing about, and it pissed her off just thinking about it.

  Fucking Kutcher.

  She shouldered her purse and reached for the door, hesitating momentarily under Dylan’s steady gaze. Dylan was the only person in her new life who knew about Kutcher and what she’d gone through. They’d become friends over the past few weeks. He’d been curious when she’d asked to be paid in cash, and at first he’d flatly turned her down, but before she left the bar that night, he’d given in to her plight of being new in town and needing the cash in order to keep her apartment. It was a lie. She’d had cash saved from when she’d moved, and she had somewhere in the neighborhood of seven thousand, eighty-six dollars left. But she needed the job. Seven thousand dollars didn’t go far in New York City.

  “That guy Logan? How well do you know him?”

  Dylan leaned back in his chair. “If you’re asking me if he’s like your ex, he’s not. He’s been through hell and back. He’s a good man. You can trust him.”

  She nodded, feeling slightly more at ease.

  The bar closed at two, and there were still throngs of customers milling about. The confidence she wore like a shield while she was behind the safety of the bar thinned as she made h
er way to the front. Blue Eyes was on his feet and at her side in seconds, one arm on her lower back, eyes darting protectively around them.

  “What are you doing?” She kept her eyes trained on the door.

  “Making sure you get home okay.”

  When he pushed the door open, she walked through and kept on going. What was he doing? Stalking her? He fell in step beside her, returning his hand to her lower back. She craved it and feared it at once. She couldn’t afford to be stupid, like she’d been when she went to the ladies’ room. She should have screamed, kneed that guy in the balls, done something other than panic and flail her useless hands at him.

  She stopped and extricated herself from Logan.

  “I’m supposed to just let you follow me home?” She crossed her arms, affecting a barrier between them. His eyes warmed and the edge of his lips quirked up in a half smile. He was too damn handsome for his own good. She bet that looks alone got him into bed with many women.

  She might be next on that list.

  Stop it!

  “I’d drive you home, but you made it clear that you’re not getting in the car with a stranger. I thought about calling you a cab, but I have the feeling you’re not the type of woman to take handouts, and given that you finished your shift because you needed the paycheck, I doubt you want to spend money on cab fare.” He shrugged. “I’m a private investigator, not a rapist. That guy who attacked you is still out there, and I want to make sure you get home safely.”

  She’d been so overwrought with trying to move past what had happened, then getting caught up with Kutcher being released from jail, that she hadn’t thought about what might happen next with the asshole who’d attacked her. No wonder Logan’s eyes were darting all over. Pride wouldn’t let her accept his offer. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, and she didn’t want to come across as one. Not even to the handsome PI who wanted to protect her. It was probably a game to him anyway. I am man, big protector; now fuck me good.

  The thought made her smile, because she’d like to do just that.

  She spun on her heels and walked away without a word, knowing damn well he’d follow. Which also made her smile, although she gritted her teeth to keep from revealing it.

  The long city blocks were never really dark, though they were eerily dim. Even the back streets seemed to be illuminated by the energy of the city. The trees were in full bloom, and for a moment Stella allowed herself to pretend she was back in Mystic, walking to her apartment along the pretty streets, without fear, without a sexy bodyguard whose presence felt much bigger when it was just the two of them in the night. She reveled in the memories of walking along the harbor and wanted desperately to one day be able to return to her hometown and feel safe again. She didn’t know if she ever wanted to live there again, but being able to see her mother without looking over her shoulder would be a gift from the heavens above. She couldn’t imagine ever having that again.

  She couldn’t imagine making it back to Mystic alive once Kutcher was released from jail. He was the epitome of an abuser—overly apologetic and manipulative. Like all the other mind-fucked women who stay with abusers, she’d fallen for his ploys and had taken him back after the first few times, but when she’d finally broken things off, he’d become the worst kind of stalker, appearing out of nowhere and attacking her. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want anyone else to have her either. She found out too late that he’d been at the party where she met him because he was selling drugs to one of the wealthy guests. She hadn’t realized how big his drug-dealing business was until she’d made the mistake of telling him she knew about his operation. That was when he’d turned from leaving bruises to wanting her dead.

  When they turned onto her street, Stella felt Logan move closer, tension surrounding him like a bubble; he felt dense and powerful. She didn’t live in the best neighborhood. As they walked around that final corner and headed down the deserted sidewalk, the sounds of cars and people gave way to eerie silence, with the random dog barking in the distance. She was fully aware of the moment she shed the false security that city nightlife provided and her armor clicked into place. She knew that all it took was one night, such as tonight, where in the midst of a crowded bar, evil could pick a target and make its move, and no one would be the wiser.

  She shot a glance at Logan—jaw clenched, eyes narrow and scrutinizing, fists at the ready.

  No one but Logan Wild.

  “This is it,” she said as they came to the alley that led to the back of the row house where she rented a room. She took a step toward the alley, and he gently grabbed her arm, then stepped ahead of her, leaving no room for negotiation. He was paving the way. Ensuring her safe arrival.

  She’d never met anyone like Logan before. Even the guys she’d grown up with, the ones who’d known her from the time she was a schoolgirl and had told her that they’d be there for her when they first heard about what Kutcher was doing, had abandoned her. Fear was a powerful thing. They’d acted as if bad luck were contagious. Her friends had all put space between them in the final days before she’d left town. Only that poor man at the gas station where she’d mistakenly stopped and used her credit card for food had tried to stand up to Kutcher. She’d learned on the news that he’d ended up in the hospital. The upside was that Kutcher had landed in jail for a few months; the downside was that the poor gas station attendant had spent weeks healing from broken ribs and lacerations. She still carried that guilt around her neck like a noose. She hadn’t even been able to thank him because she feared that making contact would give Kutcher a fresh scent to follow.

  She unlocked the door, and Logan put an arm out in front of her, blocking her path.

  “I’ll check it out first.”

  She rolled her eyes at his insistence but couldn’t deny the relief of knowing someone else would endure that first few seconds of what if instead of her. That steady panic that grew every night when she walked home and then first stepped foot into her basement apartment.

  “Be my guest.” She tried to sound as if she didn’t care, then held her breath as he walked into her apartment and flicked on the lights.

  Logan didn’t seem to possess the same fear that had sent her friends scattering from her life. What would it be like to be that self-assured? She followed him into the small kitchen and watched as he stepped around the small table and two chairs, then opened the pantry. The kitchen was no bigger than most people’s bathrooms, but it was functional, and she didn’t need extravagance.

  Logan glanced at her, forced a smile, but she could see he was in protection mode. His eyes were narrowed and serious, and his shoulders had risen with tension. He planted his legs with every measured step, reminding her of a panther, stealthy and powerful, the way he moved through the small hallway, checked out the bathroom, then the laundry closet on the opposite wall. He methodically checked out every nook and cranny in her apartment. She moved closer as he stepped into the bedroom. With no doorway to separate the two, he had a clear view of her double bed, single dresser, and the clothes hanging in her closet. When she’d run from Mystic, she’d taken only what she could carry without assistance. She’d fit everything she needed in one suitcase and two backpacks. Stella had fretted about having enough clothes to sustain whatever job she’d eventually find to hold her over, but she’d quickly realized that it wasn’t clothes, shoes, or other material items that she needed in order to get through each day. She’d learned that strength and determination were the only must haves she needed in order to survive.

  What Stella missed most was hearing her mother’s laugh, seeing the happiness in her eyes when Stella walked through the door to visit, and the way her mother lowered her voice when she talked about something she found funny or interesting. God, she missed her. She glanced at the picture of her mother on the bedside table, the only material thing she owned that she really cared about.

  “I think you’re all clear.” The sleeves of his dress shirt were pushed up to his elbows, exposing musc
ular forearms with a dusting of dark hair. The top buttons were still undone, tails untucked. The fight had added streaks of dirt to his shirt and a wild messiness to his hair, making him even more devastatingly handsome.

  If Logan had been standing in her bedroom looking like sex on legs before Kutcher, Stella might have tried to flirt with him. She wouldn’t have thought about seducing him before Kutcher, because before Kutcher, she was a good girl, and her seductive ways included little more than stolen glances. Kutcher ruined that for her. Ruined her. Thinking of all the ways Kutcher had changed her, and the things he’d stolen from her, brought anger. It started deep inside her, simmering, brewing, bubbling up in her chest, until she wanted to scream.

  She took a step closer to Logan, thinking about when he’d first come into the bar. His eyes had locked on hers, inciting fear, then desire.

  “Thank you. There aren’t many places to hide in here.” She shifted her eyes to the bed, felt her cheeks flush at the pang of longing to be touched that gripped her, and turned away from Logan. She shouldn’t be thinking about lying on the bed beneath him, feeling him move inside of her, but wasn’t that a normal thing for a girl to think around someone who looked like him and acted so nice? Kutcher had slithered into her psyche and coated the most normal thoughts with guilt and fear.

  “Hey, you okay?” He came up behind her, so close she’d bump into him if she moved. Warm hands touched her arms, and she closed her eyes, fighting images of Kutcher doing that exact same thing, then slamming her into a wall. In an instant, anger reared up inside her again.

  Logan’s hand slid down her arm as he came around and faced her. “Your whole body just went rigid. Did I hurt you?”

  As Stella shook her head, she realized that while she’d been fantasizing about Logan, her pain had subsided. “No.”

  “Why did you flinch?”

  He was so close she saw every sliver of whisker along his jaw.

  “Did I scare you?” His voice slid over her skin, warming her all over.