Try (Temptation Series)

by Ella Frank

  But what if they ask?

  Logan: Then, I’ll tell them to fuck off.

  What. If. They. Ask. Logan?

  Logan: They won’t. But IF they do, I’ll tell them we’re going to lunch to discuss your case.

  You’re on the other side.

  Logan: Well, everyone knows I like to play both sides.

  Not helping.

  Logan: Are you laughing or scowling?

  Both.

  Logan: Well fuck, now I want to kiss you.

  Tate looked at that line and read it over and over before another text came through.

  Logan: Would you let me?

  Yes.

  Logan: That was quick.

  That was honest.

  Logan: And THAT is sexy. Jesus, I can’t be hard at work. Okay, so tell me, what time will you be here?

  Tate glanced at the clock on his bedside table to see it was now nine thirty.

  How about 12:30?

  Logan: How about 11:30?

  You’ll be hungry then?

  Logan: Yes, but not for food. Tate?

  Choosing to ignore the first part of the text, he replied with, Yes?

  Logan: I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.

  And just that easy, Logan had him lying in bed with a grin.

  Well, you better try.

  Logan: Oh, I’ve tried, and I can’t wait to again. See you at 11:30.

  Yep. See ya.

  Then, as quickly as it started, the connection ended.

  A precursor of things to come? Tate wondered. Only time will tell.

  * * *

  Logan sat behind his desk with the phone to his ear and an eye on the clock.

  Eleven fifteen, Tate should be here soon…if he shows.

  He’ll show. He said he would, and if Tate is anything, he’s undeniably honest.

  As he hung up from the call, Logan’s door opened, and Cole stuck his head through the space, motioning in a way as if to ask, Can I come in?

  Lifting his hand, Logan gestured for him to enter, and as the door was pushed farther open, Cole’s face changed from serious to a shit-eating grin. Behind him stood Tate, looking anything but comfortable, and he was currently glaring at him around Cole’s large frame.

  I’m going to kill him, Logan thought as his eyes met his brother’s.

  As Cole strolled into the room, he unbuttoned his perfectly pressed black jacket and pushed his hands into his pockets.

  Motherfucker is having a great time.

  Tate, on the other hand, looked strained as if he were visiting the dentist. He moved two steps into the office and stayed as close to the far wall as possible.

  What did Cole say to him?

  Logan’s attention moved to Cole, who was standing by the corner of his desk, pretending to look at the mail in the tray sitting there. It was so unlike his stuffed-shirt brother to be taking the time to nose around the way he was, so Logan knew something was up, and not in a good way. It was more like an I’m-about-to-fuck-with-you kind of way.

  Logan carefully looked to Tate, who was staring at the red helmet in his hand and had his other one stuffed into his jeans. He was wearing a white shirt with that sexy leather jacket, and when Logan finally tore his focus away from him and turned back to Cole, his brother raised a brow and then opened his fucking mouth.

  “Mr. Morrison said you called him about a business meeting today.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes on Cole as he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. Buttoning his own jacket, he made his way around to where Cole was.

  “Yes, that’s right. We need to go over a few things.”

  Cole turned toward him, and pulled his mouth into a thin line while dropping several envelopes back into the tray on Logan’s desk. Silently, he inclined his head and made his way back to the door and past Tate, who still hadn’t said a word but was looking at Cole with no expression on his face at all.

  Cole acknowledged him, opened the door, and at the last moment, looked back.

  He then addressed Logan in a voice that made him want to throw something at him.

  “Funny that I wasn’t informed about this meeting since I handle Mrs. Morrison’s—oh, I’m sorry, his ex’s case.”

  Logan continued his die-now stare.

  Cole turned to Tate and told him in his controlled-as-fuck voice—asshole had that down to a T—“If he doesn’t give you all the answers you came in for, make sure you let me know, and I will try my hardest to clear things up.”

  “Get out, asshole,” Logan advised, looking on his desk for something to throw.

  “Going,” Cole replied over his shoulder, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

  Logan stared across the wide space to where Tate was pinning him with a fuck-you look if ever he’d seen one. Crossing his arms over his chest, Logan rested back against the desk behind him and perched his ass on the surface. He crossed his legs out in front of him and remained silent as Tate continued to fume. Just when Logan figured he would have to be the one to say something, Tate took a step forward.

  “What did you tell him about us?” he spit out at Logan.

  That right there, Logan knew, was Tate’s biggest fear, presented to him like a giant fucking billboard. The thought of people knowing exactly what he’d done and enjoyed the night before—

  Screw that, Logan thought. Time for a reality check, Mr. Morrison.

  * * *

  Tate was mortified, and he was pissed. He knew coming here was a terrible idea, but he’d stupidly let Logan and his silver tongue talk him into doing it anyway. As soon as he had stepped off the elevator and told the receptionist he was there to see Logan, Tate had been instructed to go straight through. Halfway inside the actual offices, he’d run into the tall blond guy, whose name he couldn’t remember, that he’d first seen at the bar, and second, at his fucking ex-wife’s meeting.

  At first, Logan’s partner had sized him up as if he were trying to remember if he had forgotten something, and then Tate had watched his shrewd—yes, they are definitely shrewd— eyes almost smile, if it were possible for eyes to do so.

  “How can I help you today, Mr. Morrison? I didn’t realize we had a meeting?”

  The minute that had come out of his mouth, Tate had known he was screwed. He’d stammered around his words and pretty much tripped all over the damn place until he’d finally told the lie that he was called by Logan.

  Something on the guy’s face had given away the fact that he knew Tate was lying, and Tate had felt the heat in his cheeks as he followed, like an obedient child, to Logan’s office. As if that wasn’t enough, the interaction that had then taken place inside the office had confirmed everything.

  The guy knows about us for sure, and that angered Tate more than anything.

  He was still fuming at Logan, who was casually propped up against his desk, with his arms crossed.

  “What did you tell him about us?”

  Still gripping his helmet in his hand, Tate was determined not to put it down because once he got an answer from the man opposite him, he was getting the hell out of there.

  What he hadn’t expected was for Logan to quietly push away from the desk and move forward.

  Jesus, the man is enough to drive me out of my mind.

  When Tate finally wanted him to say something, of course, he kept his mouth shut.

  “Would it have killed you for one minute of your life not to say something to everyone about who you’re fucking?”

  That was when Logan stopped directly in front of him and finally spoke, “I’m not fucking you…yet.”

  Tate scoffed and decided this would all be over after this conversation. Might as well throw my own jab in. “And now, you never will be.”

  Before Tate could anticipate the move, Logan reached out and grabbed the helmet from his hand. Dropping it on the floor beside them with a loud thump, he then moved in close, shoving Tate until his back hit the wall.

  “You have a bad temper, Mr. Mo
rrison.”

  “Get the hell off me,” Tate snarled through his teeth.

  “I’m not on you.”

  “Yes, you fucking are.”

  “I’m against you. There’s a mighty big difference. Take last night, for example, when you were lying on my bed, naked, with your legs spread and me in between them—that was me on you.”

  Tate’s breathing quickened as Logan raised a hand and placed it against the wall by his ear.

  “Do you understand the difference?”

  “I don’t give a shit about specifics. Get. Off. Me.”

  Instead of listening to him, Logan placed his other hand by his head in the same position as his opposite one. “Shut up, Tate.”

  “Fuck—”

  “Don’t offer unless you’re going to follow through,” Logan warned.

  Tate swore if he had agreed, Logan would have undone his pants right there.

  “Now, if I remember correctly, you told me that I could kiss you the next time I saw you.”

  Clenching his fists by his sides, Tate felt his jaw tick. “I didn’t say that, and that was before.”

  “Before?”

  “Before I found out that you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut!” he thundered.

  Logan blinked at him from behind his glasses, his face a mask of annoyance. “And what exactly do you think I said?”

  “Get off me,” Tate reiterated.

  “No. Talk,” Logan said with a calmness that further infuriated Tate. “What do you think I said?”

  “You obviously told your partner about us. I bet you had a real good laugh about the straight guy who’s sleeping with you.”

  Logan brought his face to within an inch of Tate’s, and Tate could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. Logan was so close that his black hair ghosted over Tate’s nose as he shook his head from side to side before raising his face again and licking his tongue along his bottom lip.

  Yeah, fuck me, I looked.

  “Well, let’s clear one thing up right now,” Logan stated in a lowered voice.

  That should have probably indicated to Tate that Logan’s temper was steadily climbing to the boiling point, where his was now teetering.

  “That work partner of mine? His name is Cole, which I already told you, and he also happens to be my brother. He was merely speculating because I told him I wanted you when we were at the bar the other night. He’s giving me shit, not you, and I didn’t say a damn thing.”

  Tate was beyond listening at this point, and he just wanted to leave. He tried to take a step forward, only to have Logan muscle him back to the wall by connecting their hips.

  Logan asked quietly, like the calm before a storm, “Is that all cleared up for you now?”

  Refusing to budge, Tate lifted his chin, scowling back at the unyielding man in front of him.

  “Jesus, you’re pig-headed. Fine. If you aren’t going to talk, you just stand there and try not to enjoy exactly what you’re too fucking scared to admit to wanting.”

  As Logan moved his head toward him, Tate lifted his hand and placed his palm against the strong chest that had been naked against him last night, preventing that mouth from touching his own.

  “You’re so brave, aren’t you, Logan? Walking around life, pretending to have all your shit straight. Oh, I’m sorry, that’s the wrong word, right? Who are you trying to hide from? You’re even more messed-up than I am. You want me to accept everything that’s going on, but you can’t even pick a side.”

  When the final word fell from his mouth, Logan’s hand left the wall and circled his wrist in a viselike grip. “Stop talking, Tate.”

  “No.”

  “Stop. Fucking. Talking. You’re really starting to piss me off.”

  “Too fucking bad.” As Tate spit those three words out, he thought Logan looked like he wanted to punch him for a change. But instead of getting hit in the jaw, Logan pulled him off the wall, and in one quick move, turned him around.

  Before Tate could even ask what the hell he was doing, Logan shoved him up against the wall front on, so Tate had to move his head to the side or break his nose, and favoring his nose, his left cheek met with the cool surface now in front of him. His left arm was twisted up behind his back, and Logan pressed his hips so tight against him that Tate could feel the outline of his cock, long and rigid.

  “Now. Do I have your attention, Tate?” Logan rumbled against his right ear.

  “Let me go,” Tate demanded through a lump that had formed in his throat.

  Logan punched his length against the crack of his ass, covered by the denim of his jeans.

  “But you were the one who wanted me to pick a side,” he reminded. “I pick this side for now. Fuck-me hair, broad shoulders, your hand trapped in mine with your ass cradling my cock.”

  Tate’s body vibrated, and he hated the fact that he was really turned-on while being held prisoner against a fucking wall. “Yeah, for now, and only because you haven’t had me. It’s all about the thrill of the chase for you. Don’t act like this is more than that.”

  Tate paused as Logan’s free hand slid around his waist and moved down to his front zipper. Tate bucked his hips back, trying to get away, but only succeeded in getting his ass massaged by Logan’s unyielding body.

  “You’ll get exactly what you want from me, then you’ll be done, and I’ll be stuck on my own, trying to decide what on earth I just let happen.”

  * * *

  Logan could feel Tate’s entire body shaking against his, and he wasn’t sure if it was from lust or from the words the man had just spoken and was finally letting sink in. Tate was obviously conflicted by what he was feeling, yet he was still here, he’d still come to see him.

  “Tate. I swear, I didn’t say anything to Cole,” Logan promised against the shell of his ear.

  “But he knows, doesn’t he? He knows something is going on?”

  Logan allowed his hand to fondle the bulge he could feel behind Tate’s jeans, and when Tate sighed and moved his hips against his palm, Logan felt his temperature spike.

  “He’s a smart guy, and he knows me.” Logan admitted.

  “So, in other words, he knows you get whoever you want between the sheets before you just throw them away.”

  “God, you’re fucking mean when you want to be.”

  “I’m telling the truth. Are you?” Tate finally turned his head back to look Logan right in the eye.

  Instead of answering, because he didn’t know what to say, Logan took Tate’s talkative mouth with his own and pushed his tongue inside. Pushing forward, he wedged his stiff cock against the jeans covering Tate’s firm ass and trapped his own hand against the wall.

  “Oh fuck,” Tate cursed as he tore his mouth free. “Touch me. No…no…don’t. Christ, I don’t know, Logan. I don’t fucking know what I want!”

  Logan massaged his hand up the zipper to the button of Tate’s jeans. “Yes, you do,” he challenged gently, trying to calm the man pressed back against him, as he undid the button and slowly pulled the zipper down. “You still don’t get it, do you, Tate? I’m not looking anywhere but at you.”

  Dipping his hand between the denim he’d parted, Logan thought he would feel cotton, but as his fingers brushed over wiry hair, he groaned out loud. “Commando? You came to see me fucking commando?”

  Tate’s hard stare locked with his as Logan’s hand dug into the jeans. He watched Tate’s mouth part and a shaky breath leave him, as Logan’s fingers grazed the plump, wet head of the cock trapped inside the material. Unable to help himself, Logan ground against Tate and slid his hand farther inside, so he could wrap his fingers around Tate’s iron-hard erection.

  Tate powered back against him. “No, stop. Not in here, not at your office.”

  Logan’s hand and hips stilled as he looked at the eyes now staring at him. They were full of desire, frustration, and once again, that annoying fucking emotion—confusion.

  “Stop thinking so much. Tell me, what do you want?”
Logan held his breath as he waited for Tate’s frank response.

  “You. Everything else aside, I still want you.”

  Removing his hand from Tate’s jeans, Logan also released the arm he had been holding at Tate’s back, and as Tate turned to face him, Logan cradled his face with his hands and pressed his mouth to his, kissing him fervently.

  When he felt Tate’s hands on his waist, Logan moaned and angled his head to stroke his tongue against the other man’s in a kiss that bordered sweet as much as it did hot. As Logan felt his control and desire to stop climbing, he pulled back.

  Still holding Tate’s face, he told him, “Then, go with that. Forget everything else and see where that leads you.”

  With Tate’s anger seemingly kissed out of him, his lips curved slowly into a half-smile. “It led me here, to your office, and right into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  “And that’s exactly why you should follow where it leads.”

  Logan dropped his hands from Tate’s face and took a step back. As he did, his vision trailed down to the parted denim, and he shook his head.

  “Zip up, Commando, or I’m about to find out real quick how bad this hardwood would be on my knees.”

  “So, lunch?” Tate queried, zipping his jeans.

  “If we go to lunch, I won’t be coming back to the office.”

  “Okay…”

  “Dinner?” Logan suggested.

  Tate seemed stumped. “Actual dinner? As in, food? Because I was under the impression I’d eat when I got here.”

  Logan walked around his desk and took a seat. Sitting back in his chair, he pressed a hand against the erection that was still apparent but was finally starting to behave. He then reached up to take off his glasses before he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Actual dinner. Tell me where to meet.”

  Tate thought about where they could go, and walked over to stand in front of the desk. “O’Malley’s?”

  “The pub?”

  “Yeah, the pub. Sound okay to you?”

  Logan nodded and put his glasses back on. “What time?”

  Tate shrugged as he offered, “Eight?”

  “Make it nine, so I can get home and shower.”

  As the word left his mouth, he saw Tate’s eyes darken and knew he was recollecting the last time they had been together in his bathroom.