by Robin Kaye
He thought back to the first time he touched Skye and damned if he didn’t have a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, she liked me all right. She just didn’t want to. She still doesn’t. So do me a favor, will ya? Just leave it alone.”
There was a knock on the door. Rocki jumped off the stool and ran—her stilts tapping against the hardwood like a woodpecker—loud and annoying. She threw the lock and Patrice stepped in.
“Thank God for home day care.” Patrice’s eyes met his and she didn’t even try to hide her you-got-trouble smile. “Heard you’ve been a busy boy, Logan. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to meet your ex. It’s a good thing Rocki filled me in. She texted me pictures and everything.”
“Great. Thanks, Rocki.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“So.” Patrice tossed her purse on the bar. “Where is she?”
“Where is who?” Okay, so he was playing dumb. What else could he do?
Patrice shook her head. “It won’t work. It doesn’t even work for my husband and he’s got skills. I take it Skye’s in the kitchen?”
“Leave her alone, Patty, or I’ll have to call Francis.”
She smiled and all the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He wanted to bang his head against the bar—repeatedly. “Francis is on his way here now, isn’t he?”
Patrice checked her watch. “He’ll be here any minute.”
The door swung open and Logan’s refrigerator-sized friend stepped in.
“Francis.” God, what else was going to happen? This was Skye’s worst nightmare and it was quickly becoming his too.
“Hey, Logan.” He shot him a she’d-tie-my-dick-in-a-knot-if-I-didn’t-show look. The man was blushing like a schoolgirl on her first date. “I heard you and Skye—”
“Stop!” Logan slid under the pass-through. “Shit. It’s like I’ve died and gone to hell.”
Francis smacked his hands against his gargantuan thighs and shook his head. “Man, is Skye making you sleep on the couch already?”
Kitchen doors slapped shut. “No, but I might. What’s going on here?”
“Skye.” Every muscle in Logan’s back and neck seized. He spun around feeling like a puppy that had been whipped, and its master had just come through the door with a new belt. Holy shit. He was acting like Francis.
CHAPTER 11
Skye looked from Rocki to Patrice to Francis, but her gaze didn’t rest until it seared Logan’s retinas. She didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she knew it wasn’t good. Especially since it appeared that everyone and their uncle knew she and Logan were sleeping together. Okay, not sleeping—she’d barely gotten any sleep, at least not enough to deal with this situation. She was going to kill him.
Francis sputtered and all the blood drained from his face.
Logan turned an alarming shade of red. She would have been worried about him had she not been mad enough to take up knife throwing, tie him to a wheel, and practice on him—blindfolded. She smiled to herself. She’d already fantasized about bondage—this put a whole new spin on it—literally.
Rocki and Patrice looked as if they’d both found a pair of Louboutin Lipsinka python point-toe pumps in their sizes mismarked for $12.95 instead of $1,295.00 and had a coupon for a free mani-pedi to boot.
Patrice smiled as if she was genuinely happy to see her. “Rocki and I came to help with the tasting. We thought we’d take you for a girls’ night out when we’re done. What do you say?”
Patrice might look harmless, but Skye didn’t let that fool her. She’d known a lot of women who could pull it off.
Logan stood behind them with a pleading look on his face. He shook his head so vehemently, she wondered whether he might end up with a case of shaken-dumb-ass syndrome. “Sounds like fun, but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Shit. She didn’t think because the two of you scare the crap out of me would go over well. “I need to pick up a few things.”
“What?”
“A coat. All I have are sweatshirts and it’s getting cold. I even heard they’re calling for an early snow.”
Rocki turned to Patrice and pounded knuckles. “Score. It just so happens shopping is our favorite thing to do—especially when we don’t have to use our own money. It’s like getting to eat a pound of chocolate without the calories. We’ll go with you.”
Patrice nodded. “We’ll hit all the best stores—then we can stop for dinner and drinks. It’s about time we had a girls’ night out. It’s going to be great.”
Logan cleared his throat. “No. Skye is going shopping with me. I need help buying Nicki clothes.”
He stepped closer and she figured in this situation he was the least of the three evils. Better to deal with the devil you know—intimately.
Patrice flicked away his objection. “Better yet. This is going to be great. I’ve noticed Nicki’s outgrowing all her jeans and shirts. I think she takes after you, Logan—all long arms and legs.”
Logan had started to say something, but Rocki cut him off. “No need to thank us. We love to shop for Nicki, don’t we, Patrice?”
Rocki and Patrice had Logan cornered and sweating. He shot pleading looks toward Francis, who seemed powerless to do anything other than shake his head in sympathy.
“Face it, Logan, we love to shop for anyone.” Rocki held out her hand, palm up.
Logan’s grip on Skye’s waist tightened. “What do you want?”
“Cash.”
His gaze went from her to Rocki’s open hand and back again. “Skye, can I speak with you in the kitchen?”
She was tempted to say no and leave him to the she-wolves. She might want to kill him, but she didn’t want anyone else to have the pleasure. “Sure.” She couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. “Let’s go.”
He kept his arm around her the whole way. He was either really brave or really stupid. They stepped in and she turned on him. “I can’t believe you would—”
He cut her off with a kiss that had her eyes rolling back into her head. The man was definitely talented. He ended the kiss way too early for his own good and rested his forehead on hers. His eyes squeezed shut tight. “Before you say anything, listen to me.”
That’s why he kissed her? That was so not fair. Not fair, but effective.
“Nicki called Rocki this morning and ratted us out. I didn’t say a word.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to blame this on an innocent ten-year-old.”
“It’s true. Simon spilled the beans too.”
“How did Simon find out?”
“Chocolate cake and whipped cream. Think about it.”
“You didn’t clean up the bar?”
“No, I was too busy being lectured by my father—then drinking. I completely forgot.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “Skye, don’t freak out on me, but Pop knows too. He was waiting up for me when I got home this morning.”
She banged her head against his chest. “Are you kidding me?”
“And since I’m already giving you the bad news, I might as well finish the job—”
“There’s more?”
“Pop’s not real happy with Foods of New York bringing the tour here.”
“Why not?”
“Because he likes the Crow’s Nest the way it is. He’s not interested in attracting uptight city people. He says he has enough of them coming here already.”
She looked around the kitchen. Her kitchen. “This is just great. Now my boss has two reasons to fire me.”
“He’s not going to fire you. He thinks you’re amazing. I’m the one he’s pissed at—if anyone’s going to get fired, it’ll be me.”
“You’re his son. I’m just an employee—and you said yourself you’re out of here in a few weeks. God, I can’t believe I was stupid enough to sleep with you. I knew this would happen. I told you. But noooo, you had to be Mr. Irresistible.”
He stepped back. “Hey, you weren’t complaining last night
or this morning.”
“I wasn’t the talk of the restaurant or on the outs with my boss then either.”
“You’re still not.”
“Right. Everyone out there knows what we did last night.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, a ten-year-old girl who I care about knows I’ve been…that we’ve been…It’s just not right.” Her eyes met his worried ones. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know about my sex life?”
“What’s done is done—it’s not as if we have a Men in Black mind eraser.”
“You’re such a man. Did Francis and Simon give you a pat on the back? You’re a stud, right? I fell right in line, didn’t I?”
“Calm down, Skye. There’s only one way to deal with this—”
“You’re right. We won’t see each other anymore outside of work.”
“The hell we won’t.” His voice sounded gravelly, like an overfilled eighteen-wheeler with a new driver grinding the gears. He was six feet three of mad, alpha male marking his territory. “All we have to do is go about our business and we’ll be old news in no time.”
“Logan, you need to leave. I have too much to do to deal with drama.”
She looked into his eyes and watched the steel grate descend, then turned her back on him.
“Fine. I’ll leave, but this is not over. Not by a long shot. We’ll talk after the tasting.”
Not if she could help it. She was about to spell it out for him when the sound of hands slamming against the swinging doors stopped her, and his departure sent the doors creaking back and forth like a dead man hanging from the gallows.
* * *
Logan stood back and watched everyone from the tasting scarf down Skye’s food. All three dishes were a hit. The only time he’d seen her since their fight was when he’d gone into the kitchen to get each dish to serve, but then he’d had Francis with him. She hadn’t looked up at either of them.
He and Francis served, while Pop manned the bar and schmoozed with the people from Foods of New York Tours. From the look of his father, he’d never guess that Pop was anything but enthusiastic about the prospect of added business.
After the table was cleared, it had taken another hour to get all the information about payments, tour dates, and contractual obligations. Logan had explained that he was only the interim manager, and that Bree would be back in a couple of weeks.
He’d thought about what Pop had said and decided he’d get all the information, hand it over to Bree as soon as she came home, and let her make the decision. This was her restaurant, not his.
Skye was right—he was only there for a few more weeks. It wasn’t as if he could hang out at the Crow’s Nest for the rest of his life. He had to figure out what was next for him and Nicki. He had plenty of money saved, so it wasn’t as if he had to make an immediate decision about their future, but he also couldn’t just do nothing. He’d go crazy unless his doing nothing took place on a secluded beach with Skye.
Pop sat stoically, listening to the discussion and not saying a word. Logan didn’t know whether that meant Pop was changing his mind or whether he waited for the group to leave so he could ream him. With his luck, it was probably the latter.
After he walked the group out, he returned and faced his father. “Well?”
Pete shook his head and stood, gathering the tablecloth. “Rocki, Patrice, and Francis left an hour ago while you were talking to the tasters. Is everything in the kitchen closed down?”
“Good question.” Logan went in and all but the lights were turned off. There was an air of emptiness about the place. Skye had already rabbited—without even a good-bye. Great. He turned off the lights and found his father waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Skye looked pretty peeved. What happened? I know doing the tasting wouldn’t send her into a tailspin. Not with her experience.”
“Experience?”
“Yeah, boy. You might be sleeping with her, but you’re definitely not knowledgeable about the woman. The sex may be amazing, but it’s the other form of communication that keeps a relationship together. Talk to the woman. Find out what she’s looking for and what she’s running away from. Hell, son, I’d bet you dollars to Krispy Kremes you don’t even know where she comes from.”
He’d be right. Logan ran his hand through his hair. “You’d better get back to Nicki. I’ll take D.O.G. for a walk and then go talk to Skye—that is, if she’ll let me in. She’s pissed that everyone in the restaurant knows about our sex life.” He cut the lights and took the steps after his father.
Twenty minutes later he got a text from Francis about possible trouble. Patrice and Rocki had been in Skye’s apartment since they’d left.
* * *
Skye unlocked the door to her apartment, more tired than she’d been in a long time. All she wanted to do was jump into a hot shower, wash the smell of food off her, and then go to bed. But first, she had to take Pepperoni out. She stepped inside and blinked. Patrice and Rocki had made themselves comfortable on her couch with her dog. “What are you two doing here?”
Patrice slid Pepperoni’s head off her thigh, stood, and shoved a glass of champagne into Skye’s hand. “We came to chat. Drink up.” Patrice took a sip and gave Skye an encouraging smile. “This conversation has a three-drink minimum. I hope you don’t mind us making ourselves at home. We took Pepperoni out—the poor thing peed like Austin Powers after coming out of cryogenic storage.”
Rocki piped up, “Yeah, it was amazing. She took a power pee. Who knew something that small could pee so much?”
Skye drained her glass—the bubbles tickled her nose and the alcohol hit her empty stomach. This was a waking nightmare—one she’d thought she’d avoided by going out the back way. “How did you get in?”
Patrice refilled her glass and waved the keys in front of her face. “I have a set of keys, remember? But don’t worry. I’ll only use them in emergencies.”
“And this constitutes an emergency?” Skye took another long drink of really good champagne. She had to admit Logan knew how to select wines.
Patrice shrugged and did a seventies Cher drag queen hair toss. “Definitely.” She checked her watch. “It sure took you long enough to get here. We were bored, so we started without you. Great champagne.”
“Logan brought it—it’s from his vineyard.” She’d been hoping to celebrate something with him, but now, no relationship, no reason to celebrate.
Patrice topped off her glass and Skye took another swig and plopped down on the couch. She knew them well enough to know they weren’t leaving. “What’s the deal? I know you came for more than the free champagne, and I’m not going shopping with you after three drinks—I don’t drink and shop.”
Rocki set the bottle in front of Patrice after filling her own glass. “What’s wrong with you, Skye?”
“Shitty day.”
Patrice ran her hand up and down the neck of the bottle. “I guess it’s a good thing Logan brought a magnum, then, huh? We need information, girlfriend. We’ve had a bet going and you’re the one who has to call the winner.”
Patrice and Rocki sat at the edge of the couch like PTA moms vying for a seat on the fund-raising committee.
Skye set the glass on the coffee table and brought her cold hands to her heated face. “A bet? What kind of bet?”
Rocki covered Pepperoni’s ears. “You’ve seen the goods. We want to know if everything Logan buys is magnum size.”
Were they serious? She drained the glass, choked, and then wiped her mouth off with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. It was getting a little warm in there. She pulled one arm out. Okay, so maybe drinking three glasses of champagne in quick succession on an empty stomach wasn’t the best idea. Things were getting a little fuzzy. “What goods? What are you talking about?”
Rocki sat forward. “Logan.”
She smiled and her lips felt numb. She touched them to make sure they were still there. Should she tell them? It wasn’t as if she and Logan were still seeing each o
ther, and everyone knew they’d had sex. Besides guys always had sex-and-tell sessions; she’d heard her brothers on more than one occasion give a blow-by-blow of their dates—literally. Yuck. There was nothing worse than having to hear about her brothers’ sex lives. “Logan’s good at kissing. He has a talented tongue.” She thought about all the things Logan had done to her with his tongue and then refocused her eyes and found Rocki and Patrice staring at her. “Do tongues have talent?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But the man knows how to use his tongue and everything else for that matter.”
Trying to watch Rocki was like trying to watch a TV with bad reception. “I knew it.” She turned to Patrice. “But maybe four glasses was overkill. She’s a lot smaller than we are. I think she’s a real lightweight.”
Skye leaned sideways and remembered she was in the middle of the couch. She caught herself just before she went all the way over.
Patrice knelt in front of her and put her hands on Skye’s knees. “Skye, are you okay?”
“Who? Me?” She waved her hand—and it seemed really heavy, so she dropped it. “I’m fine.” She leaned toward Patrice, trying to focus with the room spinning. She held on to the arm of the couch so she didn’t slide off. “So what if I just lost my only friend in New York? So what if I probably lost my job because I slept with him—the one guy who satisfies me in bed and the shower, and pretty much everywhere else too? So what if everyone I know in New York knows about the four times I’ve had sex in the last three years? Why wouldn’t I be fine? After all it’s over—I no longer have a friend, a lover, a job, and at the rate I’m going, I may never have another orgasm. I’m really going to miss them—a lot. So, yeah, Patrice. I’m fine. As a matter of fact, I’m just skippy.” She went to rub her nose and realized her aim was off; then she hiccuped and covered her mouth with both hands.
Two sets of breasts came at her. She blinked and then she was lifted off the couch and onto the chair. Which was good because it was easier to sit on. She leaned against the side.
