by Ella Frank
Trust
Ella Frank
Contents
Copyright
Also by Ella Frank
Dedication
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Part Two
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Popped Cherry
Special Thanks
About the Author
Copyright © 2015 by Ella Frank
Edited by Mickey Reed
Edited by Candace Wood
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also by Ella Frank
The Exquisite Series
Exquisite
Entice
Edible
Erotica
Blind Obsession
Veiled Innocence
The Temptation Series M/M
Try
Take
Fantasy Romance
Temperance
A Desperate Man Series
Co-Authored with Brooke Blaine
Volume 1: The Fantasy
Volume 2: The Illusion
Dedication
To Tate,
Before this, I didn’t know you were essential for me to feel alive.
- Logan
Part One
Self-Reliance
The belief in one’s own instincts, choices, and opinions.
Chapter One
The bright city lights of downtown Chicago reflected in Logan’s rearview mirror as he checked the lane behind him and merged to the left. With his window down and the breeze ruffling his hair, he floored it up an empty street, thankful it wasn’t yet the coldest time of the year.
It was, however, four fifteen a.m.
Fuck. Tate was not going to be happy when he banged on his front door. But that was too damn bad. He’d made a deal with Mr. Morrison not so long ago, and if he recalled correctly—and I know I fucking do—he’d stipulated no dead silences.
Granted, at the time, he’d meant more of the days and weeks variety, but after the night they’d had—and the fact that he’d missed the opportunity to peel Tate out of his tux—the past three hours and fifteen minutes had felt like an eternity.
Earlier in the evening, it had made sense to drop Tate at home, especially since they both had separate places to be today. But when Logan had walked into his condo and crawled between his sheets, he’d discovered that his bed minus Tate no longer offered a comfortable place to rest. Instead, it had made him antsy and hyperaware of how much he desired the company of the sexy, pigheaded man.
God, I miss him.
In only months, he had gone from a man who ran from commitments to one who was in his car, speeding headfirst toward a bigger one. He’d thought of that and nothing else while he’d tried to exhaust himself on the treadmill, and while his feet had pounded out a steady pace, he’d had time to think about exactly what he wanted—and now, he knew.
His motto of “try, take, and top” had changed.
Oh, he’d tried Tate all right, and they’d both done a helluva lot of taking, but for once in his life, Logan didn’t feel the desire to win. He didn’t need to come out on top.
What he wanted was Tate’s trust—his absolute trust.
* * *
Tate lay in bed and willed himself to go to sleep. Tonight had not gone according to plan—lying there alone was proof enough of that, but it was also damn depressing.
He’d had high hopes for the night. Ones that involved being introduced as Logan’s partner, and he’d been looking forward to that. What he hadn’t anticipated was Christopher Walker being as much of a problem as he’d turned out to be.
Tate had been almost positive that Chris wouldn’t have the balls to walk up to Logan and confront him. So he’d figured they wouldn’t really have to deal with him at all. How wrong was I? No, Chris hadn’t confronted Logan exactly, but he sure as hell had found an effective way to get his attention…
“Mr. Walker, you’re new to Mitchell & Madison and a guest here tonight, so maybe you didn’t know, but please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Logan Mitchell, and this is Tate Morrison, and he is my partner.”
Tate noticed the way Logan kept his eyes focused solely on the man in front of them.
“Mr. Mitchell, you say. Aren’t you one of the owners?” Chris asked, very much aware of that particular answer.
“Enough with the bullshit, Walker,” Logan said, while Tate continued to silently observe the other man.
Chris’s eyebrows rose as he ran his eyes over Logan in a way that made Tate want to punch him in the face—hard. “There he is. The mouthy Logan I know.”
The tension rolling off Logan’s body was palpable as he grit out in a low voice, “You don’t know me at all.”
“Actually, I know you very well.”
That was the moment when Tate’s patience snapped. As the taunt lingered in the air, he muscled forward, snarling the words, “Shut your damn mouth.”
Chris chuckled, and his eyes shifted to where Tate had stepped in between him and Logan. “Sexy and protective. Down, boy. I’m not after your man. I’ve already had him.”
Tate pulled his fingers free of Logan’s and balled them into fists. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. I'm not the least bit concerned about what you want.”
A couple of people by the bar turned to face them, and Logan walked up alongside him and once again took his hand. Tate caught Chris observing the gesture before his eyes reconnected with Logan’s.
“Please,” Logan managed to say in a calm voice Tate barely recognized. “Enjoy your dinner and tonight’s entertainment, Mr. Walker.”
Tate’s head snapped around, and he was glaring so hard that he practically drilled a hole in the side of Logan’s. But it was clear that Logan was done talking and telling him, in no uncertain terms, to shut it also.
“Oh, it’s been very entertaining so far,” Chris replied, his tone slithering down Tate’s spine. “I imagine it will only improve from here…”
What a nightmare. Chris’s appearance at the function had been exactly that—a damn nightmare. Not only because of who he was, but also because he seemed to like stirring shit up.
Tate knew full well that Chris wasn’t one to advertise his sexual preferences, yet he’d shown absolutely no compunction while hitting on him and wearing his wedding band. That meant that, even with Mr
s. Walker milling about somewhere, he’d been determined to get Logan’s attention—at any cost. Arrogant or stupid? Tate had no idea, but he didn’t like it one little bit. Add in the smug expression that had crossed Chris’s face at Logan’s interference and, yeah, it was clear that Chris had known full well what he was doing.
Tate had to give Logan credit though. He’d blown him away by how easily he’d recovered. Pity the same couldn’t be said for his own reaction.
“Logan?” Tate asked as he was ushered away from Chris and directed toward their table.
“What?” Logan didn’t spare him a glance as they continued through the throng of patrons, but when Tate yanked his arm free from his grasp, he soon came to a standstill.
“Would you hang on a minute?” he asked.
Logan’s feet shuffled to a stop as he pivoted to face him. “What’s the problem?”
“The… Are you serious?”
Logan’s jaw hardened, still tightly wound after he’d dealt with Chris, and then he leaned in so they were only inches from one another. “Not now, Tate. It’s neither the time nor the place.” Logan’s voice was carefully restrained as to not include any bystanders.
He could tell that Logan was trying to pacify him, so when he reached his hand out in a gesture of unity, Tate automatically took it. “Although I do love how you wanted to defend me. That’s hot.”
“Just…not now, right?” Tate asked, his voice low as he tried to temper his own annoyance.
“Yeah. Now isn’t the time.”
Tate gave a nod. “You’re the boss. You want me to shut my mouth. Consider it shut.”
“It’s not that—”
“Yes, it is,” Tate interrupted. But he was quick to add, “It’s okay. I get it.”
Logan’s eyes moved past him, and Tate knew he was looking at Chris again. He wondered what was going through his mind and hated that he wanted to ask. Feeling insecure was not an emotion he was comfortable with.
Then Logan glanced back at him and gave a tight smile. “Why don’t you go and sit down? Dinner’s about to be served. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Tate sat up in bed and looked at the clock on the wall, groaning at the early hour. He had work later this evening, and he could never sleep during the day, so the fact that he was up at the ass crack of dawn was just fucking great.
After pushing the covers aside, he then walked out into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to fall back asleep for a couple of hours before the sun decided to rise.
When he was halfway to the kitchen, a quick rap of knuckles on his front door brought him to a halt. Thinking he must’ve been mistaken, he continued across the hall until, again, there was a firm knocking more urgent than the last.
What the—
“Okay, okay,” he called and ran a hand through his hair.
Once he’d reached the door, he switched the light on and winced at the bright glow that reflected off the cream paint. With one eye closed, he pressed the other to the peephole and was shocked to see Logan standing on the other side.
He’d been expecting a neighbor who’d locked himself out, not the broody man who’d dropped him home and kissed him on the cheek. Actually, now that he thought about that…
He pulled the door open, and Logan’s eyes widened in stunned surprise.
“The cheek? You kissed me on the fucking cheek when you said goodnight to me earlier. What was that about?”
* * *
Logan studied the road ahead, anywhere but at his passenger, as he weaved through the traffic. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Tate shifted in the seat beside him, and Logan knew he’d turned to look at him. That was one thing he loved about Tate. If he was coming at you with the truth, especially the hard stuff you didn’t want to hear, he never backed down. He always did it with his eyes on the target.
“I don’t understand how you managed to just sit there for the rest of the night and act as if everything was okay. It was as if it didn’t even bother you, seeing him or talking to him. I guess I’m just…confused by how easy you made it seem. That’s all,” Tate said into the dark confines of the car.
“It wasn’t easy. Acting like that,” Logan said, thinking back to the way he’d forced himself to smile and greet everyone who’d stopped by their table. It was a miracle he’d even managed that much considering he’d wanted to find Chris and tell him to take his business and shove it up his ass.
“It sure seemed that way.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” he reiterated. “Tonight was supposed to be about you and me. I was simply choosing not to play his games.”
“By letting him have the last word?” Tate asked, his tone rising with his incredulity.
“Yes. If the choice was between a brawl or a public retelling of my past, then yes, he got the last word tonight. Not me.”
“Fuck that,” Tate spat out, disgusted all over again at the entire situation.
“What would you have had me do? I was one of the hosts. The people in that room conduct their business though my office. Tell me, Tate. Do you think they want to see me or my boyfriend in a fight with my ex?” Logan demanded, turning to see Tate’s pissed-off expression before returning his eyes to the road. “They want to trust the person they pay thousands—sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars, too—to protect them. What kind of message am I sending if I can’t conduct myself like an adult for five fucking hours? Now, drop it, would you?”
The silence in the car was heavy, remaining that way for several minutes until Tate said, “Consider it dropped.”
“Good.” Christ, this is so not the night I had in mind.
“By the way,” Tate added, his voice cutting through the tense space. “Your brother knows about you and Chris. Rachel told me earlier, and I thought you might appreciate the heads-up.”
Logan pulled to a stop at a red light and turned his head on the headrest. “Tate?”
Tate’s brown eyes found his, and as always, they made Logan’s heartbeat pick up pace.
“What?”
“I’m sorry about tonight.”
Tate didn’t smile. Instead, he kept a steady gaze on him as he replied, “I’m not the one you need to apologize to. I knew what I was walking into. Cole didn’t.”
“Logan?”
Logan was pulled from his thoughts and brought back to the present as Tate crossed his arms over his chest.
He looked good. Hell, he looked better than that. He looked fucking amazing in his grey sweatpants and white T-shirt.
“I asked you why you kissed me on the cheek tonight. Is that some kind of punishment for losing my temper?”
Logan was positive that that wasn’t supposed to make him happy, but he was rather pleased that Tate thought a kiss on the cheek from him was a bad thing.
“I don’t remember you losing your temper. I actually think you held yourself together pretty well, considering. When I dropped you off, I had a lot going through my head. It was just an absentminded gesture. That’s all. Not punishment. Do you really think I would do that?”
Tate let out an irritated sigh. “I don’t know what to think. It’s four thirty in the morning. I’m surprised I can think at all.” He paused and then finally took in his appearance. “What are you wearing? You look like you ran a mile.”
Logan glanced down to his black hoodie, grey running shorts, and navy-blue Northwestern University T-shirt. “Seven actually, but who’s counting?”
Tate scoffed. “You, apparently.”
“Well, I can’t have you thinking I lack stamina.”
Tate rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “That thought has never once crossed my mind. Are you coming in this time? I assume you’re not here to stand in my doorway?”
“And I see that you’re still a little—”
“Irritable?” Tate supplied.
Logan took a step forward and ran his gaze over the tangle of brown curls falling by Tate’s face. “Yeah. Irri
table seems about right.”
Tate didn’t move, but he did hold his ground. “Well, do you blame me? Tonight was—”
“A total fucking mess?” Logan finished, hazarding a guess.
“Something like that.”
He walked inside and scanned Tate’s apartment as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. When no response came from Tate, he continued. “I kept thinking back to when Chris put his hand on you and all I wanted to do was kick his ass. But then…” He watched Tate close the door and lean his back up against it—silent and focused on him. “But then I remembered the last time I’d seen him. I’d been doing exactly that. Kicking his ass.” He came over to where Tate was standing and—quite unexpectedly—confessed, “I have trouble sleeping without you.”
Tate’s mouth opened as if he were about to say something, and then he shut it and, instead, smiled.
“Does that sound like I’m punishing you?” Logan asked. He loved the way Tate’s eyes darkened as they lowered to his mouth.
“No.”
“No? Then how does it sound?” he asked, continuing forward until he was between Tate’s legs.
“It sounds—”
“Yes?”
“Don’t interrupt me.”
“I’m sorry,” Logan said, trying to appear contrite. “You were saying?”
“It sounds as if you like me,” Tate said. Then he added with an arrogant smirk, “A lot.”
Logan’s heart thumped in his chest as he concentrated on what he’d come there to do. But when Tate reached for his hips and pulled him flush against his body, all of Logan’s thoughts took a flying leap.
“Mhmm, I do,” Logan said. “It’s a little more than like though.”
One of Tate’s hands stroked its way down to his ass, and when he pushed off the door and placed his lips to Logan’s throat, Logan wondered if he’d remember his own name in the next ten seconds.
