“Please, sit down.”
Bella drew in a deep breath and tried to tamp down the impatience that had been growing steadily through the day. “I don’t want to sit down. I want to understand. Because none of this makes sense.”
“We were hired by a third party that wishes to remain anonymous. It’s purely a preventative measure. We’ve tried to be as invisible as possible.”
“Without my consent though? That’s the part I don’t understand.”
“And it’s an unusual request, but it was warranted. Over the course of the six months we’ve ascertained that while we still need to be vigilant, it’s no longer an urgent matter.”
She slowly lowered herself into one of the chairs. It dwarfed her, making her feel like a little kid. “There was an urgent matter?” She shook her head. She was starting to talk like this man. He was ultra-professional and obviously had some sort of military background. “I demand to know who would need your—” The little voice in the back of her head got really loud. Idiot. Six months ago? “How close to six months?”
Marcus’s gaze stayed steady on her face. “Late August.”
She looked down at the folder in front of him. The RD logo with the back-to-back facing letters so the R was backwards. The security that had been used at the festival. She remembered when they’d arrived and how professional they’d been. How militant.
“Logan.”
Marcus’s face never changed. “As I said, we were retained anonymously.”
“Why?” She slumped back in her seat. She’d spent a week with Logan King. There was no reason that he should be adding her to his security detail. It was just ridiculous.
“It was a preventative measure. We didn’t involve ourselves in any of your business other than—”
Her spine straightened. No, there was no way she was going to just take the stock answer that this man was feeding her. “Other than the fact that you were following me all over the country? I took over fifteen flights this month alone.”
“Insane. For books? I just don’t get it,” Sarah blurted out.
Marcus shot her a look with a single raised brow. Sarah immediately stood straight and clasped her hands behind her back.
“So Logan paid the expenses for you to follow me around to auctions? Doesn’t that sound nuts?”
He didn’t answer her.
“I have a right to know why I would need to be under surveillance. That much you should be able to tell me, correct?”
“As I said it was a pre—”
“If you say preventative measure again, I’m going to flip this table.”
He folded his arms. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t need to have Elijah and Sarah on your detail if that was the case.”
She pushed back from the table—that didn’t move because the stupid thing was probably bolted to the floor—and paced away. Logan had been oddly security conscious when she’d been around him, but she assumed that was just because of the amount of fans that were constantly surrounding him.
Now that she thought about it, he didn’t exactly seem the entourage sort. Not when he wore Henley shirts so faded and worn they were as soft as skin. Not when his jeans were actually ripped and shredded from wear, instead of being hit strategically by a razor that cost a grand a pair. He might be wealthy, but he didn’t flash it around. It was obvious in the quality around him at his home and the shoes he wore, but she bet the average fan didn’t know about the banged up truck he loved to drive. Or the mismatched furniture that filled his house with warmth and comfort.
God.
Just one thought and a flood of images took over her mind. She firmly slammed the door on those. There was nothing but trouble there.
“I need to talk to Logan.”
“Your prerogative, but I have no information that I can give you.”
“Not even a phone number?”
“Why don’t you have that already?”
Because they crashed and burned so hard that there were still scorch marks down Main Street in Winchester Falls.
Because she couldn’t bear the thought of talking to him.
And the one time she’d caved and called his number it had been disconnected.
“What are the chances you keep this conversation to yourself?”
Marcus folded his hands on the table. “I check in with clients on Fridays.”
She searched his face and pinpointed the slightest change in demeanor. She had a few hours to figure her shit out.
Marcus stood. “Sarah will show you out. She’ll keep her distance, but she will be in your vicinity, Ms. Grace. That part of the contract I can’t change.”
Bella stood and gathered her bags. She held out her hand. “I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances.”
“Likewise. Good luck.”
Sarah was standing sentinel at the stairs so she followed her up to the hallway that lead to the elevator. They silently rode the elevator down and Resting Bitch Face Sarah was back. Bella sighed as the door opened to the lobby. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Until I get this straightened out, I understand you have a job to do. I won’t cause trouble.”
Sarah nodded sharply once and followed her to the desk. She quickly checked in with the human wrecking ball that manned the desk and they both left.
Bella flagged down a cab and held the door. “I need to make some phone calls, but I’ve got some errands to do.”
“I can get around on my accord, Princess.”
Bella stiffened, but considering what she’d been calling Sarah in her head, she decided to keep her mouth shut this time. She ducked into the cab and sat back against the bench seat.
“Where to, ma’am?”
“Make a trip around Central Park, please. I have a phone call to make before I figure out where I’m headed.”
“Can do.”
A fresh coat of powdery snow softened the dirt of the streets and made the white twinkle lights that capped the canopy of trees seem just a little more pure. She refocused her attention on the inside of the cab and her phone.
She brought up her contacts and tapped on one of the last names she ever thought she’d call.
CHAPTER FIVE
Logan slammed on the options button of his treadmill. His legs were shaking from the incline he’d set it to. Mile eight had left him weak as a kitten and yet he’d gone another two miles as punishment for the weakness.
The unit slowly declined and his speed gradually lessened as he stared out onto the city streets. His apartment was dark, save for a single rope of white lights that lined his huge bay window.
Zeke had tried to festive out his apartment and had managed the single perfect line of lights before Logan had come home. He didn’t give two shits about the holiday season on his own, and he should have pulled them down when he got back from Colorado, but he found he liked the soft glow.
It pushed back the shadows at night. And it reminded him of the lights that decorated the gazebo in Winchester Falls. Perfect tiny lights that could be fireflies on a hot summer night. And he tried not to think about how much those memories revolved around her.
He slowed to a walk and finally shut down the treadmill. He pounded one bottle of water and refilled another. Bent at the waist, he dragged in a lungful of air. He loathed and obsessed over running. It killed his body. His age came screaming to bear as his knees and shins reminded him that he’d bulked up too much. He was usually a steady, lean one-seventy but he’d put on over twenty pounds of muscle once he’d stopped drinking.
Without the alcohol taking up space in his belly, he’d turned to food. And if he didn’t hit the weights he’d have been in real trouble during the tour.
Now he ran to cut some of the bulk.
And to make sure he could take the damn stage without dying in a two hour set. Touring was coming up soon. The album was due to drop in May with a summer tour to follow. His body might be in fighting shape, but his mind was beyond fucked.
With infinite patience,
he stretched out his muscles until another flush of sweat coated him. A fine film of snow started to fall as he finished. The quiet of snow always soothed him. Maybe if he sat in his steam shower for a few, he might just be able to blink out and sleep for a few hours.
He sucked down another bottle of water, pausing at the threshold of his master bath when his buzzer went off. “Fuck.”
He so didn’t want to deal with anyone. The intercom shrilled to life. “Mr. King? Mr. King, are you in?”
The worry in the voice made him reply. “I’m here, Henry.”
“Sir, a woman was here and I turned her away, but I think she snuck through with the Anderson girls.”
Logan sighed.
“Shall I call security up?”
“No, Henry. It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” He swiped a towel over his chest. His address wasn’t exactly public record, but he’d lived in the village long enough that people knew the apartment and staked it out on more than one occasion. He’d contemplated upping security in the building, but Aimee had held off for months now.
Well, beyond the flowers anyway.
He just hated the idea of someone constantly hovering around him. His electronic security was top of the line and that was enough.
Usually.
His phone vibrated and jumped along his bookcase. He grabbed it as he moved to the door. Lindsey York? He hadn’t talked to her since the summer.
He frowned and opened the text message.
Sorry.
What the hell did that mean?
The flat of a hand slammed against his door. Logan rushed forward for the video screen.
“Logan King, you open this door before I cause a scene like none you’ve ever witnessed before.”
He touched the small LED panel. Dark hair tumbled over her shoulders now, a mass of waves dotted with melting snow. He only had two neighbors on the top floor and both opened their door. Self-preservation told him to let her pound at the door until security came.
But the deep, aching part of him that needed to see her took over. Just to smell her again, to look into those topaz eyes that shredded him in every dream. One more dose of those damn eyes that chased him into the ground and had ended in a song that he had to sing every goddamn night once the promotional tour started.
He swung the door open and hauled her inside. Night jasmine and the scent of snow slammed into him followed directly by her fist.
Logan stumbled back a step and shook his head. “Fuck, Iz.”
“Don’t Iz me. What the hell were you thinking?”
He clapped his hand over his eye and swallowed a groan. Jesus, she had a right cross. “So much for anonymous.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. Marcus kept your little boys club secret. Just how stupid do you think I am?”
“Izzy, hang on a second.”
She crowded into his personal space. “What did I just say?”
Christ, she was beautiful. Even as his cheek throbbed and his eye felt like it might be on fire, he couldn’t deny that the woman made his chest ache. He held his hands up. “All right, all right.”
She dropped her bags at his door and stalked toward him. He backed up until both of them stood in the center of his living room. It felt stupid to retreat, but the level of anger lighting her eyes was mildly terrifying.
“I’m not leaving until I get an explanation about why I’ve had a security detail for the last five plus months.”
“It’s just an extra precaution.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “May I get a shirt?”
“No.”
He lifted a brow. “Free show?”
Her gaze dropped to his chest and slowly traveled down the sweat-soaked workout shorts he wore that had pulled down low on his hips. His skin heated and he willed his cock to behave. He watched her swallow then returned her attention to his face. A renewed chill filled her eyes and melted across her face. Even her anger settled into the arctic freeze.
A normal guy would shrivel under that kind of look.
He’d never been normal.
Please, God he hoped the heavy shorts hid the evidence of his reaction to her.
But that was just chemistry and biology. How many nights had he roared awake with his dick so hard he could fuck a hole into his mattress? Wanting her wasn’t the problem. Keeping her safe was the only thing that mattered.
He’d done everything he could to push her away and he’d just pulled her into his apartment with his neighbors catching the entire play-by-play. The level of stupid was chart-topping.
How many people had heard her trying to get by Henry earlier?
How fast would it hit the papers?
“You gotta go.”
“No.” She stomped her foot. The thick heel echoed on his hardwood. “No, you don’t get to shut down and leave me hanging this time.”
“It was a fling. We screwed each other’s brains out for a week. Then it was over.”
“If it was over you wouldn’t have a bodyguard downstairs, probably ripping your front desk guy a new one, because I got up here before she could intercept me.”
She poked his chest. “You told me you wanted more. You were the one that made me wonder if what we had could actually be more. Then Saturday happened.”
Logan dragged in a breath. Saturday had been the beginning of his hell. He grabbed her hand when she jabbed again and flattened it against his chest. “Please, can’t you just take it for what it was?”
“I tried.” She pulled her hand away. “I was getting over you, dammit.” She paced away from him, walking the length of his living room and dining room before turning around. “I hate you for how hard it was to get over you. But I was doing it.”
Acid flooded his chest and gut. He could just curl into himself and hold all that burning pain. A bigger part of him wanted to gather her into his chest and tell her that he’d never intended to hurt her. He didn’t want his ugly life to touch her.
Her heels clicked over his floor and her hips swayed in that way that happened when a woman wore heels. No matter the level of anger coming off of her he couldn’t ignore the power and passion of her. His body missed her like oxygen. As if it was just coming out of the stasis he’d been living in.
He was starving for her.
He tried to build up all the walls he’d been fortifying, but they were crumbling with each step she took toward him.
“But then I saw this woman in an airport. You know that feeling you get when you see someone you’ve seen before, but you can’t place it? That awful feeling that crawls up your spine when you see that person again in a space they just shouldn’t be in.”
Logan dropped his arms to his sides and fisted his hands. He knew that feeling. He’d felt it a million times before when a fan crossed over from sweet and fun, to the watch list. Even before Aimee, he’d known that feeling all too well.
He lifted his chin, but didn’t answer her.
“I’ve been on over fifteen business trips this month alone. I chased this woman through an airport newsstand because something was off about her.” Izzy swiped her hand over her mouth and shook her head with a mirthless laugh. “She’s good. I thought I was going crazy at first, but then there was no denying that I’d caught her trying to change her look so I wouldn’t find her.” She tipped her head back. “It was like a scene from an action movie. The straight to streaming video kind.” Now her laugh was just a little too close to hysterical.
He steeled himself against going to her.
“Finally she caved. But only because she’d freaked me out so bad I was ready to call out airport security.” She crowded into him. “Because you decided to put an actual bodyguard detail on me. For no reason that I can fathom. Now that I’ve talked to Marcus Roth I know I’m not insane. I’ve seen this woman, Sarah, in more than half a dozen spots. Because she’s been following me for months.” She flattened her hand on his belly and pushed him back a step, but didn’t take her hands off him. “Months, Logan.”
“Izzy…” He cupped the back of her neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Please.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, but didn’t fall. “Tell me why. I knew something was going on back in August, but I just couldn’t—” Her voice broke.
The tears shredded him. She’d come in like a battering ram and his swelling eye could attest to her anger, but now there was just frustrated pain.
And he’d caused it.
Again.
He’d brought nothing but pain to this woman.
So goddamn selfish to have even let her close enough to touch, let alone fall for. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t fall in love in a week, but seeing her there he knew just how thorough a lie he’d told himself.
Her silky dark hair slid around his wrist and fingers and she smelled so damn good. He leaned in and took her mouth. She made a sound that ripped him open. A sob mixed with a moan and then she was plastered to him.
Her arms went up and around his shoulders, her mouth completely fused to his own. He soaked her in. Her taste flooded his senses, exploding behind his eyelids as he dragged her even closer.
He lifted her off her feet and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, scraped up the back of his neck as she bit at his lower lip. He bounced off the archway of the French doors to his room and his shoulder sang with it, but he didn’t care.
She was going to be in his bed.
The wildness of her touch left him desperate. It was echoed in his own as he tugged at her blazer. She arched away from him enough to get one arm out and then the other. It fell to the floor along with her boots.
His knees bumped into the mattress and they fell together. A tumble of arms and legs, cotton and wool, then skin. Nothing but glorious skin as he scraped his teeth up and over her ribs to her lush breasts and tight nipples.
She palmed his cock, encircling the base with that groan-inducing grip that he missed every goddamn night. They rolled over the bed, each of them trying to dominate the other.
He wanted to be over her, to cover her with everything that he was and hope to God he was enough. To beg her to let him be enough.
Bulletproof Weeks Page 4
