She moans louder.
“Now, angel?”
“Yes, Logan,” she pant-moans.
“Good. Now, listen up. I can’t change my past; I was an asshole and a player. I’ll probably always be an asshole, but I’m not a player, Sam. I stopped being a player, changed my manwhoring ways before I even meet you. I’ve never lied to you, Sam. When I told you I hadn’t been with a woman in months, I was telling you the truth. And I’m telling you the truth when I say the last mouth to surround my cock was yours. The last pussy I sunk my cock into was yours, and the last asshole to swell and mold around my cock was yours, angel.”
I add one more finger, sinking it hard and deep. “Do I still have your complete attention?”
“Yes,” she moans.
“Good, let’s continue. I’m sorry for not thinking where Shawna would seat you. And I’m sorry that the note and key card I sent hurt you, made you feel common. It was never my intent to hurt you.”
I begin to circle my thumb over her erect clit.
She groans.
“Do you want my big, fat, hard cock, angel?”
“Stupid question.”
“Listen carefully, Samantha, and I just might give you what you want.”
“Asshole.”
I chuckle. “I told you that part of me would probably never change.” I pinch her clit.
“Fuck, Logan. Why are you torturing me?”
“I’m not torturing you, angel. Do I still have your complete attention?”
“Yes, completely.”
“Good. I knew you lost someone close, someone dear. And I’m sorry, angel, so very much. I want to say one thing about Lane, because that’s all he’s going to get while my fingers are fucking you. He was a fool. I’d never share you, ever. God, Sam. I stood by the bar, watching all the men look at you, and I wanted to deck them all. You bring out the beast in me. You are mine, and I’m yours. Do you get me?”
“Logan… I’m so sorry. I love you so much,” she cries.
“Angel. Don’t cry.”
“I’ll stop if you fuck me hard with your big, fat cock.”
“Were you faux crying?”
“Maybe.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, I’m going to give you what you want.” Because if I don’t I’ll come in my pants.
I move her wrists together so I can hold on to them with one hand. That done, I fish out my wallet. Opening it with my mouth, I pull out a condom. “Condom in my mouth,” I mumble.
She removes it.
“Unzip me and roll it on.”
She does as instructed, hands shaking.
“Are we good, angel? You’re shaking.”
“I’m vibrating with need.”
My cock twitches. “Fuck. Stop teasing me.”
She smirks. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
“Seriously, Sam. Are we good?” I wish I could see her face, her perfect flesh.
She runs a finger over my lips. “We’re better than good, Romano. Now, you better—”
I sink into her.
“Holy hello. God, I’ve missed him.”
“Him?”
She giggles. “Sorry, baby. I’ve missed you too.”
Baby? I like that.
“It’s a little snug. I’m sorry.”
“I believe I told you never to apologize for feeling like heaven.”
Needing more, needing to be deeper, I let go of her wrists and push her dress up and out of the way. Hands molded around her bare ass, I lift her up the wall, sinking balls-deep. “Fuck me, better than heaven. Better than my dreams.”
Her long legs wrap around my waist, pulling me tighter, getting ready to ride. Biting my earlobe, she whispers, “Fuck me, Logan. Claim me. Make me yours.”
And I do, hard, fast, and all-consumingly. I claim her in a dark supply closet at a foundation dinner my best friend had to beg me to go to. I wouldn’t have it any other way; it’s perfect, she’s perfect. She cries out, her orgasm triggering mine, blending, mixing, becoming one. And for the first time in my life, I’m content. I’ve found the one. I’ve found my home.
Logan and I have officially been an item, a couple, for eight weeks. Things have moved fast, maybe too fast, but I can’t seem to stop myself, stop us. I know I’m being selfish, I know things could end badly, but I’ve never felt more complete, never felt more alive. So I keep my fingers crossed and pray that this time, things will be different.
I’ve kept my fears to myself but I know Logan senses them. He’s constantly reassuring me, and has nearly convinced me that our story is written in stone and can’t be erased. “It will be as written, no matter what we do or don’t do,” he tells me. With this thought in my head and the hope and love he brings into my life, I asked him to move in with me. He was looking at renting an apartment and I thought, why? I told him I needed the rent money; he laughed hysterically and moved in the next day.
After Logan moved in, I took a week off from work and spent every second I could with him. We fucked and made love in every possible position and on every possible surface in our loft and my office—after hours, of course. I went to all his practices, and flew Matt, Allie, their little princess and us to a game in Arizona in one of the Grant private jets. We had so much fun and I got to know and understand why Logan loves them all so much.
Unfortunately, after that week of bliss we’ve had seven weeks of craziness where we’ve barely seen each other. After hiring four new associates, my workload at my firm has been reduced considerably. What’s taken most of my time is my workload at Grant. Lex is on a husband-enforced maternity leave, and I’ve stepped in to help pick up some of the slack. I don’t mind; I would do anything for my sister. If it eases her mind having me at meetings she can’t attend, I’ll do it.
The Rangers lost their last play-off game just hours ago, bringing the season to an official end. So with work at my firm covered, and things at Grant not critical, we are taking our first official holiday. One week with my family, one with his, and two weeks on Gram’s private island in the Caribbean.
I look over at my sleeping man. He’s exhausted, having just flown from Calgary. I thought he might be down over the loss. He’s disappointed of course, but he’s okay with it. That’s just who Logan Romano is. He’s dedicated, works hard at honing his skills, but he leaves it on the ice. He’s an expert compartmentalizer. When we go out to dinner, it’s just us. When we go to bed, it’s all about our love and lovemaking. Even when he socializes with his hockey friends and their heads are still on the ice, his isn’t. Very few can compartmentalize like he does. He reminds me of my sister in this respect. When Lex is at home with her family, she’s all mom and wife; the hardass dedicated CEO is gone. Even when she’s working from home, when she leaves her home office, her work stays behind the door.
Speaking of family, that’s where we are headed: Grant Estate, New York. Logan is meeting my family for the first time. He’s nervous as hell, and I’ve been teasing him a bit, keeping him on edge. I know what he thinks. He thinks what everyone thinks, that the Grants are private, impersonal, money-hoarding snobs. We don’t do interviews; we avoid all press, and we don’t socialize outside of official engagements. So the public sees us as closed-off elitists, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
I know he’s googled my family and me. He’s read the latest news and gossip, filling his sad eyes with endless questions and doubts. I’ve not broached the subject, told him much about my family or past, because we’ve needed time for us. We’ve needed time to start building a foundation, something to hold the weight of what it means to be involved with a Grant. Tonight I will tell him everything he wants to know, answer as many questions, and ease as many doubts as I can. And maybe if I play my cards right, if I’m lucky, he’ll tell me about his Luke tattoo.
I brush a long strand of brown-black hair off his beautiful sleeping face, tucking it behind his ear. He’s let it grow long. It now lands just below his shoulders. He often wears it i
n a short pony and I tease him about swiping my hair ties. It’s called flow, in hockey lingo, he tells me.
Hockey… What can I say about it? He loves playing, loves the physicality of it, and loves the camaraderie. But I must say it’s been hard for me. It’s not that I don’t trust him, because I do. And it’s not because I haven’t warmed up to most of his hockey family. It’s because I’m in a constant state of worry and dread. It consumes me, cramping my stomach, taking bites out of my heart. I worry he’ll be seriously injured and taken away from me. I loved Lane with all my heart, but I love Logan with all my soul, with everything I am. If anything happens to him, if he’s taken from me, I won’t survive; it will be the end of me. I know this without a doubt.
Our car pulls off the main highway and begins making its way up the winding road, toward Grant Estate’s newer outer security gate.
Everything changed after Lane was shot and killed. He took the bullets, and died. We took the shrapnel, and lived. One major change was the type and amount of security.
Lee blamed himself for Lane’s death. He’d failed Lane; he’d failed us, and he’d failed Lex twice. Unable to cope, he became deeply depressed and resigned as head of Grant security. But what he didn’t get, or failed to believe is that he’d become part of our family. And once you’re part of the Grant family, you are for life. Determined to keep him on and keep us whole and safe, Lex asked our uncle Carlo for help. Uncle Carlo’s highly trained security team helped Lee turn things around, helped him turn Grant Security into what it is today. Fifty-two highly trained operatives, all former MI5, FBI, CIA, or Navy Seal.
As we approach the outer gate, our driver Hal, a former FBI agent, breaks the silence. “Ms. Grant, we’re approaching the outer gate.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
When the car comes to a stop, I roll down my window. A fully armed former Navy Seal, John Lake, approaches us. “Ms. Grant. It’s nice to see you, been a while.”
“John, how are you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“How are Marilyn and the boys?”
He smiles. “Good, real good.”
“Are you ready for your princess?” I ask him. John and his wife Marilyn are expecting their first girl. They have five rowdy boys who often play with my nephews. You might think it odd or even unprofessional that we know and communicate with the security, household, and other staff. But that’s who we are. We want to know, and trust, those helping us, those who are in charge of keeping us whole and safe.
He nods toward a snoring Logan. “Mr. Romano?”
“The one and only.”
He grins. “You’ll have to wake him up. They’ll need a hand scan at the main gate.”
“Will do, John. Have a good night.”
He nods and I roll up the window.
The electric gate glides open and we drive on through. The entire twenty-seven acre estate is now behind a twenty-foot electric fence.
I place my hand on Logan’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Logan, we’re here.”
His eyes flutter open. Sitting up, he stretches. “Already?”
“We’ve been driving for over three hours.”
He rubs his eyes. “Really?”
“Traffic in the city was horrific. When we reach the main gate, the guard will need to scan your hand.”
He nods.
I know he’s overwhelmed. I can see the uncertainty flash across his pupils. He’s been a trooper about all our security protocols. Lee came to our loft the day after he moved in. He talked to Logan, explained that he was going to perform a security background check. He then took pictures and scanned his hands. He also explained to him about the press and keeping the details of our relationship private. I was reluctant to have him sign a nondisclosure, but Lee and Lex were insistent, explaining that it protects Logan and his family just as much as it protects me and mine. I thought he might have problems with it, but he didn’t even bat an eye.
When we reach the gate, the car comes to a stop. I roll down the window. Patrick Wills, a superhottie African American former FBI agent, greets us. “Ms. Grant,” he says, and smiles, dimples deep.
He’s stunning. I smile. “Mr. Wills.”
He rolls his eyes at me. He’s always telling me to call him Pat, but I refuse. I like yanking his chain.
Logan clears his throat and sits taller, making his chest look bigger, harder. A friggin’ peacock in heat.
Pat chuckles. “Mr. Romano, I presume?”
Logan nods.
Pat winks at me. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t he?”
I smile. “Sure does.”
“Mr. Romano, if you would, please?” Through the window, Pat passes Logan a scanner that looks like a small tablet. Logan, knowing what to do, takes it. Setting it flat, he places his right palm on its screen. After a few seconds, it beeps and he hands it back.
Pat takes it and looks over the scan. He frowns and types on the keyboard.
Logan’s right brow rises.
“Looks like we have a problem, Mr. Romano.”
“What kind of problem?” Logan asks, his left brow joining his right.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“Your print image has been flagged.”
“Flagged?” he says, voice rising an octave.
“Yeah. Says here that you’re wanted for questioning.”
“Questioning?” he asks, voice higher.
Another guard, Rex Smith, approaches the car with hockey stick in hand. He winks at me before he hides it behind his back.
I bite my lip harder.
“Yeah,” Pat says. “Looks like only one question, though.”
“What?” he asks, clearly confused.
“Would you sign my nephew’s hockey stick?”
Logan blows out a breath. “Fuck.”
We all laugh, including the always-stoic Hal.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” he asks me, as he signs the stick.
I nod.
Logan hands the stick back to Pat, and they shake hands.
“Mr. Romano,” he says. “Welcome to Grant Estate, New York. You’re going to fit right in.”
I laugh and roll up the window. The gate opens and we make our way up the drive.
Logan puts his hand on my knee. “It’s going to be a long fucking week, isn’t it?”
I run my hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, Romano. They’ll love you as much as I do.”
He kisses me, lips barely brushing mine. “I love you, angel. More than I can say.”
We come to a stop. Hal gets out of the car and opens our door.
I get out and reach for Logan’s hand.
He takes it, kissing it before he climbs out. I step aside and he looks up. “Holy fuck. That’s not a house, that’s a… palace.”
Hal laughs. “Well, he’s got the Grant lingo down.”
I laugh, looking at Hal, wondering what’s gotten into the always-quiet man.
Hal gets our bags out of the trunk as Logan and I walk to the door. Just before we reach it, it opens. The one person I’d feared to introduce Logan to the most stands smiling, arms spread wide.
“Samantha,” she cries, and her arms surround me, hugging me tight.
We part and she looks up at Logan. “You’re hot,” she says.
I laugh-cry with relief. I knew it would be hard for Mary to see me with someone else, but she has such a big heart. I should have known it would be okay.
“Logan, this is Mary Frampton.”
He grins and holds out his hand. “Mary, it’s great to meet you.”
Ignoring his hand, her arms fold around him. “I’m so happy to meet the man behind my dear Samantha’s smile.” She pulls away; a lone tear escapes her eye, and rolls down her cheek.
“Mary, I’m—”
She takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Happy tears, my dear.”
I nod. Thank God.
Hal sets down our bags. “Ms. Grant, is there anything else I
can do for you?”
“No, Hal. And thank you.”
He nods, and exits.
“It’s late,” Mary says. “Let’s get you two settled.”
I reach for my bags.
“I don’t think so, angel,” he scolds, and picks them up.
Mary smiles and we follow her down the long entry hall. When we reach the center court, Logan’s mouth gapes.
Mary pauses, looking back at him. “Stunning, isn’t it?”
“It’s… incredible. It reminds me of Tuscany,” he says, turning in a circle. He stops and looks at me. “You did this?”
“I designed it. I didn’t do all the work.”
Mary huffs. “Samantha.”
“What?”
“You know what,” she scolds, as we walk up the marble staircase. “What do I always tell you, my dear?”
“Take credit when credit is due.”
She looks over her shoulder. “You’re learning.”
Reaching the second landing, we walk down a short hallway. Mary opens the first door on the right, and steps aside. “I had housekeeping put fresh sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom. There’s plenty of wood if you want a fire. And the bar is stocked.”
“Thanks, Mary,” I say, walking in after Logan.
“If you’re hungry I can have something brought up?”
“I’m good.”
“Logan?” she asks.
“No, thank you, Mary.”
She nods. “I knew you’d both say that, so I had the minifridge stocked.”
“Of course you did,” I tell her, giving her a knowing look.
She winks. “Okay, then. I’ll see you two in a few hours.”
I nod, and she leaves us, shutting the door behind her.
Logan stands by the door, with bags still in hand.
“Well, Mr. Romano, what do you think?”
“Are all the rooms like this?”
“Most of them, yes. I call it Old World Europe meets New World New York.”
“It’s… beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. Follow me,” I say, walking into the closet.
He follows and I show him where to put our bags.
I slowly strip.
Logan grins.
“Join me in the shower?”
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 14
