Logan: What time does your last class end?
Aly: 2:30. Why?
Logan: I'm sending a driver to pick you up and bring you to set. Be ready.
Aly: What!? Why? And what exactly do I need to be ready for?
I stare at my phone screen, anxiously waiting for his reply. He wants to take me to set? His own wife hasn't even visited him on set yet. I curse him out in my head when I watch the three dots disappear and no message comes in. Did he just ghost his own sister? What an asshole!
Instead of pondering all the possibilities why Logan reached out to me, I decide to bury myself in my work. I explain to my students how they each need to focus on how another country's actions affect their own as well as paying attention to just how the monarch's ideals may differ from that of their privy council. Essentially, everyone is only looking out for themselves, but I'll let them come to that conclusion on their own.
My phone chimes in the middle of class, so I excuse myself for a moment to check it. Logan sent me a picture of some guy. His dark hair is turning gray on the sides, and he's rocking a goatee. Attached to the picture is his message.
Logan: This is Frank, my driver. Don't hop in any car that he isn't driving! Stay safe and see you soon ;)
I contemplate sending him a reply, but I know he's not going to answer me. Whatever he is planning, he doesn't want me to have the slightest idea until I'm there. The suspense is killing me. I'm usually all for surprises, but I typically need a frickin' hint to get me through the day.
When Frank arrives, I hop into the back of the limousine—very excessive, I know, but Logan doesn't like to do anything small, a reflection of his big heart. I drum my fingers against the top of my knee, trying to thump away the nerves from all these unknowns.
Logan's set is about fortyish minutes out of town, which only amps up my nerves the longer I'm sitting in the limo. When the limo comes to a stop and Frank opens the door for me, I bolt out in a flurry and drape the access badge around my neck.
I follow Frank, looking around at all the behind-the-scenes sights as he leads me to Logan's trailer. The door swings open, revealing a shirtless Logan. He's wearing gray pants with black combat boots, both of which don't look like something he would usually own, so I assume they’re part of his costume.
A wide smile beams across his face as he descends the steps of his trailer and joins me on ground-level. His dark brown hair is spiked up around the edges, appearing as if it has been clutched and pulled. When Hannah peeks out from behind him, I realize that's exactly what has happened.
"Oh, c'mon, Logan. You invited me here to see this?" I chide, shaking my head in disapproval as I tap my foot against the solid dirt ground.
He laughs as his green eyes, a shade darker than mine, pierce me. "Sorry, sis. I showed Hannah the nursery I set up in my trailer, and we both got a little carried away. With her book tour finished, she and Jack can spend more time here with me."
I'm not gonna lie; I love seeing him this happy. He's been love drunk a lot lately, but who can blame him? He finally has what all three of us Lance children always wanted: a loving spouse, and children. At the rate these two go at it, I'm surprised Hannah hasn't been knocked up again.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" A woman shrieks as she runs over and runs her hands through Logan's just-been-fucked hair.
Logan flashes her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Tish. Can you fix it before the next scene?"
Tish rolls her eyes at him. "Of course, I can. But don't make this a habit." She shoots her gaze to Hannah, causing a blush to creep up Hannah's cheeks. "Or tell your wife to leave my work alone. There are other things you can grab, ya know?"
Hannah bows her head, probably in embarrassment.
"I want you in my chair in an hour," Tish commands, pointing her finger at Logan's chest.
"You got it, Tish. You're the best."
She waves off his comment dismissively as she struts toward the big peach-colored building marked with a giant number six on the side.
Logan turns to Frank. "Can you drive Hannah to my mother's house?"
Frank nods as he grabs the rim of his hat and tilts it out of respect. He and Hannah both head toward the limousine, leaving Logan and me alone standing in front of his trailer.
I can't take it anymore, letting the words fly out of my mouth faster than usual. "So, are you going to tell me why I'm here?"
He nods his head toward his trailer, gesturing for me to go inside. I shake my head. "No way. I'm not stepping foot in that sex mobile."
He sighs. "Just don't sit on the couch and you'll be fine. If it makes you feel any better, you can sit in the nursery's rocking chair."
I furrow my brow at him skeptically. "How do I know you didn't taint it already?"
"Um, because the nursery is off fucking limits. You really think I'd have sex in the same room where my son sleeps? Not a fucking chance."
I guess that makes sense. Reluctantly, I follow him up the steps and into the sex machine. Taking his suggestion, I plop my ass in the rocking chair. The nursery is sectioned off by two half-walls, allowing me to talk to Logan like we are in the same room because technically, we are.
Logan leans himself against the dressing table, crossing his arms across his chest. "Do you mind telling me what's been going on with you lately?"
Well, that's vague as hell, and not where I thought this conversation was going to go. I copy him, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean back in the rocking chair. "What are you talking about?"
He scrubs a hand across his face in frustration. Oh, I'm sure makeup is going to love that. He's already pissed off hair; can he really afford to piss off the entire beauty team within an hour? "For fuck's sake, Aly. Don't play dumb with me. You think I haven't seen the Gazette? Or heard the rumors around town? Hell, you think Mom hasn't told me about walking in on you the other morning? Are you really back together with him?"
Dammit! I never even considered the thought that my mom would blab to Logan, which was very naive of me. My mother loves to gossip whenever we are concerned. She doesn't care for it when it regards somebody else, but if it is pertaining to one of her children, she thrives on it.
I arch my brow, narrowing my eyes in anger. "And what if I am?"
"Do you really think that's a good idea? Last time you two didn't work out, you were devastated. I don't want to see you fall apart again. And I love you too damn much to stand idly by and watch you set yourself up for heartbreak." I can see the concern in his eyes, but that doesn't lessen the blow. Evidently, he doesn't approve of us rekindling our relationship.
"I appreciate your concern, Logan. But I'm not some fragile flower; I can take care of myself."
"You said he changed last time. Well, people don't just change out of the blue, Aly. Did you ever find out what caused that abrupt change in him?"
"Yes!" I lie, hoping he doesn't ask me for details.
He outstretches his arms, showcasing his wide arm span. "Please, enlighten me."
Holy crap on a cracker! He's calling me out on my bluff. When I remain silent, he shakes his head in disbelief.
"I knew it. I fucking knew it!" Ever since he had Jack and had to censor himself around his son, he curses like a trucker whenever Jack isn't in the same room as him. "You still don't know. So how can you sit here and honestly tell me you don't think that change can happen again?"
I bow my head, trying to hold back my tears. I'm not sad that he's yelling at me, but rather because he is making me realize just how quickly I rushed into this. I don't have any answers. No reassurance. I have nothing but an increased libido and a Darren addicted hoo-ha.
Logan must've walked over to me because he kneels before me, allowing his upward gaze to meet my downward one. "Look, Aly. I'm just concerned that you lustfully jumped into this. I know it's been a very long time since you've been in a relationship. But I don't think hitting the restart button on your last one is wise. Are you even staying down here after the wedding?"
"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't fucking know," I say on a shaky breath. I finally lose my battle with my tears as they spill from my eyes.
"Hey, talk to me. What's going on inside that clever brain of yours?" Logan asks, his voice low and soft as he uses his thumb to swipe away my tears.
Tears stain my cheeks as I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. I exhale it slowly, hoping to recollect my thoughts. "I originally planned to go back after your wedding, but I don't have a job to go back to.”
He raises both his brows, concern etched in his features. "What about that history professor position at Columbia?"
"I sent in the audition tape, but the odds of me landing that position are slim-to-none. And because of that, I've been debating whether or not I should even go back at all. At least here, I have a summer job. And if that goes well, Dean Chambers already told me that he will extend my position to permanent employment. Right now, I'm in sort of a ninety-day trial phase. If they like my results, then I get to stay on."
His lips turn down with saddened confusion. "Why don't you think you'll land the Columbia job? You're the smartest person I know, and you are overqualified for that position."
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Because that's an Ivy League university. Getting in for both students and faculty is a hardship."
Logan stands up, scooping me into his arms and pressing me against his chest, just like he used to when I was a little girl. It always made me feel better then, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't still have that same magical effect on me now. Being that my father was far less than superb, Logan, who's six years older than me, always took it upon himself to make up for the things our father never did. It was Logan who taught me how to swim. Helped me with my homework. Told me that all boys had cooties and if I let them touch me, I would get pregnant and die. Who even smeared jelly all over my first boyfriend, which just so happened to be Darren. Frank Lance may have been my biological father and sperm donor, but to me, Logan will always hold that title. He's earned it. That's precisely why, on my wedding day, Logan will be the one giving me away.
He presses his lips against the crown of my head and mumbles softly against my hair. "I just want you to be happy, Aly. And if Darren is who makes you happy, then I won't stand in your way. But know this, if he hurts you, I won't think twice about cutting his fucking balls off."
I laugh. "Oh, trust me, I know you will."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aly
We arrive at a restaurant an hour outside of town. Darren exits his patriotic Mini Cooper, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for me. Now, when I say patriotic, I mean toward his homeland, not mine. His Mini is starlight blue and is decked out with Union Jacks. They are in the taillights and illuminating both the dashboard and steering wheel—which is on the left side of the car…America! Needless to say, if you didn't know he was British, you would when you spot him driving down the road.
He holds out his hand to me, and I take it. Once I'm out of the car, Darren drops my hand, sliding his to rest on the crook of my back as he ushers me inside this unfamiliar eatery.
I inch closer to whisper in his ear. "What is this place?"
A smirk curls at the side of his mouth.
"You'll see soon enough." Darren turns his attention toward the maître d’. "Reservation for Gracen."
The man, who looks to be in his mid-thirties, scans his list. "Ah, here we are. Right this way."
Darren's hand is still resting on my back as we follow the maître d’—who looks short without his podium—to our table. We are seated toward the right wing of the stage. Yeah, that's right, I said stage. It appears Darren has taken me to some kind of dinner show. Interesting locale for a first date, and definitely unexpected.
Like the chivalrous gentleman he is, Darren pulls out my chair, waiting for me to sit down before he scoots me in toward the table. Once he makes sure that I'm settled, he takes a seat and slides his chair closer, so he is perpendicular rather than across from me.
When the waitress stops by, Darren orders an Old Fashioned while I peruse the wine list, settling on a glass of rosé. As soon as she walks away, I debate whether or not I should ask the question I've been dying to since my talk with Logan now or later. I chose the latter. There's no need to jump right into it. We can work up to that.
The waitress returns with our alcoholic beverages of choice and jots down our entree orders. Darren gets the chicken marsala, while I order the portobello ravioli. As soon as she walks away, the lights dim, and a woman starts singing in Italian. I lose interest rather quickly when I notice that Darren is watching me rather than the show. I turn to face him.
"Stop that," I whisper in a demanding tone.
He furrows his brow. "Stop what, exactly?"
"Fucking me with your eyes."
He smiles maliciously, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. "I prefer to use my tongue. May I?"
I raise an eyebrow. "May you what?"
Darren leans in closer, bringing his lips to my ear.
"Fuck you with my tongue," he growls, pressing a kiss right under my earlobe.
I swat his shoulder. "Darren, we're at a restaurant."
He nods slowly, almost seductively. Can one be seduced by a nod? I don't know, but with the way my body reacts to Darren, anything is possible.
"Indeed, we are. But if they didn't want me to devour you, then they shouldn't have put these bloody floor-length tablecloths on these tables then. It's practically a challenge. One I would like to accept. Given that you're okay with it, of course." His smile widens wickedly as he wags his brows at me.
I know I shouldn't agree to this, but I really badly want to. He's so damn charming and oozing with sex and confidence. He knows what he wants and isn't afraid to ask for it. That makes him lethal and sexy as sin.
I nod my head, causing him to shake his. "That's not good enough for me. I need to hear you say it, Alyssa."
I slant forward, bringing my mouth to his ear, and whisper. "You have my permission."
He arches one of those rakish brows of his. "Can you be quiet?"
I nod vehemently.
"Cheers," he says on a wink. He swipes a silverware wrap from the table, tossing it underneath the long tablecloth. Before I know it, he slides down his chair and slips underneath the tablecloth, as if he’s retrieving said dropped silverware.
My heart flutters as his hands caress the insides of my thighs before he spreads me open for him. I'm so damn grateful that I wore a dress tonight. Less layers means less time wasted, and right now, I don't want to waste any time. I can feel him tug my panties down my legs until I am completely bare-bottomed underneath my dress. I don't know why he didn't just shift them to the side, but I don't care enough to ask him. The point is they're off and no longer a barrier.
Darren's hot breath tickles my opening as he presses his nose at my entrance. The rugged stubble residing on his square jawline scratches against my thighs. That is probably going to cause a bad beard burn tomorrow, but right now, I don't give a shit. I want this. I need this. I longed for this.
I bite my lip hard, fighting back a pleasurable groan as his tongue presses into my center, giving my slit a long, thorough lick. I clutch onto the sides of my chair, anchoring myself to it for stability as his tongue fucks me mercilessly. The friction from his stubble prickling against my skin sends a tingling sensation down my legs and back up again, settling right in between the apex of my thighs.
I try to focus my attention on the show, rather than what's happening underneath my table right now. Three guys have joined that same woman. Two of them seem to be fighting over her, while the third one who's not is probably her brother or something. I don't know; I don't speak Italian. The brother figure starts singing as the other two appear to be…fuck. Oh, yes. Right fucking there.
"Are you alright, Miss? You look awfully flustered," a voice to my left asks. I turn to find the waitress looking down at me, concern flickering in her hazel eyes.
<
br /> "Mmhmm," I hum with a nod. It's best that I don't open my mouth too much or I might just scream from the intensifying pleasure radiating between my thighs. Seeming satisfied with her due diligence, she walks back into the kitchen.
I grip the seat tighter, causing my knuckles to turn white. I'm so damn close. I arch up as he licks, sucks, tongues, and devours me. He slows his pace, dragging his tongue across my slit at a molasses style pace. He swivels his tongue around my folds in a circular motion, causing my breath to hitch and grow shallower. He repeats his new technique, gradually increasing his speed. Don't fucking stop. Just, oh, keep doing whatever the hell that is. Fuuuuuccck. Here it comes. The tension builds up to the point that I can't take it anymore. Darren flicks his tongue back and forth at rapid speed, finally giving me what I wanted. Like a bomb, I detonate, exploding around his tongue as he continues to lap up my wetness.
Darren doesn't return to the table. Instead, he continues to torture me with his tongue. He slides his way up to my clit, sucking on it as he toys with it between his teeth. I'm hanging off the edge of another release when the waitress returns, placing both of our entrees in front of me on the table. Using my foot, I skim my way until I brush against Darren's erection. This only provokes him, causing him to suck harder as he thrusts a finger inside of me. Once again, I struggle to bite back a moan. If I bite my tongue any harder, I might bite right through it. He curls his finger and rolls my clit around on his tongue—a dangerous combination that causes my muscles to clamp down on him as I come.
After I've been thoroughly lavished by his talented mouth, Darren rejoins me at the table. I feel hollow and empty without him resting between my legs. I miss having him there probably as much as he misses being there.
"Where are my panties?" I ask him on a shaky breath. I'm still trying to catch my breath after orgasm number two.
He pats his pants pocket, causing me to crease my brow. He must sense that I need clarification because after he swallows a forkful of his dinner, he clarifies. "I used them to clean my face. I'll return them to you washed like new tomorrow. You won't be needing them for the rest of the night."
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