by Sabrina York
Rafe blew out a sigh. “If all goes well, we’d like for you to do murals in all the restaurants, but we’d have to work it around the customers. It gets pretty busy here in the afternoons and evenings.”
“I can imagine.” Her lips quirked as she slipped the contract back at him, an unfamiliar joy welling in her as he popped it into the folder. “I love your commercials on TV.”
His face broke, a wide smile. “Do ya? My brother Ben is in charge of all that shit.” He flushed. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“It’s okay.”
“My mother would knock me into next week, talking like that in front of a lady. But thank God for Ben. I don’t get any of that advertising sh—stuff. Social media. Advertising. Promotion.” He made a face. “I like managing restaurants.”
“It seems you do very well.”
He flushed again. “Thank you, ma’am. But it is a group effort. I focus on the management side, Brandon does the merchandizing, Ben does all the promo, and Logan handles the development.”
“Logan?”
He nodded, his brow wrinkling a bit. “Yeah. My brother Logan. The one who brought your paintings to our attention. I thought you . . . knew him.”
Logan.
Oh, she knew him. But . . .
Confusion flooded her and then it coalesced as all the pieces fit into place. Something cold and hard nested in her gut.
“You bought my dad’s chili.”
Rafe blinked. “Your dad’s chili?”
“Hank’s Eye-Poppin’ Chili?
He laughed. A full-bodied roll. “Hank is your dad?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this just gets better and better. He does make a damn fine chili.”
“I think so.” But she had to force the words out. The tight ball had swollen up and blocked her throat. Her mind spun. Logan? Logan had done all this?
She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. On the one hand, she was thrilled and relieved that her family was out of the woods, and out of Zack’s grasp. But the disappointment raking her punctured her delight.
She’d really thought someone—some stranger—had loved her work enough to buy every piece. But it had been Logan. It had been Logan all along.
She wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or insulted, which was a strange position to be in, all things considered.
A rustle of activity at the front door captured her attention. Her heart slowed and then erupted into a manic tattoo as hard and heavy footfalls headed their way.
She knew, in her heart, her mind, and her soul. She knew.
He was here.
And indeed, he burst through the door, breathless, his chest heaving. A curl flopped down on his forehead and his shirt was stained with sweat.
Logan.
Her Logan.
Something sizzled in her belly at the sight of him. She hadn’t seen him for weeks and she took him in the way a starving woman inhales a cheesecake. He was so handsome, so large, and firm, so . . . anxious.
He should be.
He’d lied to her.
His gaze flicked to her and clung. “Damn it all,” he growled. “I’m late. I didn’t want to be late.”
Rafe laughed. “Oh, I think we’ve covered most of it.”
Oh. They had. Logan had bought her father’s chili. Bought her paintings. Snatched them from financial ruin in one fell swoop.
Why did it feel like an attempt to buy her?
Chapter Seventeen
Damn, she was gorgeous. So gorgeous she stole his breath. Made his teeth hurt.
He studied her with sharp, hungry eyes, taking in her rampant red curls, her tight features, the rebellious tip of her chin. Her slight form hummed with sudden tension.
Aw, shit. She was angry.
She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him. He didn’t like the look on her face. He’d suspected she’d be pissed when she learned who he was, but he’d hoped to be here before she arrived. He’d hoped to explain everything first.
He should have called.
He should have just gone over to her house and seen her.
But every time he’d thought about it, he talked himself out of it.
Because he was a coward.
He was scared to death of losing her.
And he couldn’t lose her.
Not now.
But now she was here. Now he could explain everything. He needed to take it easy. Go slow. His gaze zeroed in on the fading bruise on her chin and everything easy and slow within him evaporated. The bruise was shaped like a man’s fingers. Zack’s fingers.
His vision went a little red as rage roiled. “Hanna.” He nodded to her. Perhaps he’d clipped that out a little too brusquely, but he didn’t trust himself right now. Didn’t trust himself not to yank her into his arms and kiss her and hold her and know, know, she was okay.
Her lips curled. “Logan.”
Oh yeah. Really pissed.
He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, although across from her was exactly not where he wanted to be. He wanted to be next to her, holding her. In her.
Easy. He reminded himself. Slow and easy.
“Hanna, honey, I know what you’re thinking. I was going to tell you.”
Her expression tightened. “The way you were going to tell me you weren’t a stripper?”
“Whoa!” Rafe leapt to his feet. “Looks like you two need a moment to talk.”
Hanna ignored him. Her gaze was fixed on Logan. “The way you were going to tell me we went to the same high school? The way you were going to tell me you were the one who—”
Her voice broke, but Logan knew what she’d been about to say. Yeah. He was the one. The one who had interrupted one of the nastiest moments of her life. “Hanna . . .”
Rafe, damn him, looked from one of them to the other and laughed. “Well. I guess I’ll leave you to it,” he said, smacking Logan on the shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, Hanna.” He thrust his hand in her direction and she took it.
An unpleasant ripple snaked up Logan’s spine. Rafe was his brother. They’d been closer than jeans to a saddle since their parents had met and married. He would do anything for him. But the sight of him touching Hanna made Logan see red. Made him want to spit nails.
“I’ll, ah, be in the other room,” Rafe murmured, directing this comment to Hanna, which only raised Logan’s hackles even more.
“We’ll be fine,” Logan snapped.
Rafe chuckled. The bastard. He turned to Hanna and winked. “Let me know if you need anything, honey. Okay?”
“Go, already,” Logan growled. And with a saucy salute, he did, taking his time, ambling back into the kitchen, his head cocked, as though he really wanted to listen. Logan fixed his attention on Hanna. “Hanna, I know this is a surprise—”
“Not really.”
He blinked. “I . . . what?”
She sighed, deflating, somehow. “I should have expected it.”
Expected it? “Expected what?” He had the sense she was not talking about the secrets he’d kept.
“You’re all alike.”
“What do you mean?” Trepidation swirled in his gut.
Her hand fluttered toward him. “Men. You’re all alike.”
“No.” They weren’t. Not by a long shot.
“You lied to me.”
“Technically, I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell me the whole truth.”
“There wasn’t an opportunity.” He blew out a breath. “I was going to tell you everything, I was going to explain it all, and make this offer . . . when Zack arrived.” And took her away.
“You’re the one who bought my paintings.”
Damn. He hated the defeated expression on her face. Mostly because he didn’t understand it. “Why do
es that upset you? You needed money and I needed art.”
“You didn’t need art.”
“I wanted art.”
A tear clung to her lash. It about killed him. “I thought . . . I thought someone . . . Oh, I’m an idiot.”
He stared at her. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand women. “What is it, honey?”
She glared at his use of the endearment, but he didn’t care. She was dear. Beyond dear.
“I thought someone actually liked my work.”
“I like your work.” And when she shot him a disbelieving look, “Really like your work.”
She fisted her hands on the tabletop. He couldn’t help noticing the slight tremble. “You bought Dad’s chili. You bought my paintings. You’re . . . just like Zack.”
His breath seized. His muscles locked against the pain her words caused. She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d pointed a rifle at his heart and shot him point blank. “How? How am I just like Zack?”
“Just like him, you’re trying to buy me.”
Something nasty curled and spat in his belly, like a rattler. “I am not.”
Her fingers fluttered. She wrapped them around her glass to still them. “Do you deny you want something from me?”
“Oh, I do.” He pushed back his chair and rounded the table and sat down beside her. It annoyed him that she scooted away. Just a tad, but she scooted away. As though she didn’t trust him. As though she feared him. The thought devastated him. He nearly eased back, but this needed to be said and, by God, she needed to hear it. He set his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, his gaze boring into hers. “I do want something from you, Hanna.”
She flinched. Her throat worked. “What?” Her tone made it clear she thought she knew.
She thought she knew. But she was wrong.
Well, hell, not totally. He did want sex, but not at the cost of the rest.
He lowered his voice, infused it with, he hoped, all the sincerity he could muster. Indeed, his tone was broken, bleak. “I want you to be free. Not driven by some misplaced sense of obligation—”
“It was hardly misplaced.”
He ignored her interruption. “I want you to be free of a man you don’t want. I want you to follow your heart. Goddamn it, Hanna, I want you to be happy.”
Her frown softened. She nibbled her lip. Then she tightened up again. “No one spends that kind of money to make someone else happy.”
“Don’t they?” He’d have given everything he had to see her free of Zack. Anything.
She stared at him, studied him, her expression bewildered. “Why?”
“What?” He cocked his head to the side, unsure what she was asking.
“You heard me. Why? Why did you do it?”
“Don’t you know?”
Her fingers started fluttering again. She tried to turn away. He could not allow it. “This is about sex, isn’t it?” she mumbled.
Pain pinged in his chest. Not just because of her tone, ravaged and disheartened. But because she didn’t trust him. He didn’t blame her. He blamed Zack, the asshat who had used and abused her.
“No, Hanna. It’s not about sex.” He swallowed. It was difficult to push the words out, but he had to. “It’s about a kid. A stupid, awkward kid who was in love with a girl once. And then he saw her again. He hated the look in her eye. The trapped look in her eye. That boy would have done anything to protect her, to make her happy. To set her free. To set you free. I did it for that boy.”
***
Hanna gaped at him. Her heart ker-chunked and then tumbled. His words, his features were so imbued with an irrefutable earnestness, and undeniable pain. She wanted to believe he’d done those miraculous things out of the goodness of his heart, and not to bind her to him with obligation. But a little voice in the back of her mind urged her to be cautious.
Something else crowded her consciousness, surfaced in the swirling miasma of emotion. It wasn’t about sex. Why did that make her stomach plunge?
“So . . . you don’t want me?” It came out in a small voice, slipped out before she could hold back the ridiculous words.
He stared at her, his eyes red-rimmed. His lips opened and closed. “What?”
“You said this wasn’t about sex. You don’t want me.” She swallowed. As hard as it had been to say the first time it was a damn sight harder to repeat.
That he laughed, a harsh snort, didn’t help.
But then he yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Not just a quick, gentle buss. This was a savage, wanting kiss.
By the time he pulled back, she was breathless. “Oh, I want you. Don’t ever doubt that. But not for sex.” He winced and scrubbed his face with a palm. “Okay. Not just for sex.” He searched for words for a moment. “I was head over heels for you in high school. But we’re different people now. I’m not that geeky kid and you’re not that carefree cheerleader. I did all this because I wanted, needed, a chance to explore what’s between us. But only . . .” He held her out, far enough to skewer her gaze with his. “Only if it’s what you want. That’s what this has been all about. That’s why I helped your dad sell his chili recipe . . . although it is damn good chili. That’s why I had Rafe buy your paintings and commission you to do more. Although they are damn gorgeous paintings. I did it all so you’d be free. Free to make your own choice. And I mean that.” His voice rumbled with intensity. “And if I’m being perfectly honest . . .”
“Yes, please. Please be perfectly honest.”
He shot her a slightly repentant smile. “It didn’t hurt that I got to thwart Zack in the process.”
Her heart, her mood, lifted. She did feel free. Utterly free, like a bird set to wing. Her father was no longer under Zack’s thumb. Someone—other than Logan—liked her paintings enough to want to buy them. Three of them at least, Rafe had told her. And she had the chance to create more art—and get paid for it. Everything she’d ever wanted or needed or prayed for, he’d handed to her.
If she hadn’t adored him blindly already, she certainly did now. Only one question remained. “Why did you hire me to paint your mural?” That went above and beyond freeing her. Far above and beyond.
His lips quirked. “Don’t you know, baby?”
She shook her head.
“So I could see you. Once in a while I could see you. We’d be working closely together as the store nears its launch. I thought, perhaps, in that time, I could get to know you better and you could get to know me. There’s something between us, Hanna. Something powerful. This gives us both a chance to explore it.” He sat back and raised his hands. “With no strings attached.”
Oh. She liked that idea. Liked it a lot. Spending time with him. Exploring . . . this. Her soul soared. “No strings?”
“None. Whatsoever.”
She nibbled her lip. “No ropes either?” She shouldn’t have teased him like that, reminding him of their adventures in the barn. But it was far too tempting.
His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. A muscle bunched in his cheek. “M-maybe. If you want.”
She liked the way she could reduce him to a stutter, this calm, assured, dominant man. She liked the idea of getting to know him, exploring their connection. She really liked the idea of working with him on . . . something.
“So what do you say? Are you in?”
Hanna snorted. “I already signed the contract.”
Logan frowned. “Fuck the contract. What do you want?”
And that was it, wasn’t it? That was what touched her heart and truly freed her and made her want to burst into song. This man, this gorgeous, sexy, powerful man was willing to let her walk away from this, from everything. If she wanted to.
She didn’t want to.
“When do I start?”
His lips curled into a slow smile. His muscles relaxed. He
nearly collapsed in a heap at her side. And she realized how tense he’d been. How anxious, awaiting her response. It only validated her decision.
“As soon as you can make the arrangements. Tomorrow?” He suggested hopefully. “Today? Now?”
Hanna laughed. The first truly heartfelt laugh she’d known for far too long.
Exhilaration bubbled through her. And not just for the mural. She was going to get to spend time with Logan. To get to know him better. To explore this thing between them.
She couldn’t wait.
Chapter Eighteen
He couldn’t wait.
Couldn’t wait to get . . . started. With this exploration.
Oh, the mural was important too. He really wanted this restaurant to be a huge success, and not just because it was located close to his home. He had a sense, a pinging in his gut, that with her taking part in the décor, it would be downright gorgeous, and ambiance was everything in the restaurant business.
But really, he couldn’t wait to get her alone again.
“We can go by now and have a look at the site,” he suggested. “You could take some photos and start thinking about ideas. It’s still under construction, but everything is ready for you to start work right away.”
It thrilled him that she nodded. Smiled.
Damn, he loved her smile.
“Are you ready?” he asked, though part of him wasn’t asking about the trip across town. Part of him was asking about something else entirely.
She met his gaze, steady and strong. “Yes,” she said.
He hoped she was responding to his unspoken question. A shiver of anticipation walked through him. He held out his hand. “Great. Let’s go.”
Rafe popped his head out of the kitchen as they stood, confirming Logan’s suspicion he’d been listening in. “Where are you going?” he asked, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“We’re heading for Red Oak. So Hanna can get the lay of the land.”
Rafe’s eyes lit up. Probably with mischief. “Oh, I want to go.”
