At the stifled laughter behind me, I cut a sharp look back, and there I saw my dancing girl again; she seemed thoroughly amused by my misfortune. Logan quickly bit her lip, trying to hold in her mirth. I had to quell the urge to walk over and soothe that lip with my own. She probably read my intent in my expression because her tan skin flushed and she hastily stepped back.
With a look that promised retribution, I turned to her father while Ray belly-laughed. “It’s actually Maxwell, Mr. Logan. You can call me Max. Maximus is just Ray’s odd sense of humor.”
“It’s from one of Ray’s favorite Disney movies, Dad,” Logan explained. “Don’t ask.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” her father said, smiling as we shook hands. “Give me those.” He took the girls’ bags from me.
Logan, walking past me, said softly, “Don’t forget to call me Ila.”
“Don’t count on it,” I murmured equally soft, keeping pace with her as we made our way to the front door. Then I slowed my steps.
A curvy, attractive, Indian woman wearing slacks and a blue sweater appeared in the entrance, her hand braced on the doorjamb. She was a little taller than Logan, and her straight, dark hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. However, it was the smile on her striking brown face—filled with so much love and warmth—that held me transfixed. Just like my mother’s used to be when she was home from her tours. The ache in my chest deepened. I would never receive her happy welcome or ever see her smile again.
“La… Ray!”
Both girls darted to her. She wrapped her arms around them, kissing their cheeks. “My babies.”
“We missed you too, Mom,” Logan said, her voice unsteady.
“Yes, Ma, we totally did,” Ray added. “Just say the word, and we’ll come back home.”
“Absolutely not.” Her gentle features morphed into a stern one. “You need to finish school. And you,”—her concerned gaze shifted to Logan—“you need to do what you love. It’s been too long.” Then those eyes, so like Logan’s, settled on me. “And w…who is this young man?” she asked with a slight slur.
I strode forward, held out my hand, and introduced myself before Ray gave that idiotic name again. “I’m Max Meade-Sinclair, Mrs. Logan.”
She let go of her daughters, ignored my outstretched hand, and studied me. Her gaze drifted up my arms and lingered on my neck. I’d probably shocked her with the multitude of ink I sported. Damn, I should have worn a dress shirt or something instead of a tee. I waited for some disparaging remark or to be dismissed without acknowledgment.
Surprising all hell out of me, instead of shaking my hand, she hugged me.
Neither Logan nor Ray seemed surprised by their mother’s warm greeting. Something inside me tightened. My father was a cold-hearted bastard. My mother, when she was alive, despite being so wrapped up in her music, had made time for me. Instinctively, I knew this woman would do the same. And the hard knot in my gut trembled as if it would loosen…
“Welcome to our home, Max. I’m Maya Logan,” she said. “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes. Ray, dear, show Max downstairs.”
Did she see my intent regarding their oldest daughter and decide to toss me elsewhere, a place far away from Logan?
But with Logan standing a few feet away from me, and her parents doubtless believing I was with Ray, I could do nothing about it. So I let it be. For now.
“Come on, Maximus, let’s show you the guestroom tucked safely in the basement—my dad’s method of keeping guys away from us.” Ray laughed, bouncing on her feet, appearing as if she’d jump out of her skin if she didn’t keep moving.
Snorting, her father disappeared with the bags. Logan slid her arm around her mother’s waist and headed indoors in a slow amble.
I followed. The inside of the house held the same warmth Logan’s parents exuded. Pale walls, warm, wooden furniture, and well-used couches, and an open floorplan living room leading to a dining room through an arched doorway. A group of framed photos hung on one wall, along with a framed award for a 4th dan black belt tournament. Tae Kwon Do. Sean Logan. Right.
I trailed after Ray and found Logan standing in the hallway, biting her lip. As I passed her, I let my fingers lightly brush hers to let her know I was there. Her startled gaze flew to mine. My steps faltered at the sadness I saw there. She gave me a little smile and hurried after her mother.
Frowning, I continued down the sandy-hued carpets and took the stairs that led to the basement. Ray switched on the lights, revealing a wide, open area.
“This is the den.” She waved her arm about, standing on a multicolored rug. “Ila and I used to bring all our friends over, and they’d crash here on airbeds, sleeping bags—we used to have such fun, until, of course, Ila started dating Dumbass.” She grimaced. “Anyway, this couch actually opens up into a bed; unlike the one we have at the apartment.” She bounded back for the stairs. “Make yourself at home, and come on up when you’re ready.”
After Ray had skipped off, I took in the walls painted in rustic colors. The basement had a cozy feel.
A TV took up space on one wall. A short shelf below it housed a DVD player. There was another shelf crammed with books, two armchairs, and the couch that was my bed.
An old easel leaned against the far wall. A faded sheet covered something else stacked near it. I’d bet my father’s bank that they were all Logan’s paintings.
“It’s getting to be a habit, you sleeping on the couch.”
At her teasing voice, I wheeled around, warmth spreading through me. My tote landed on the floor with a thud. I crossed to her, pulling her into my arms. “It matters little where I sleep as long as you’re close. Don’t you realize that by now? Though with me would be better.”
She laughed and eased away. “I’ll bring the bedding later. There are towels in the bathroom.” She nodded to a door at the far end of the room. “If you need anything else—”
I pulled her to me again. “Yeah, my mouth on yours.”
Color rushed to her face, then a smile appeared, making the small dimple near the corner of her lips take on life. “Later, not with Ray likely to pop in here unannounced. You know, I never did thank you for rescuing her from those thugs who attacked her.”
“It’s not necessary. But I’m glad Ray’s and my path crossed. It led me to you.” I lowered my head and pressed my mouth to hers, feeling as if we’d been separated for hours instead of a few minutes. I sucked her bottom lip. “It was pure torture sitting next to you on the ride over, unable to even hold your hand with Ray in the back. Next time, she takes the damn bus.”
Logan’s laughter turned into a moan as I kissed her again, just lips on lips. She leaned into me, shifting and realigning her sexy little body with mine.
Christ, this girl. She’d have me on my knees. Begging.
“Ila, get Max and come on up, dinner’s almost ready,” Ray yelled.
Yeah, there it was. Why I didn’t deepen the kiss as much as I longed to. With a soft groan, I eased my mouth from Logan’s.
She blinked dreamy, golden eyes at me, a light flush staining her cheeks. The urge to kiss her again took hold like a fever. But with our combined happiness in my hands, I refused to deviate from the path I’d set. “Seems we’re expected upstairs for dinner.”
Logan stared at me for a second longer. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re relieved Ray called?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or do you think I’ll change my mind about what I said—about falling in love? I mean it, Max. I won’t.”
I knew her stance on allowing her emotions to get involved. And it irritated me.
I said instead, “I’d planned to spend hours exploring your sexy body before I take you, but if it’s a quickie you’re after, go ahead, call up and explain we’ll be delayed.” Pissed now, I caught the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it off, popped the button on my jeans. As I went to toe off my boots, she grabbed my arm.
“Wh-what are you doing? Are you crazy?” she squeaked, casting a quick look to the stairs.
/> I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You seem to think I have hidden motives for waiting, so let’s just get the first time—the sex—out of the way so your suspicious mind can relax. Recall, Logan, it was only two days ago that we got together. Both nights, you were locked in with your client until late, and then your friend came over. I refuse to rush when I—” Make love to you? She’d run at that word. “—fuck you.”
“Fine, you made your point.” Harrumphing, she pivoted and headed for the stairs. I rebuttoned my jeans, pulled on my shirt, and followed.
Yeah, I’d called her bluff. Never before did I have so much at stake. Whatever this thing was between us, I wanted a chance at it, and for Logan to acknowledge it. Because sex without emotions was just a hookup, and this was far more. Whatever was happening to me, it had me by the balls. For the first time in my life, I wanted a woman to want me for more than my body or name.
***
Dinner was certainly enlightening. Definitely nothing I’d known while growing up. Meals at the mansion were silent, with dinner long, drawn out, five-course affairs I hated. My parents and I sat miles apart at a dining table longer than the Nile.
But this, the small, six-seater table was surrounded by warmth. The table groaned with an abundance of wholesome food. My father’s chef would probably have a coronary at the calorie-laden menu. Roast leg of lamb with baby potatoes and veggies, gravy, and savory rice, along with mac and cheese. The latter I figured was for Ray, who was on a vegan kick. But it all agreed with me.
I sat next to Logan. Far safer I decided than facing her, because then everyone would know my intentions. Ray bounded in with a bowl of salad, set it down, and took the seat opposite me. As we ate, the conversation flowed with Ray filling in her parents on life in the city.
Mrs. Logan turned to me. “Meade-Sinclair—w…would Leland Sinclair be your father?”
If there was one thing I abhorred, it was talking about my father, or myself, but this was Logan’s family, and I couldn’t avoid the one-on-one. “Yes.”
“You have a brother, too, if I recall?”
“No, a cousin. Tanner.” We could be brothers if Tanner weren’t determined to mold himself in Leland Sinclair’s image. The delicious food losing some of its taste, I drank some water, aware that Logan’s father now watched me with a considering stare.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Mrs. Logan said.
“Thank you.” That meant she probably knew about me trashing the music studio at the Conservatory, too.
“What is it that you do, Max?”
Which did I tell her about? Walking out of Sinclair Investments Inc. because I couldn’t stand to look at my father after finding out about him and Cecilia? Or about being kicked out of the Conservatory? And those bastards still hadn’t gotten back to me. So saying, “nothing” wouldn’t go over too well either. “I’m a music major, ma’am. The piano.”
She looked at me in surprise. Then smiled. “That’s wonderful. La is the creative one, but Ray—”
“Is the clever one,” Logan added.
“Yeah, that’s me, the brainiac, I’m awesome.” Ray grinned devilishly.
“So you girls are all set for tomorrow?” their father asked then.
I was grateful not to be the focus of conversation any longer as talk shifted to the fair.
Ray had already explained that the three-day event was a community effort to raise money for charitable causes, which she was passionate about. She’d tried to enlist me last year, soon after we’d met. But I’d been too busy on my downward spiral to take time off for it. My gaze shifted to Logan. Yes, meeting Ray was undoubtedly the best thing to happen to me, even though it took me a turtle’s pace to get here.
“Yep,” Ray answered, shoveling more mac and cheese into her mouth. “I’m doing the Dunk Tank again.”
“What about you, Ila?” Mr. L asked.
She frowned, taking a sip of water. “I’m sure every spot is already filled.”
“I know,” Ray piped up. “Why don’t you do the henna thing again? People like that.”
It was something Eastern brides did on their hands and feet, if memory serves me right.
“Ray, love, I offered to do that this year,” their mother said. “Since La said she may not come.”
“Mom, what were you thinking, taking on something that hectic?” Ray’s smile slipped into an expression of anxiety. “We said we’d help.”
“I know. Do you know how a…annoying it gets not being included in things?” She cut her husband a glare. “I’m not h…helpless, yaar!”
Her little burst of anger took me by surprise. Logan sent her father a distressed glance, but he merely shook his head. As if to say, It’s your mother’s choice.
No one spoke for several seconds. Only the clicking of cutlery cut through the silence. Then Logan said, “Why are you doing this, Mom?”
“Don’t you start,” Mrs. L cut Logan a hard stare. “I refuse to be a bystander any longer.”
“Mom…”
Golden brown eyes flashed. “Do you t…think I’m helpless, too? Like your father does?”
“No. I don’t…” Logan chewed her lip, then her chin angled in a tilt I knew all too well. “You’re right, it’s time I did a henna stall. It’s been too long.”
As if those were magic words, her mother’s battle expression eased, and excitement flowed into her face. “That’s wonderful, La. I only planned the one session anyway. Aunt Mary’s in town, so we’ll visit for a while before coming over.”
As Mrs. L spoke, I noticed the relief in Logan’s expression, but her chin trembled. Discreetly, I stroked her thigh, trying to comfort her. After a second, her hand squeezed mine.
It struck me then, Mrs. L must be sick. Nothing physical that I could pinpoint—except for a slightly slurred stutter in her speech and a slow gait.
“Max, you want to join me at the Dunk Tank?” Ray wiggled her eyebrows at me. “I know the girls will be lining up to take you on—or should I say down? It’ll make me loads of money for my stand,” she teased. Before I could respond, she chimed in again, “On second thought, you’d better help Ila.”
Logan lowered her gaze, her mouth tightening.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. The douche ex would be there. No way would I allow him to upset her. But I wanted her to talk to me in front of her folks, so I asked, “You okay with that, Logan?”
After an endless pause, a tiny smile appeared. And something restless within me eased.
She nodded. “Yes, thank you. Hopefully, you won’t get bored.”
Bored? Never. And so goddamn polite when I knew just how she panted when I had my mouth on her—
“Logan?” Their father cocked a brow.
Hastily, I backtracked to the conversation. “When I met her, I didn’t know her name,” I admitted. “And she didn’t seem inclined to tell me straight away.” Ray choked on her laughter, and I knew why. But she didn’t know it was more so I could get under Logan’s skin. Though, now, it was who she was to me. I hid my smile and continued smoothly. “By the time I learned it, it was too late.”
Red spots of color darkened Logan’s cheeks. “Well, we met at an inconvenient moment,” she protested, “and I had other things on my mind.”
“Other things?” Ray gave into a howl of laughter. “I’m sure you did, sis. Come on, Max, help me with dessert. If I leave you here, Dad will dissect you.”
“As your father, I should demand you tell me what happened,” Mr. L said, “but, knowing you girls, it’s best I live in ignorance.” He pushed away from the table and started to clear it, surprising me. My father’s army of servants would probably fall on their asses if he so much as lifted a glass.
As if in tandem, Logan and Ray got up and helped him.
Their mother rose and swayed. She grasped the edge of the table. Mr. L dropped the plates in a clatter and swept her into his arms, pulling a startled laugh from her. “I’m fine, Seanie, you don’t have to hover.”
“Maya, love, I will ‘hover’ as you so nicely put it until the day I breathe my last.” He pressed his lips to her crown and crossed to the living room, settling his wife on the armchair. Something about their display of affection had my chest tightening.
Logan disappeared from the room and then reappeared with a cup of tea and a small plastic container. A “D” written with a Sharpie on the lid. She set the tea on a side table then uncapped the box. D…dinner. There were several tablets and capsules of varying sizes in there. “Here, Mom.”
“Thanks, darling.”
While Logan and her father tended to Mrs. L, I helped Ray clean up and realized that this was the first time I had sat for any meal with a family who actually liked being with each other.
In spite of Mrs. L’s sickness, there was genuine laughter, love, and teasing between them, something my family sorely lacked even when my mother was alive. And I was like the arid lands of the Sahara, lapping up the outpouring of warmth and love.
Ila
The dishwasher packed, I switched it on and then soaked the glasses in soapy water. As I turned for more, I bumped into a hard, warm body.
“Jesus, Max!” I reared back, pressing a hand to my racing heart as he deposited the used glasses on the table behind me. “You scared the heck out of me. I thought you’d be with my dad, catching a game or something.”
His bisected eyebrow rose, green eyes caressing my face. He stepped closer. “Why? You’re in here.”
God. I leaned my forehead against his chest for a tormenting second. His strong arms came around me. Supportive. Steadying. He pressed a kiss to my head and stroked my back. My breathing quickened, taking me back to two nights ago, and how he’d used his wonderful mouth and fingers on me while Ray was in the shower. If he touched me now, chances were I wouldn’t care where I was.
Ray’s laughter drifted to me. Sanity prevailed. I cast a quick glance at the doorway, and Max’s hands tightened on my hips.
“Max, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he whispered, sliding his lips along my jaw. He nipped my earlobe. “Don’t look at you like I want my mouth back between your thighs? Don’t look at you like I want to hear those soft moans you make while I lick and suck that delectable part of you? Don’t—”
Breathless (Players to Men) Page 13
