Biting Me Softly: Biting Love, Book 3

by Mary Hughes

  “Moonlight has taste?”

  “Mmm.”

  Absently, I touched my neck, maybe to taste my skin and see what sex drug Logan was on. It would make a mint on the Internet.

  My fingers came back red. I jacked up.

  Logan fell back, his hand slapping over his mouth. His eyes were twin rubies.

  We stared at each other. My fingers unconsciously wandered back toward my neck. Logan’s red eyes followed them. I touched—wet. Sticky wet, like blood. On my neck. Like a vam…

  In one step Logan was on top of me. He snared my wrist, used it to pull me against him. His head descended toward my throat.

  “No!” I tugged, but it was useless. He grabbed my shoulders and immobilized me with a shockingly strong grip. Not simply male-strong but unstoppable-strong. Inhumanly strong. I struggled futilely as his head descended.

  His tongue swiped across my throat, warm and gentle. Two swipes, three. He released me.

  I wound up and slapped him good. The crack was loud enough to echo. “What the hell was that?” I yelled. “I don’t know what Zinnia lets you get away with, but I’m not into kinky!”

  His ruby eyes faded to a puzzled hazel. “Zinnia?”

  I flushed. “You can’t just waltz in here and try to seduce me and then start with that kinky stuff.”

  “Liese.” His cheek was blossoming with a red hand-print. It must have hurt like the dickens, but all he said was, “What does Zinnia have to do with it?”

  “Nothing!” I laughed. It came out hysterical. I hopped off the desk, jerking at the feel of wet denim between my legs. “Absolutely nothin—what’s that racket?”

  Logan snared his cell out of his jeans pocket. The emerging ringtone sounded like the Chicago Symphony brass, so loud I covered my ears. He snapped it open and slapped it to his cheek. “What.” A moment and his expression eased. “Good. I’ll finish from here.”

  “Finish what?” I asked.

  “That was my project leader.” Logan snapped the phone shut. “The grid is connected, ready to go online.”

  I swallowed. “That was quick.”

  “Yes. I had them rush it.”

  “Oh.” I tried not to feel threatened. Tried not to imagine the worst just because I felt vulnerable with Logan. He had them rush it. It didn’t mean he had them rush it to get out of here and into Zinnia’s slim, perfectly manicured clutches sooner.

  “Because of the hole.”

  My eyes rose to his. The sexual heat in his gaze wasn’t gone exactly, but had been gentled by sympathy. Vulnerable? Try completely defenseless. I crossed my arms, as if they could protect me from the warmth of his expression. “Yes, that hole. You were going to tell me about it?”

  “Liese. I know you’re hurting—although I’m not sure why.”

  My arms tightened automatically. Despite my Botcher shields, Logan had ravaged me to within an inch of screaming “Jump on bareback, cowboy, I’m a wild filly.” Frankly that scared the silicon out of me but I wasn’t going to admit it, especially since his quick brain had probably already figured it out. Bad enough he could make me helpless with sex. Logan smug would be overkill. “I’m annoyed. You knew about that hole. How?”

  “I wish you’d tell me who injured you. You can trust me, sweetheart.”

  “Isn’t that easy to say.” My arms cinched so tight I cut off circulation to my hands. I let up slightly. “You want me to trust you, start by telling the truth about the hole in my Blood…in the Blood Center’s floor.”

  “Easy to say?” Logan’s eyes turned inward. “Yes, of course. You want me to earn your trust. Natural enough.” He hit me with a smile so brilliant I nearly flash-fried. “I originally filled the hole in.”

  My mouth dropped open. He was actually telling me? No, it couldn’t be this easy. “And when was this, exactly? You just arrived in town yesterday.”

  “I was here during the Festival. Razor’s gang was causing trouble. We tried to keep it quiet because we didn’t want to scare the tourists.”

  I dropped my arms. “Razor was trying to break into the Blood Center back in November?”

  “And his gang.”

  “Oh, right. The Li’l Shavers.”

  Logan’s smile quirked into a grin. He leaned against the wall, all negligent strength. “They weren’t very sharp. It was easy to cut them down to size.”

  How did this powerful CEO morph so quickly into the mischievous boy? “So you personally whiskered in and scraped together the alarm system?”

  Logan blushed slightly. “Er, no. I also head a…security force, I guess you’d call it.”

  His reaction confused me. “A division of Steel Security?”

  “Civic sector, actually.” Logan shrugged, a jerk rather than his usual smooth play of muscle. “Kind of a neighborhood watch.”

  I felt the start of a smile, first one in what felt like years. Logan Steel, corporate prince and indolent playboy, did charitable work. And it embarrassed him. Too cute.

  And too good an opportunity to pass up. “That was nice of you.”

  “Not nice.” He grumbled it.

  Served him right. “Sure it was. And sweet. And cute. And—”

  “All right, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I ever called you nice. Now do you want to know about the hole or not?”

  Actually, no. I wanted to tease him. It startled me. Logan Steel was going to take my job, deprive my mom of health insurance and leave me with a nuclear winter of doctor bills. And I wanted to tease him. Fit me with a paper gown for Nurse Ratched, I’d gone insane. “Yeah, the hole. It was first dug in November?”

  “Yes. I filled it in and patched the floor. I thought that was the end of it.”

  “But Razor dug it out again.” And stole a case of blood. “He came in through the sewer, redug the hole and—you said it was mannequins. You lied.”

  Logan winced. “I’m sorry, princess, but I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Howling wolves was so much better?”

  “Well, yes. Better than you worrying Razor had—past tense—direct access.”

  “But doesn’t the timing concern you? Nothing since November, then wham, this Razor redigs the tunnel the week you put in new security?”

  “Damn, you’re sharp. Yes, that’s another reason I rushed it. To make sure Razor stays out.” Logan reached for me, stopped himself. Touched his red cheek and smiled a bit ruefully. “I was concerned for you.”

  Warmth suffused me. He’d fibbed, but then he’d come clean. I could almost trust him…except Botcher had lied and come clean too. This felt different, but I wasn’t sure how. Maybe because Botcher had ’fessed up out of spite but Logan had done it out of lov—niceness. “That explains the scraping I heard earlier this evening. Apparently they didn’t know you’d repatched—”

  The first few bars of Also Sprach Zarathustra cut me off. Logan snapped out the cell just as the heavens opened and the brass and tympani exploded.

  “Geez. Is that a phone or a home theater system?”

  Logan grinned. “What can I say? I run a security shop. I have to keep up with technology.”

  “Or you have the latest toys to stay alpha geek.”

  “That too. Steel.” Almost immediately Logan’s tone moderated. “Yes, sir.”

  His tone was filled with respect, like he was speaking to an esteemed superior. But Logan was a prince of business. Nobody outranked him.

  “Yes, Mr. Elias.”

  Ah, yes. I’d heard of Elias, president of Steel Security’s board of directors. Not so much a superior as a guiding light.

  “A few new items on Project Shield, sir. The enemy is still unidentified but he’s definitely a member of the coterie. And we’ve discovered that his target is a major Chicago landmark.”

  That didn’t sound good. An enemy with a target sounded like grand theft. Maybe even terrorist, which made me think bomb which made me worry the major landmark might be the Sears Tower. Well, the Willis Tower now, but still a hundred and eight stories of vu
lnerable squishy people.

  I would have asked what was going on but Logan took a sharp breath.

  “You’ve set a deadline for Project Center? That explains your sending the bus of interviewees.” His face paled. “Yes, Mr. Elias, I understand. Monday. One week to finish the job. No problem, sir.”

  The job. Called Project Center…taking over the Blood Center.

  And eliminating me.

  I might have doubted my conclusions but Logan was all business after that. Remote, almost cold. No more kisses, no more instant orgasms. I was glad of that. No, really.

  He showed me how to arm the grid, which was monitored by the police 24/7. We’d had a perimeter system before, but this one also did ceiling, floor and twenty feet around the building. Motion detectors, pressure-sensitive plates, the whole thing ran on a computer no bigger than a trade paperback. The comparatively massive blade chasses parking in my Dell was the artificial intelligence.

  Logan delivered the information like a lecture, automatic and impersonal. And without meeting my eyes once. “Tomorrow my people will configure the AI.”

  AI, the machine brains that would make my mere human one obsolete. After which, Logan need only replace my even-less-attractive body with Ms. Soccer-Mom or the nubile sylph Brianna. “Wonderful. By the way, Nixie called.” My voice thankfully only sounded a tenth as frozen as I felt. “She had a message for you.”

  “A message.” Instantly Logan stilled. He turned to me, not just his eyes but the entire focus of his being.

  He knows something. Another secret. No surprise, but it still hurt. Despite only having met him yesterday, despite knowing he wasn’t mine, I had orgasmed with him. Apparently I thought that made us closer than we were. Damned monogamy gene. “Her tour’s been extended another couple weeks. Julian’s staying with her so you’ll have to take some sort of negotiations. Friday, six-thirty—with Nosy, whoever that is.”

  Absolutely motionless now, Logan’s attention was so fierce it hurt.

  I cleared my throat, prompted, “Nosy. That’s an odd name, isn’t it?”

  A dangerous, heavy silence underscored his stare. Just before I cracked and fled he eased his stance, deliberately, meticulously. “Oh, you know Nixie. Her crazy nicknames. Thanks for the message, Liese. Don’t stay long.”

  Without further explanation, he left.

  Chapter Six

  I stood outside Nieman’s Bar, shivering. The March night was cold, but my shakes weren’t due to weather. Despite everything, I’d let Logan seduce me. If it hadn’t been for my red fingers and imagining blood, followed by that phone call, I’d have spread my legs like a tablecloth and invited him to feast.

  Apparently I had not learned my lesson with Botcher. It appalled me how easily Logan overcame my defenses. Like a stallion. A golden stallion, effortlessly jumping my de-fences. Ha-ha.

  I groaned, covered my face with one hand. Not punny. Yet Logan’s absurd sense of humor was part of his charm. Playful, innocent, almost childish. And it connected with me on that innocent, childish level.

  I had to remember that Logan Steel was anything but a child. And what he did to my body was anything but innocent. Weird, kinky, yes (lapping at my neck—bloody or not—he definitely had some kind of vampire fetish going). Incredibly hot, but so not innocent.

  And so like Botcher. Well, not the hot part. But the part where he seduced me, used me, and threw me away. Like sixteen months ago, but this time it wasn’t only my bank balance on the line. This time my mother’s life was at stake.

  God, had it only been sixteen months? Mom had been living comfortably on her pension and my father’s life insurance money. Then I’d crashed and she’d sold her house and moved to Chicago to support me. Her new mortgage was higher, her savings rapidly disappeared. We didn’t worry, knowing I’d get a good job when I got back on my feet.

  Botcher’s blacklisting killed that hope. The cancer and onslaught of medical bills wiped out the rest. It was only Elena’s job recommendation that saved us.

  Now I was the rock.

  I had to remember this was a war. A nasty guerilla war, and I’d already taken devastating hits. Time to stop playing Ms. Nice SysOp.

  Time to find allies.

  Race Gillette was in the security industry and knew Logan. Race might have information I could use—like whether Logan had a flower fixation and had planted any zinnias in his bed. Garden analogies aside, Zinnia was still probably going to get my job.

  I pushed inside the bar, saw Race sitting at a table with his arm slung around a scantily clad young woman. Her halter was two triangles designed by Edward Scissorhands, her leather skirt so short it looked like a belt. Six-inch platform shoes and a dumpster-load of bling completed an ensemble that said ten bucks a blow even to my untutored eye.

  Well. Yet another male dumping me for someone sexier. Strangely, I felt relieved. I turned to go.

  “Hey, dollface! C’mon.” Race was waving at me.

  WWMMD? Without even an inkling what Miss Manners would have done, I went over. Race swatted the woman’s behind. “Go get us ’nother pitcher, honeypot.” He let out a loud belch.

  Her acid glare as she flounced off (displaying impressive balance on those skyscraper Fuck-Me pumps) told me “honeypot” didn’t mean quite the same thing as “sweetheart” or even “princess”. I hesitated. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “The more the marrying.” Race hiccupped.

  “The more the…isn’t it ‘merrier’?”

  “Whatever. C’mon, have a seat.” He thumped the chair on his other side.

  I nodded in the direction of Lady FMP. “Won’t your girlfriend mind?”

  “Nah. I’m a playa. She may get a little pissy, but she’ll come back for my shweet…sweet lovin’.” He tossed back his beer.

  This guy, a playa? A stud with a lady in every port? Or two or three, like Logan? I gritted my teeth. I didn’t care how many ports Logan sailed into. Or even how big his schooner was.

  Honeypot returned, slapped the tray down and splashed out three beers. Yeah, Race would have to do some extra-sweet lovin’ tonight. I was amazed he didn’t pop holes from the barbs she was giving off—and she was shooting just as many at me.

  Race took a deep draft of his refilled beer, set it down with a slosh. “So Liesh…Liese. How good do you know Sht…Steel?” The slop and slurs told me it wasn’t his first beer of the night, or even his fifth.

  “I only met him yesterday.” Sunday. Was that all it had been?

  “Not how long. How good.”

  In the Biblical sense, I knew him almost as well as my ex. And it had taken Botcher half a year to get as far as Logan had gotten in one day. “He’s CEO of Steel Security, Fortune 500—”

  Race slammed a fist into the table. “Everybody knowsh that.”

  I jumped and slewed a quick glance at Honeypot, but if Race was abusive, she wasn’t worried. She was chugging her beer, drained it in four seconds flat. Impressive.

  “Logan Sht…Steel is a crook.” Race thumped a meaty finger on the table in front of me. “He says I owe him money. Says he won it fair and square, but he’s a liar. And a swaddler.”

  “You mean swindler?” Under his anger I heard a hint of fear.

  “Whatever!” Race gave an irritated poke at my glass. “Dirnk…drink your beer.”

  I took a sip. A pleasant warmth hit my stomach. “How did Steel win your money?”

  “He didn’t win it. He stole it.” More table smacking, but this time I heard the fear clearly. Saw the helplessness lurking in his eyes. “Shome German card game. M’boss floated me half so now I gotta repay him too.”

  “Half? How much did you lose?”

  Race’s face reddened. “Drunk y’r brew. Frien’s don’t let frien’s drunk alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s the way it goes—”

  “Drunk!”

  Well, that was rude. I would have said buh-bye and left him to his roar except for my hope that he might have more info on Lo
gan. Shrugging, I drank. A pleasant feeling bubbled to my head. “So Steel stealed your money?” I laughed. “Steel, steal. Get it?”

  Race stared at me. I guess he didn’t get it.

  “Baby, I’m bored.” Honeypot draped herself over Race’s shoulder.

  “Yeah? I got something you can play with.”

  When Honeypot slid off her chair to the floor, I jumped to my feet. “Did she just pass out?”

  A smile spread slowly on Race’s face. He didn’t answer.

  “She might be sick. We have to do something!” I fumbled for my phone, ready to dial nine-one-one, and stuck my head under the table.

  And sprang back up, cheeks burning. Apparently there were other uses for a beer-chugging open throat.

  “Peepshed pro’ly isn’t even a real game.”

  I gaped at Race. He was speaking through that? When Logan just touched me I couldn’t form coherent words. If he were to put his mouth between my legs, heat me with his breath, stimulate me with his clever tongue…I shuddered. Even the thought made me speechless.

  “Why sh’ud I hafta pay? He’s the golden boy. Has all the money, gets all the honeys. ’n now m’boss says get the cash or I lose my job. You gotta do somethin’.”

  The last was aimed at me. My gape became a gawp. “I do? Why me?”

  “You wanna lose your job? No, you gotta hit Shteel before he—oh, yeah.” Race’s eyes crossed. “Yeah, baby, like that. Don’t worry, dollface. We got your back.”

  “What? Who’s we?”

  “My boss. He’s shmart. And rootless. Oh, yeah.”

  Ruthless, my mind supplied.

  “And pow’rful. He can protect you from Steel. He’s one of th’ most pow’rful execrables in Chicago.”

  I guessed he meant executives. “But Race, what do you want me to do—”

  “Hey, sugar daddy.”

  A young woman tottered toward Race on five-inch platform stilettos. She wore a short fur jacket and shorter skirt. From that and her mason-applied makeup, I guessed she was a hooker. From the Meiers Corners Fighting Dachshund tattoo on her cleavage, I guessed she was one of our homegrown part-timers.

  “Hey, shweetie pie.” Race’s eyes were still crossed. I wondered how he recognized her.