by Ella James
He gritted his teeth, punched the number. Get a grip.
He had sworn off relationships, and sex in general, after his last one had ended badly. Valerie had basically stalked him, going so far as to trash his dorm room and steal his laptop. He’d almost had to get the police involved, which would have really screwed things up for him. Even worse, her family was connected, and those connections included Cindy—his benefactor.
He remembered the day he’d found her sitting in his room.
We haven’t lost focus, have we?
No ma’am, we haven’t.
Logan pushed Margo Ford out of his head with a growl. He was going to Mars. Fucking going. The truth of it had made celibacy a lot easier. While every other guy in Cambridge had been chasing trim, Logan was putting even more time into his studies. Making himself even better. He had never imagined he’d face more temptation on Isis than he had around thousands of college girls.
The phone rang nine times before he punched a code to end his pirate program. He’d written it himself in the aerospace lab back at school. It was the only way he could afford a prepaid phone without buying a million minutes. It wasn’t exactly legal, using his own coding to tap into the cellular phone networks, but nobody policed it.
He checked the clock. Eight oh-six. He’d missed her normal after-dinner call—the only place his phone got service was right here in the data room—and right now she was probably at that party for the cheer squad—so it was on to the answering machine.
Her message was the first and only, and Logan’s gut clenched as he pressed play. There was a little intake of breath, the moment where his body always tightened.
“Hey bro, it’s Maggie, giving you your update for today. Cheerleading practice was pretty good. I think I’m gonna be a base next year, ’cause a lot of the other girls are shorter than me. I miss you. Um…as far as everything else…well, dad took the car away. Mama got mad because some stuff she needed for the students was in it. She called the bank, and Mrs. Porter said they hadn’t taken it. Maybe he lost it in a bet. I didn’t think he was gambling anymore…but I don’t know, he could have needed money.
“You asked last time how many he’s taking. I think twelve yesterday. Yeah, that’s three more than the day before, in case you forgot. But it’s been pretty much okay. He’s drinking a lot, too, so he’s mostly just been sleeping. So.” She clucked. “There ya go. Nothing to be worried about, and I mean that. He’s being better these days. Probably ’cause it’s so hot here.
“Okay, well, I love you, Logan. Have fun on your island. Catch a star for me.” She giggled. “That was cheesy. Okay. Buh-bye.”
Logan listened to the message one more time with an ear for the inflections in his sister’s voice. He could never catch every detail the first time because he was always too worried the news would be bad. Mama got banged up again, we went to the ER. Or worse: something with Maggie. She’d turned thirteen just a few weeks ago, and Logan would cut out his heart to keep her safe.
He deleted the message, satisfied that things were as well as they could be, and again noticed his…problem. Even after all that, it was still above half-mast, and when a few laps around the room only brought it to full attention, he decided to do something about it.
The door didn’t have a lock, but he didn’t figure he’d be getting any company. The Japanese team had the night off. They were stuffed into the guest house playing some game that involved a deck of cards and dice. The Australian team didn’t start for another two hours, and the Hawaii team wouldn’t be back till midnight. Still, he picked the most secluded desk to drop his jeans.
5
Margo sighed as she stepped out of the shower. The steamy air had cleared her mind, and she’d been able to improve her feelings about everything. Especially Logan. She would find him right away and make sure he was okay, and then she’d apologize profusely for the atrocious thing she’d done. There was no excuse for that kind of behavior—she still couldn’t believe she’d done it; every time she pictured it she felt sick—but maybe she could make it up to him somehow.
Wondering what, if anything, she could do to make him like her again—even just a little—she padded into the bedroom, where she found her trunks stacked against a wall. She picked out a pale green Dolce & Gabanna dress, and bent over to rummage though her underthings. She was pulling a thong up from her ankles when the door opened. She heard a sharp breath and spun around.
Logan. His face was hazy, but his huge silhouette was unmistakable. She could see his wide eyes and his lolling jaw and HOLY CRAP SHE WAS NAKED!
Margo’s feet moved before her brain could tell them where, and she fell backwards, slamming her head against the bottom bunk with the force of the Obliviate spell. It pushed everything right out of her head except the pain, and she held her hair, moaning. Through bleary eyes she saw that Logan had come halfway across the faded carpet. He had stopped with his face all stretched out, like he had never seen a naked girl before.
She hugged her legs. “Look away!”
He did, and she scrambled up into the bunk, jerking the old comforter over her throbbing head.
Cue the crickets.
Margo’s mortification intensified with every millisecond—and with it, her temper. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”
“How was I supposed to know you’d be here!”
“Maybe because it’s my room?”
There was a long pause, during which Margo wondered if Logan had left. Then, in a steely voice that surprised her, given how he’d acted earlier, he said: “This isn’t your room.”
He sounded so angry that she forgot her embarrassment and poked her head out of the covers.
He was standing in the same place he’d been before, and just the sight of him seemed to strike a match inside her chest. There was something marvelous about him, an instantaneous allure that blended shock and recognition, like she was meeting him again for the first time in a thousand years.
It was weird.
He looked at her trunks and her towel, and followed her footprints to the bathroom. His lovely mouth twisted, like he was looking at a child’s finger painting and finding it…messy.
“Well?” she demanded.
He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling. “This isn’t your room,” he said. “It’s my room. That’s my bed you’re in.”
Which explained why it was the only one with bedding.
Then it sank in—she was naked in his bed!—and Margo felt like dying. “Look, I’m really sorry. I would never have come in here if Jana hadn’t told me to.”
“Obviously you misunderstood,” he said dismissively.
Margo bristled. “Why obviously?”
“Obviously because this is your mother’s island and you’re an heiress. So you get to stay in a nice room.”
An heiress. So that’s all he saw, even after what she’d told him on the plane. She remembered how nice she’d felt, settled in close to him. With his shoulder touching hers, his patient voice explaining how the plane worked. He’d really seemed to like her. And Margo had ruined it.
God, she was an idiot. And she was still being one, because Logan was staring at her like he expected her to say something. What had he said?
Nice room…
“All of the nice rooms are taken,” she said airily.
“What about your mother’s room?” She frowned, and he tilted his head behind him. “You know… fifth floor of the casa?”
Score! Margo could have hugged him for putting the X on her map, but his steely, frozen face stole her nerve.
“No to that?” he said. “Fine. There’s an empty room next door.”
Indignation burned her cheeks. How could he even think of sending her to one of those nasty rooms?
“Why don’t you stay next door if you like the idea so much! You can sleep on the floor with a chair for a pillow.”
“Why should I be the one to move?”
“Well…” She couldn’t think of a go
od reason. One she thought he’d accept, anyway.
“So?” he prodded.
“So you’re from the South. Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman?”
“No more than you’re a lady.”
Margo’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe this… asshole. She took a deep, long breath, focused on her hand slapping his face. She still hadn’t apologized. No wonder he thought she wasn’t a lady. She sat up straighter and met his eyes. “I’m really very sorry about how I acted on the—”
“I don’t care about that.” His voice was a growl, his face a tight mask.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You are,” he snapped. “You’re just another—” spoiled rich bitch.
She guessed that’s what he would have said; he clamped his mouth closed before he could finish, turned, and stomped out the room, slamming the door so hard the doorknob rattled.
*
Margo marched through the wet yard, determined to find Jana and request a change of venue. She’d ask, with dignity and manners, if she could move one of the bunk beds into that empty room. It had a few cobwebs, but she could handle that. No, no, Jana would say, not for Cindy Zhu’s daughter. Space would be made in the casa.
But what if it wasn’t?
Then Logan would be moved. To the barn, with the rest of the animals, because she was starting to think that’s where he belonged.
Shame, anger, and hurt warred inside her tight chest. She’d compared and contrasted his behavior in the plane, and then in the observatory dome, and there was only one conclusion: when they’d first met, he’d felt sorry for her. The realization hit Margo like a fly ball. He knew her dad had died, her mom had ditched her, and—c’mon—she’d been pitiful. She’d cried.
She’d cried, and then she’d slapped him.
Margo pulled open the casa door and strode toward the gentle roar of voices, telling herself she could show her face. The long, shadowy hall led her under several blue-tiled archways, down three wide stairs, and into a dining hall as big as a ballroom. It had stucco walls, lots of ferns, and palm-frond fans hanging from the high ceiling.
The kitchen was sunken on the left end—an octagon with a wide, low counter that opened it to the rest of the room. The counter was piled with food and surrounded by people.
She put a hand to her ear, trying to block out the island music, and scanned the crowd for Jana. Instead, she spotted him. Logan. He was wearing a new t-shirt—slightly tight and grey, with something stenciled above his left peck. His cheekbones sported stripes of pinkish heat, and that dark, wavy hair fanned around his face. His tiger smile was fit for a toothpaste commercial. His lids looked low, those tired eyes lazy.
Margo steeled herself against another wave of anger and regret, and followed his gaze to a wicker table. There, at its furthermost edge, was Janna, breaking off two pieces of a fruit sculpture and passing them to two bouncing red-haired boys.
Heck, yeah! Margo was closer! She bounded to the woman’s side.
“Hola,” Jana chirped. “You are settled in?”
Margo opened her mouth to get straight to the point, but the twins began to shriek. They dashed off, weaving through the legs of the kitchen staff, tripping and jumping to… him. For a horrible second, Margo thought Logan was Jana’s boy toy—but no. That was ridiculous. As well as totally irrelevant.
Logan knelt to greet the boys, his eyes flashing first to their mother, then to Margo, and Jana seemed to fall under his spell. She stepped toward him, indicating with a sweep of her arm that Margo should do the same.
She had no choice.
Someone handed her a glass of red punch, and she downed it too quickly, then forced herself through a group of chattering researchers. They patted her and grinned at her, and she had to greet them all. A few feet away, Logan was speaking, Jana nodding. Margo took a deep breath and closed the distance.
“You did not tell me you had a problem with the plane! So terrrible!” Jana’s eyes jerked from Margo to Logan, inspecting them like a mama bird. She grabbed Margo’s arm and squeezed Logan’s shoulder.
“Logan, you were afraid? Mar-goooo?” She tugged her gaze away from Logan’s solemn face and shook her head at Margo. “Pftt! That is not a welcome! You know,” she continued, her face lighting up, “Logan is the best pilot we have. He is the smartest. He is only 18 and already half-way through MIT!” That said with the enthusiasm of his own mother.
Margo glanced at him through the dark fringe her lashes and found his face a stone. No, not quite. His lip twitched. “I think the plane’s okay. Just some broken blades. I can fix it on my own time.”
Jana shook her head. “Oh, no. We take care of that! And I’m sorry to Mar-gooo again! And thank you to you.” She pressed her finger on Logan’s t-shirt, between the twin curves of his pecs, and he flinched.
Margo seized her chance. “Did you mean to put Logan and I in the same room?”
Jana’s mouth dropped open. She clamped her palm over it. “Oh, noooo. No. That was an accident!” Margo held her breath, waiting for some sweet acquittal. It didn’t come. Jana shook her head, strawberry hair bouncing. “I am sorry. There is no other place.”
Margo and Logan spoke at once. He said, “There’s the room above the barn,” while Margo thrust her arm up like an over-eager pupil. “I can move.”
Jana looked from face to face, brows clenched like she was thinking hard. Her eyes settled on Logan. “Logan, you are good, sí?”
She looked at Margo. “You think he’s a handsome man?”
Margo choked, but Jana wasn’t waiting for her answer.
“The two of you—” She lifted her hand, pointing from Logan to Margo— “you stay there for two weeks. Only two. Team Tokyo goes home, I have more room.”
“I’ll stay in the stables,” Logan said firmly, but Jana shook her head. “No, no, no. No stables. Mar-goo will not bite. You will bite her?”
Grimly, he muttered, “I won’t.”
“Sí! Logan, you be Mar-goo protector. We will be watching out for Margo. Not let anything bad happen.”
Logan looked like he wouldn’t mind something ‘bad’ happening, but he nodded.
“I want you to be friends. You are both young, bonito! I give the deck to you. You going outside!” She squeezed Logan’s shoulder. “You do this for me! Eating with a beautiful girl, it is not so bad!”
6
Logan rubbed his eyes, setting off fireworks that made his head throb harder. He’d gotten a beast of a headache after that argument with Margo.
He sighed. He knew Jana was European, but really? Did she think he wasn’t a guy?
He pushed the deck door open and stepped down onto the tile floor, wondering what exactly he was supposed to say. He’d planned on ducking out of dinner, but apparently Jana had alerted Oscar to her plan. The jovial chef had pulled him aside, encouraging him to “take some time. Ella es lonely.”
Logan squeezed between the table and the wall. The porch was small, just a round purple table pinned by screen and stucco. But still, it dwarfed Margo. She seemed folded into herself, huddled over her plate, her shoulders not half the size of his. Her brown curls spilled down the chair’s thatched back.
She didn’t look up as he sat down. Didn’t flinch when his plate slipped from his sweaty hands and clattered onto the table.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
His gaze glided over the soft lines of her profile, to her rich brown eyes, her luscious hair. Her lips were gently full, her cheekbones sketched up high, like her mother’s. But where Dr. Zhu’s face was wide and smooth, Margo’s was heart-shaped and…detailed.
Logan didn’t know how to explain it, but there was a lot in the tip of her chin, in the twist of her mouth and the scrunch of her dark, smooth brows. She was pretty, but there was something else…
He glanced back up at her. Drawn into herself, she reminded him of a rabbit about to leap. The thought made him remember what Jana said about protecting her. He wondered from what
. He imagined wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her close against his side. He remembered the way her hand felt in his.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Didn’t matter what he wanted. All that mattered was his family, and the freedom he could buy them—and himself— if he kept pleasing Cindy Zhu.
*
Margo wished with all her heart that she could disappear. Just poof herself from Isis to Elizabeth’s house at Tahoe. The Timberdimes would be drinking gin and playing chess, smoking Cuban cigars and making crude jokes about Republicans. Wild and raucous and totally cozy. Nothing like the stifling awkwardness going down on the small patio at Casa de Zhu.
