by Cassia Leo
No amount of chakra-aligning can make me forget that Logan is a self-serving man-whore. Seeing him with Lindy yesterday was a wake-up call. I don’t plan on falling under his spell again.
Logan and I return our Wedded Warrior amulets to Dr. Mahoe and claim the yoga mat nearest her and Bobby. As I sit cross-legged near the front edge of the mat, Logan takes a seat behind me, his legs splayed out on either side of me.
He leans forward to whisper in my ear, “If at any time you should feel any discomfort, please let me know and I’ll make sure to go harder.”
A shiver travels over my skin at his words and the sensation of his hot breath in my ear.
Nope. Not going to fall for it this time.
“Like this?” I reply, then I throw my head back to slam the back of my head into his chin.
“What the—?” he groans, and I can hear the scrape of his hand rubbing his scruff. “I had a feeling you liked it rough, but this is a level of violence I didn’t anticipate. I’m into it. I’m the king of playing dirty. Buckle up, baby.”
He rises to his feet suddenly, peels off his black Adidas T-shirt, and tosses it behind the elderly couple behind us. Unfortunately, he doesn’t toss it hard enough and it lands on the woman’s face.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I meant to throw it over you,” he says as her husband peels the shirt off her head. “I’m really sorry.”
I cover my mouth to keep from laughing as the woman looks up at Logan with hearts in her eyes.
The woman shakes her head. “Oh, no, dear. No need to apologize. That’s the most action I’ve gotten in years.”
Her husband rolls his eyes at the way she’s ogling Logan. “And she wonders why she doesn’t get any action,” he says, handing Logan’s shirt back to him. “At least you two are trying to work things out now instead of waiting until you’re a couple of old farts like us. That’s a good sign. You’re probably the only couple here who doesn’t hate each other.”
“I heard that, Sherman,” his wife chides him.
Logan laughs as he takes his shirt back and walks to the back of the room to hang it on a coat hook near the entrance, then he returns to take his seat behind me with an enormous grin on his face.
He leans forward again to whisper in my ear, but this time he places his large hand on the back of my head to prevent further injury. “You can play coy all you want, but everyone here can see what is so plainly written all over your face.”
“What’s that?”
“That you so desperately want my Magnum.”
I have to give him points for persistence. If he weren’t so gorgeous, and didn’t smell so damn good, I’d probably have been on the first flight back to New York last night. The truth is his seductive little comments could absolutely be categorized as sexual harassment, since he is technically my boss. But I think I showed him last night that I’m no one’s bitch.
My brain has fully bought into this tough-girl act. I wish I could convince my heart and loins.
When everyone is situated on their mats, Dr. Mahoe and Bobby sit on the purple yoga mat right in front of us. “Good morning, tribes. I am very excited to show you all a new way to achieve deeper intimacy and balance in your relationship,” she begins, flashing a lusty look in Bobby’s direction as she straightens her back. “We are going to start out today with the yab-yum pose.”
Mahoe and her husband turn to each other, and he bends his knees to support her as she climbs into his lap. “Okay, ladies. Follow my lead and climb into your husband’s safe space.”
I turn around to face Logan, and I’m not at all surprised to find him wearing a cocky, shit-eating grin, which really complements his dangerously sexy physique. Holy pectorals!
He beckons me. “Come to papa.”
I roll my eyes as I crawl toward him and climb into his lap. All the other couples are following Dr. Mahoe’s lead and embracing each other. The elderly couple behind us even appear to be grinding against each other. Meanwhile, I don’t even know what to do with my hands. They’re pretty much just balled up into fists, which serve as a barrier between me and Logan’s rock-hard pecs.
“Ladies, make sure you lock your ankles behind your husband’s back. Gentlemen, if you have back problems, please feel free to move your mat closer to the wall, so you can lean against it for support,” Mahoe instructs us calmly with her eyes closed as she rests her cheek on Bobby’s shoulder, looking totally blissed out.
A soft moan issues from the elderly couple behind us, but I don’t dare look to see if it came from the husband or the wife.
I draw in a deep breath, which is laced with the intoxicatingly masculine scent of Logan’s warm skin. Oddly, the scent relaxes me, and I find myself lulled into a state of openness. I lift my head a little, tearing my gaze away from his perfect pecs to look up at his perfect face.
“Don’t choke on me, Bishop,” he says playfully. “Let’s show these sex-starved couples how it’s done.”
I know he’s giving me a pep talk to spark my natural competitive instincts, but I don’t mind. In fact, I think I’ll have a little fun with this.
I flatten my hands against his chest and smile at his barely perceptible intake of breath. I slowly slide my hands upward, my fingertips whispering over the grooves of his muscles. Goose bumps sprout over his skin as I lock my arms around his solid neck and look him directly in the eye.
“I never choke under pressure,” I reply in a seductive whisper.
His arms wrap around my waist, and he tightens his hold on me so our bodies are flush against each other. “That’s why we make such a great team. Maleficent plus Voldemort forever.”
Mahoe straightens her spine as her husband’s hands slide from the small of her back to her butt. “Okay, tribes. Now, look into your partner’s eyes as you place your hand on their heart. Feel the rhythm of their beating heart against your fingertips. Deep breath in… Deep breath out.”
I swallow hard as Logan and I lock eyes. Our right hands land on each other’s chests, and his skin is so warm and taut under my fingertips. And the sensation of his hand sinking into the pillowy flesh of my breast makes my skin tingle. I don’t know if I’m taking deep breaths, as Mahoe has instructed us to do, because I’m not even sure I’m breathing. All I do know is that the thump of Logan’s heart against my hand feels like a call to worship.
“Okay, now lean your foreheads against each other and breathe. If you feel more comfortable, you may close your eyes.”
Closing my eyes, I expel a long breath and my shoulders relax as I focus on my other four senses: the scent of Logan’s hair, the warmth of his skin, the soft drum of his heart beating, the taste of his lips on mine.
His lips on mine?
Oh, yeah. His lips are definitely on mine.
It’s soft at first, a gentle exploration, testing the waters. But when I don’t pull away, when I reciprocate, his kiss turns hungry. His tongue slides into my mouth, curiously seeking mine and a small whimper tumbles from my lips. He nips my bottom lip gently, and a bolt of pleasure pulsates between my legs. I tangle my fingers in his hair, preparing to devour him, when the sound of giggles renders us frozen.
As we pull away from each other, we’re both winded as if we just ran a hundred-meter dash. We look around to find a wide variety of expressions staring back at us. Everett looks like a kid on Christmas morning. Everyone else is looking at us with a mixture of amusement and longing. Well, all except Lindy and Kitty.
Kitty looks unimpressed by my public display of affection with the husband who may or may not have cheated on me two days ago. But Lindy… If looks could kill, the look she’s giving me probably has the power to travel back in time and kill my mom so I’m never born.
A slim Japanese man driving a black Jeep Grand Cherokee picks us up at our Waikiki hotel. By the time we arrive at Come Fly With Me helicopter tours heliport, it’s pouring rain.
Our driver pulls up into a lot, which is separated from the heliport by a chain-link fence. “Are you sure
you want to do the doors-off helicopter tour?” he asks as Logan hands him a generous tip. “I’m sure they can reschedule your tour for next week if you ask them nicely. The weather is supposed to clear up on Friday.”
“We leave the island on Wednesday,” Logan replies. “Do you not have any helicopters with doors?”
“Those are all booked today. Sorry.”
Logan and I look at each other, then we look through the car window at the torrential downpour, then back to each other. “It’s your call, pumpkin pie,” he says with a sexy smile.
“Could we not make pumpkin pie a thing?”
“Do you prefer chocolate pudding pie? Or tasty squeeze? Maybe, my little marshmallow?”
I shake my head. “Pumpkin pie will do. And doors-off helicopter ride works for me.”
Logan cocks an eyebrow as he reaches for the door handle. “Looks like someone’s dying to get wet. You’re with the right man. Let’s go!”
We race through the opening in the chain-link fence toward the blue helicopter, where a man wearing a headset with a microphone waits for us. By the time we make it inside the back seat of the helicopter, the luscious blonde curls I worked on this morning before yoga class are plastered to my head and face. Of course, Logan somehow manages to look devastatingly handsome when he’s soaking wet.
Before I can say anything, the pilot hands us each a similar aviation headset for us to wear. “Do you need to teach us how to use these?” I ask the pilot.
“Nope. You just have to wear ‘em. This is solely so I can communicate with you during the tour,” he replies, sounding a bit peeved.
I want to ask if he’ll be able to hear us, but I don’t want to ask stupid questions. As the helicopter charges up, Logan grabs my hands and laces his fingers through mine. This is when I notice he’s not wearing his wedding band.
Obviously, we’re not really married, so it shouldn’t matter if he wears the ring or not. But, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve seen him wear it since the day we arrived at the resort.
I shake my head as I realize I don’t really know if he’s been wearing the ring, and it’s possible he just forgot to put it on this morning. I forgot to put mine on before last night’s tribal council meeting. But even though I know it shouldn’t matter, I can’t help but feel like it does. I can’t help but feel it’s a bad omen, like when I picked team Ka’Pipi out of the bowl at our first council meeting.
As the helicopter takes off, I get a swooping sensation in my belly and tighten my grip on Logan’s hand. He gives my hand a light squeeze in return, and the mild calluses on his palm make me curious. What would cause a man like Logan Pierce, a man with access to every luxury he desires, to build calluses?
I let go of his hand and turn it palm-side up to trace my finger along the rough, damp skin. “What are these from? Stroking your Magnum?”
He lets out a deep, resonant laugh. “If you must know, these are from riding Minnie a bit too hard without my gloves on.”
I cock an eyebrow. “I sense deception. Are you trying to make me jealous?”
“Are you jealous?”
“That depends. Is Minnie a horse or a whore?”
He laughs again as the pilot banks left and we get sprayed by raindrops forced through the rotor blades. “She’s my mom’s Thoroughbred,” he says, wiping some dampness from my cheek. “My mom doesn’t ride her as much anymore, so I’ll sometimes offer to run Minnie when the stable hand is out of town.”
I feel my chest swell with emotion at this small gesture he’s described, which seems in its scope to be sort of like the ultimate first world problem. But it also shows how much he cares for his mother. And this makes me miss my mom so much the ache in my chest makes my eyes water.
As the pilot begins describing the unobstructed bird’s eye view of Magic Island on our right, I turn my head to the left to hide my face as I wipe a tear from my cheek. Somehow, without seeing my face, Logan seems to pick up on my overwhelming emotions. He laces his fingers through mine again and lays a tender kiss on my temple.
I sniff loudly as I turn back to him. Every alarm bell in my head is blaring. He’s a womanizer. He only cares about winning You’re from two different worlds. You’ll get your heart broken.
He smiles at me as he gives my hand another squeeze. “You okay?”
I gaze into his eyes and, for the first time since we met, the color looks more like a soft-silver than a steel-gray. I smile as I coil my arms around his firm bicep, squeezing tightly as I lay my head on his shoulder.
I’m in a helicopter, flying above one of the most beautiful islands in the world with Logan fucking Pierce. Fuck the alarm bells. And fuck my stupid rules.
“You said you studied journalism in college. Did you always want to be a journalist?” Logan asks, catching me off my guard.
I pause for a moment before a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. “When I was in college, one of my creative writing teachers asked us to write a short story on the spot and turn it in at the end of class. It had to be a friendship story. She said it could be fiction or memoir. So, I wrote about my childhood best friend, Apple Pie.”
“Is this your way of telling me you were overweight as a child?”
I lightly smack his knee. “Apple Pie was the name of the cat my parents adopted when I was a baby. He died a few months before I graduated high school.”
“Oh. Okay, carry on.”
I let out a wistful sigh. “Anyway, when I got the story back with the teacher’s notes, she said my story brought her to tears and inspired her to make friendship stories a regular assignment for all her classes. That was the moment I realized I might actually be able to make a difference in this world. With my words, I could remind people of their own humanity. Of course, once I graduated from college, reality smacked me in the face when I realized the only company that would hire me without any experience in a dwindling print magazine market was Close-Up. I hated it at first, but eventually my inner perfectionist kicked in and I decided I would be the best damn staff-writer-slash-research-assistant Close-Up had ever seen.”
“Then, you applied for the Open Sky position and I shot you down.”
I look up, and the regret etched in his face makes my heart ache. “I didn’t expect to get the job.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
His expression is fierce now. “Don’t belittle what I did to you, and don’t ever discount your talent.”
I smile, my insides singing as he places another lingering kiss on my cheek.
As we fly over the one-thousand-foot-high Sacred Falls, our pilot informs us the falls are no longer open to hikers or tourists since the tragic landslide of 1999, which left eight people dead. This is one of the things that makes helicopter tours such a huge attraction for Oahu tourists. The falls can only be seen from above.
“So, this area of the island has basically been untouched for almost twenty years,” the pilot concludes.
Logan leans over, sliding the headset aside to expose one of my ears, then he whispers, “I know something else that feels like it’s been untouched for almost twenty years.”
I laugh. “More like twenty minutes. Put your Magnum away or someone’s going to get hurt.”
“I thought you liked it rough.”
I shrug. “That depends. What’s your definition of rough?”
His hand lands on my thigh as he leans in closer, so his lips are brushing against my ear as he speaks. “Your body pressed up against the wall as I tear your clothes off. My teeth sinking into your skin as you cry out for me to fuck you,” he growls as his hand slides farther up my thigh. “Your swollen clit aching to be touched, licked, devoured. You’ll be begging to have my cock nine inches deep inside your throbbing pussy. And how I’ll love to hear you beg.”
A hoarse laugh comes through the headset and my face becomes molten hot as I realize the pilot heard every word of that.
“Sorry!” I shout toward the cockpit and t
he pilot flinches, which only makes me even more embarrassed as I realize that if he heard Logan whispering I definitely didn’t need to shout. “I’m sorry,” I mutter almost to myself as I cover my face in shame.
“It’s okay,” the pilot replies with a chuckle. “It’s not as bad as the couples who argue during the whole ride.”
Once we’re back on solid ground at the heliport, Logan tips the pilot well before we head back toward the Jeep to return to the resort. As the SUV winds through highways and city streets, I don’t see a single bit of it. I spend the whole ride lying back with my head in Logan’s lap as he gazes at me while tracing his fingertips over every feature on my face: the ridge of my brow, the slope of my nose, the swoop of my Cupid’s bow, the edge of my bottom lip.
As he brushes some damp hair off my forehead, I close my eyes and smile. For the first time in years, I feel like I don’t have to face the world alone. At least, not today.
“Do you mind if I shower first?” I ask as we enter our hotel suite.
“We can shower together,” Logan replies without looking up from his phone screen.
While his suggestion is incredibly tempting, it also fills me with panic and shame. Logan is used to dating stunning, long-legged supermodels with perfect skin and luscious locks tumbling over their sharp shoulder blades. I’m five-foot-three with shoulder-length frizzy curls, a smattering of freckles cover my shoulders, the freckles acquired from too many days at the city pool without sunscreen. The scar on my lower-right abdominal area from having my appendix removed is a light-pink, delicately contrasted against my ghost-white skin.
I wear a lot more sunscreen these days.
“I think I can manage on my own,” I call back to him, then I shut myself in the bathroom.
Almost immediately, he knocks on the door.
“What?” I call out, using the T-shirt I just peeled off to cover my breasts, despite the fact that I’m alone in the bathroom and I’m wearing a bra.
“I just got the amendment to your compensation agreement from my lawyer. Do you want to look it over?”
