by Anna Durand
Christ, I'd been so wrong about so many things. Sylvia and Ed. Logan. What I wanted.
We all ate lunch at a restaurant near the airport, chatting about nothing much and telling funny stories. Spending even an hour with Sylvia and Ed made me feel...lighter. A weight had lifted off my chest simply because I'd realized, finally, that Rob's parents weren't clinging to the past. Maybe I'd been the one holding on, resisting the chance to move forward into a new and wonderful future. Fear had held me back, fear of loving another man who had a dangerous job and fear of losing Logan the way I'd lost Rob.
Even if Logan and I didn't work out, I owed it to myself to give us a chance. I owed it to Logan too. After all, he'd lifted the bulk of that weight off my chest.
We said goodbye in the restaurant parking lot. Chase hugged me, then he shocked Logan—and me too, for sure—by hugging him.
"Take care of my mom," Chase said. "And make sure she has fun."
"I will," Logan replied. "You have my word."
"Cool."
My son climbed into Sylvia and Ed's SUV.
I watched as the vehicle drove away and waved to Chase. A pang tightened the back of my throat, and tears stung my eyes.
Logan put his arm around my shoulders. "If you've changed your mind about coming with me, I'll understand."
"No, I haven't changed my mind." I wiped my eyes and sucked in a breath, fortifying myself. "It's hard to say goodbye to my baby for so long, that's all. Two months. I know he's fifteen, but still..."
"You'll miss him." Logan gave me a little squeeze. "He'll miss you too."
I gazed up at Logan, marveling at how sensitive and considerate he could be. I probably should've been confused by his frequent shifts between dirty-talking, rough-around-the-edges Logan and the sweet, thoughtful man who wouldn't make a decision without my input. The contradictions didn't bother me, not anymore. Little by little, I was coming to understand him.
And he understood me, more than anyone else ever had.
Logan the sex god I understood. Logan the complicated, real man still presented me with mysteries I intended to solve.
We walked the two blocks back to the airport so we could enjoy the beautiful weather. The sun warmed our faces, and a temperate breeze kissed our skin. By the time we boarded the jet, I had resolved to interrogate Logan, in a polite way, and get to the bottom of the mystery that was Logan the ex-spy, Logan the army intelligence officer, and the most enigmatic part of him too.
Logan the bricklayer.
The two of us settled onto the sofa where earlier Chase had lounged while listening to music on his iPod. He thought I was a fuddy-duddy for making him use an iPod instead of giving him a smartphone. I didn't want my son developing neck or eye problems from staring down at a screen for hours or becoming incapable of communicating face to face because he'd spent too many hours texting.
"What are you thinking about?" Logan asked.
"Oh, just how my son thinks I'm ruining his life by refusing to give him a phone."
"Rae, my cousin Iain's wife, won't let her teenage daughter have a phone either."
I perked up at that revelation. "Really? Here I thought I was the only twenty-first century mom who won't give her kid a smartphone."
"You are not alone. Rae has explained to me more than once that studies have shown using electronic devices rewire children's brains."
"I've met Rae twice, but we didn't get a chance to talk much."
"If you tried to speak to every member of the MacTaggart clan at every gathering, you'd never get any sleep."
"Your family is numerous." I turned partway toward him. "I've been curious about something. Why did you become a bricklayer?"
"I told you. Aidan offered me the job, and after everything I'd experienced in the army and the SIS, I was ready for less stressful work."
"Yeah, I've heard the one-line summary. Now I want the whole story."
He let his head fall back against the sofa and stayed silent for a moment before answering. "It was honest work. I didn't need to lie or worm my way into anyone's trust. I knew what I needed to do every day, and I did it. The physical aspect of the work kept me stimulated, but there's also an analytical side to it. You can't toss a pile of bricks up, slap some mortar on them, and hope the finished wall will stand. There's planning involved."
"You must've liked it, since you stayed in that job for three years."
"I did enjoy it. After a few months, Aidan offered me a promotion. I became manager of the bricklaying part of Aidan's construction projects. I still did hard labor, but I was in charge."
"Everybody had to do your bidding. I can see why you'd like that."
He rolled his head to the side to look at me. "Are you calling me a dictator?"
"No, I'm calling you bossy. In a sexy way, though, like when you tell me what to do in bed."
"You tell me what to do too."
"True." I propped my feet on the table, kicking off my shoes. "The first time we sat here on this sofa, you said filthy things to me."
"And you slapped me."
"You deserved it."
"I suppose I did." He splayed a hand over my thigh. "But you've admitted my filthy mouth gets you excited."
"Mm-hmm." Despite his hand on my thigh making me shiver, I stuck to my resolution to peel back the layers of Logan. "Have you ever been married?"
"No."
"Engaged?"
He compressed his lips. "No."
"Serious relationships?"
"Bod an Donais. Must we have another round of the American Inquisition?"
"Yes. Please."
"At least you said please." His mouth quirked in a sardonic expression. "No serious relationships. I was shy in school, and I was in the army or the SIS for most of my adult life. Not many chances for romance in a war zone. Besides, according to my sisters, lasses find me intimidating. They keep telling me to loosen up and open up. They also say smiling like a hungry lion does not qualify as being friendly."
"I'm familiar with that smile." I traced the seam of his lips with my fingertip. "You don't intimidate me. Your feral smile makes me wet."
He skated his hand up my thigh. "Do you remember what I wanted to do the first time we were on this sofa?"
"Yes." My pulse accelerated as the memory barreled through my mind. Logan had told me he wanted to fuck me on the table. I covered his hand with mine and guided it between my thighs. "What will you do after, when my cream is all over the table?"
He tipped toward me, his gaze glued to mine. "Lick it off."
"That's disgusting." Unlike every other time I'd used that word with him, I didn't sound revolted. The words came out husky.
"I like it when you call me disgusting in that sexy, hungry voice. You turn me into a ravening beast."
"Mm, I love your beastly side."
He gave me a crooked smile. "I suppose that makes you off your head, which makes you the perfect woman for me."
For the first time since I'd met Logan, I wasn't afraid to speak the truth. "I think you, Logan MacTaggart, just might be the perfect man for me."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Logan
I slouched on the sofa with my feet on the floor, legs spread and trousers hanging wide open, while Serena knelt between my thighs. Her attention was riveted to my cock. Though it was limp, as spent as I was by all the things we'd done to each other over the past hour, she seemed determined to get me hard again.
Serena lowered her mouth toward my cock, licking her lips.
"That's enough," I said, cupping her cheek. "We're on our way to an important business meeting. If you do that again, I'll be useless."
"I like you useless. It means you're relaxed and satisfied."
"Come up here." I patted the cushion beside me. "I'm in the mood to hold your succulent body against me."
She climbed onto the sofa and cuddled up under my arm, her cheek on my shoulder.
I'd ne
ver been one for cuddling, but with Serena, I liked the way it felt to hold her close. The warmth of her supple, inviting body gave me one of those strange sensations in my chest. Not pressure. Not pain. It was more...tender.
Logan MacTaggart having tender feelings? No one would believe it.
"What are you thinking?" Serena asked.
"I'm musing about what an incredible lover you are."
"Bullshit." She traced a line across my forehead. "You've got the crinkle up here that means you're thinking serious thoughts."
A week ago, I would've made a sarcastic comment and offered her a poke. Today, I had the oddest inclination to tell her the truth. "I was wondering what my friends and family might say about me now. I've gone soft in the head and in the heart—for you."
She looked surprised, but only for a moment. Then she smiled with a sweetness that triggered a new sensation in my chest, a pressure that hit me hard but quickly dissolved into something gentler. Her voice was hushed when she said, "I've gone soft for you too."
I decided that was as close as we'd get to expressing our feelings, at least for today. I wasn't at all sure I understood my feelings for her yet, but I knew they wouldn't fade away. They would only grow stronger.
She was watching me again, the way she did whenever she tried to understand me.
"Don't do that," I said.
She pretended to have no idea what I meant. "Do what?"
"You're trying to decipher me. Forget it. I'm indecipherable."
"Nobody is indecipherable."
"You haven't met Alex yet."
"Hmm." She trailed her finger down the bridge of my nose. "Maybe Alex is a mystery, but you are not. You're like that World War II code the Germans had, tough to crack without the right equipment. But I've got the machine that decodes you, Logan MacTaggart." She tapped her temple. "It's right here. Your days as a mystery man are over."
"You are the most intelligent woman I've ever met, so I'll accept that you might crack my code."
"Thank you."
"I'm solving your mysteries too."
She slid her finger down to my lips, her expression turning serious. "I think you might be doing that."
The pilot's voice came over the intercom system. "We'll be landing in a few minutes, Mr. MacTaggart."
I thanked him, even though I had no idea if the man could hear me. I'd never thought about whether the intercom was two-way.
Serena and I lay there on the sofa until the jet touched down, then we got up and reassembled our clothes. Her dress and underwear had wound up lumped on a chair. I didn't remember which of us had tossed them there. I remembered vividly unbuttoning her dress with my teeth and opening her bra the same way. I loved that she'd worn a bra with the clasps in the front. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to pluck those tiny metal hooks apart with my teeth and hear her small gasps every time I did.
"Stop that," she said, though I could tell she didn't mean it. "We are not having sex again until we get to wherever it is we're sleeping tonight."
"Alex will invite us to stay at his house. It's rather large."
"You mentioned he's rich. Is his house a mansion?"
I shrugged, tucking in my shirt.
She rolled her eyes exactly the way her son often did. "You are always so helpful with the details."
Crouching to put my shoes on gave me an excuse not to respond. I didn't like talking about Alex Thorne with Serena. Aye, he was rich. And good-looking. And very outgoing. Women loved him. I did not want Serena to be seduced by his charming-rogue persona.
That wouldn't happen. She was with me.
But I didn't have Alex's easy charm. Maybe sleazy was a better term for it. I groaned inwardly. No, he wasn't sleazy. If he were, I wouldn't be worrying he might sweep Serena off her feet.
"What are you fretting about now?" she asked. "The crinkle is back."
"I'm wondering if Alex is going to tell us the whole truth. It seems unlikely, but there's always a chance Hell will freeze up today."
"That's not what you're really worrying about."
Part of me liked that she understood me so well, but another part wished she'd stop analyzing me.
I made a show of scanning the view out the window, as if I needed to hunt for villains out there, anything to avoid looking at Serena. "Women love Alex. That's how he got his hooks into Catriona, she fell for his roguish persona. He has money and charm and—"
Serena laughed like I'd told a good joke. "That's adorable, Logan."
"What is?"
"You're jealous of Alex because you think I'll fall under his spell." She looped her arms around my neck. "There's no chance of that. I'm completely enthralled by you."
"Of course you are. I've known that since the day I fucked you in the copy room."
"You switch from feeling insecure to being arrogant faster than any human being I've ever met."
"I love to be the best."
She smacked my erse, took my hand, and led me out of the jet.
A Mercedes-Benz waited on the tarmac for us. The driver, a stern-faced gent dressed in a black suit, held the door for us while we got inside. I noticed the familiar bulge under his jacket. He was carrying a gun.
"Uh-oh," Serena said once our driver had shut the door. "The crinkle is deeper. What's up?"
"The driver has a gun." I shifted position but couldn't quite get comfortable despite the plush cushioning of the leather seat. "I suspected it before, but now I'm sure. Alex has kept important facts from us."
"Maybe he always has bodyguards. If he's as shady as you say, he might be security conscious."
"We'll see. One way or another, he is going to tell me the whole story before I agree to take this job."
"Are you going to scare the shit out of him the way you did with that numbskull in the hotel elevator?"
"No. All I have to do is threaten to tell Catriona where he is."
"He's afraid of her? Jeez, what kind of history do they have?"
"I wouldn't say he's afraid of Cat." I stretched my legs out and crossed my ankles. "But Cat did swear vengeance if she ever saw him again. This was eleven years ago. Still, she seems to hold a permanent grudge against Alex. The lass is a spitfire, so who knows what she might do to him."
"Catriona seems like such a sweet person."
"She is, most of the time." I sighed, remembering all the comments Catriona had made about Alex over the years. Nothing concrete, but enough to convince me he'd hurt her badly. "I don't know what happened between Alex and Cat, but she despises him. Not like you thought you hated me, but in a much fiercer way."
"You know what that means."
"She hates him, that's what it means."
"Nope." Serena pressed her lips to mine. "We thought we hated each other, but really, we were fighting our attraction and the possibility of romance. Catriona probably thinks she hates Alex because he hurt her, but she still loves him. It can be galling to want someone who pisses you off."
"You might be onto something."
Our car wended its way down roads less and less populated with houses, heading into the woods of the Montana mountains toward Alex's home. For once, I wasn't contemplating Serena and our fledgling relationship. Instead, I pondered what might've happened between Alex and Cat.
What would she do if she ever saw him again?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Serena
After what seemed like hours but had been thirty-two minutes according to my phone, our car turned down a gravel driveway hemmed in by tall trees. After several minutes more, the woods opened to reveal a structure.
I elbowed Logan. "You rat. That's a mansion by anyone's standards, and you acted like you had no idea how huge Alex's house is."
"Just keeping up my indecipherable front."
The house stretched across the length of a football field, by my guesstimate, and it hunkered three stories high. The facade seemed Victorian, but I was no expert. The su
n glinted off the many windows, each one featuring ornate ironwork. At least that's what it looked like as our car pulled into the semicircular drive, stopping directly in front of the main doors. Yeah, the house had double doors at the main entrance. Massive, ornate wooden slabs.
A set of brick steps led up to the doors.
Our driver, who had the face and demeanor of a bulldog, opened the car door for us.
Logan and I mounted the steps to the doors that towered higher than Logan. And he was no shrimp.
The doors swung inward, parting to reveal a gray-haired man who was offering us a polite smile.
"Welcome to Moirai House," he said in his prim British accent, waving for us to enter. "Mr. Thorne is waiting for you in the study. My name is Reginald. Follow me, please."
Logan had reverted to his relaxed but alert and slightly dangerous mode. "Thank you, Reginald."
Something about the butler, or whatever he was, bothered me. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I got the impression Logan noticed it too.
Reginald guided us through a foyer and down a hallway, veering toward a set of less massive wooden doors. He swung the doors inward and waved for us to enter.
We walked into a room lined with wooden shelves that were stuffed with books, many of which looked old, possibly even antique. Two tall windows interrupted the bookshelves and bathed the space in muted sunshine. At the room's center hulked a large but tasteful mahogany desk with a solitary lamp sitting on its surface, casting its warm glow throughout the room. Papers and pens and other office items lay on the desk, everything neatly arranged. But it wasn't the stuff on the desk that grabbed my attention.
It was the man seated in a high-backed, fancily upholstered leather chair.
The desk separated us from him. He had his eyes closed and his chair turned sideways to the desk, but he didn't move or in any way acknowledge our arrival.
"Is he asleep?" I whispered to Logan.
"No, he is not asleep," the man behind the desk said in a husky British accent. "He's thinking."
Logan surveyed the room with his gaze, the way he always did when entering a new situation. "Scheming is more like it. Alex Thorne is always plotting something."
