“Yes, but the second I feel you getting a boner— See, there it is!”
He laughed. “Not my fault. You summoned him.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Your ass did. He’s rather fond of it.”
“Well, he needs to let me finish what I’m doing,” she retorted, pushing back against him to shove him away.
He groaned. “Ah, hell, you just made him hornier.”
She laughed, rinsing off the dishes and placing them on the counter to dry. “You need a dish rack.”
“Nah. I have a cleaning lady who takes care of my dishes.”
“A cleaning lady, huh? No wonder your place is spotless.”
“What’re you trying to say? You don’t think I’m capable of keeping a clean house?”
She glanced back at him. “Are you?”
His lips twitched. “I plead the Fifth.”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t think so.”
He playfully swatted her butt.
She laughed and wiggled her way past him, clapping her hands briskly as she headed out of the kitchen. “Vámonos! Let’s go!”
Grinning from ear to ear, he followed her to the bedroom, where he put on a pair of Timbs while she tucked her tiny feet into calf-length boots.
He watched her, his grin softening. “What do you want for dinner tonight? I was thinking about taking you to my favorite Cuban restaurant.” He paused. “Or we can have the food delivered. Whichever you prefer.”
“Delivery sounds good.” She gave him a winsome smile. “It’s supposed to be chilly tonight. We can eat by the fire.”
Warmth spread through his chest. “It’s a date.”
She beamed, her pleasure mingled with relief. She was the first woman he’d ever met who preferred not to be seen in public with him. He didn’t take it personal.
They rode the elevator down to the underground parking garage, where her car occupied a spot in his private carport. Before she could open her door, he swooped in for a kiss that left them both breathless.
He never wanted another woman in his bed. Jupiter was the best lover he’d ever had. Hands down. No debate.
And best of all, she loved him. Loved him in a way that was gloriously pure and beautiful. Loved him in a way he’d never been loved before.
He wasn’t ever letting her go. Ever.
* * *
As soon as he returned home from visiting Davion that afternoon, he went to see the concierge about getting a special keycard for Jupiter.
When he stepped off the elevator and started across the marbled lobby, he saw a man standing by the front desk.
His blood ran cold in his veins.
He recognized the man.
It was his father—no, scratch that.
It was his long-lost sperm donor.
Lucien Brassard.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LOGAN
* * *
The son of a bitch stared at Logan for a long suspended moment.
Then he smiled ever so slightly and started walking toward him. “Hello, Logan.”
Logan just stood there, his heart ramming violently against his ribs.
No one would have ever guessed that he and Lucien Brassard were father and son. Lucien was tall and good-looking, but the resemblance ended there. He was a ginger, every strand of thick red hair meticulously trimmed. He had deep green eyes set in a perfectly tanned face. He appeared to be in his late forties and wore a custom-tailored gray suit with elegant Italian loafers.
He stopped about two feet away and slid his hands into the front pockets of his expensive pants, calmly studying Logan. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”
Logan just gave him a hard stare.
Lucien offered a small smile. “I suppose—”
“What the fuck do you want?” Logan growled.
“I was hoping we could talk.” Lucien glanced around the lobby. “In private.”
Logan raked him with a look of utter contempt. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you, motherfucker.”
“Then let me do the talking,” Lucien said evenly.
“Why the hell should I give a damn about anything you have to say?”
“You shouldn’t,” Lucien acknowledged. “But we both know you do.”
“You don’t know shit,” Logan snarled.
“I know more than you think.”
Logan glared at him, his fists balling and releasing at his sides.
Lucien lifted his chin, his eyes filled with steely resolve. “I’m not leaving until we talk. Preferably without an audience.”
Logan glanced across the lobby. The doorman at the front desk was scrolling through his phone, pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation. He was subbing for the regular doorman who was on vacation. Logan didn’t know this guy, so there was no telling whether or not he could be discreet.
He clenched his jaw, frustration burning in his gut. The last thing he needed was for his family drama to be splashed across the tabloids and gossip blogs. With his team heading into the playoffs, he couldn’t afford any messy distractions off the ice. He’d already been warned to keep his fucked-up personal life in check.
After a long hesitation, he gave his father a curt nod and stalked off toward the bank of elevators. Lucien followed him, watching as he used his keycard to summon the private elevator that was reserved for him and his neighbor on the top floor.
When the elevator arrived, he and Lucien boarded in stone-cold silence and retreated to opposite sides.
Folding his arms across his chest, Logan propped his shoulder against the wall and raked his eyes over his father as if he were a steaming pile of dog shit. Lucien’s grooming was impeccable, right down to the perfect haircut and manicured fingernails buffed to a shine. Everything about him screamed rich, entitled douchebag. Which he was.
Pretending not to notice his son’s scathing perusal, Lucien stared up at the ascending floor numbers as they lit up in slow succession.
When the elevator reached the top floor, Logan got off and led the way across a private lobby to his penthouse. He unlocked the door and stepped into the two-story foyer, his father following behind him.
Logan didn’t offer him a drink or a seat. The bastard didn’t deserve the courtesy of social niceties. He’d be lucky if Logan didn’t toss him out the fucking window.
Lucien walked halfway across the living room and then turned to stare fixedly at Logan, studying his face. “You look just like her. Same black hair and dark eyes.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “Your mother was the most beautiful—”
“Don’t talk to me about her!” Logan roared. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
“I was just—”
Logan took a threatening step toward his father and watched him back up, as if he were retreating from a savage predator. The flicker of fear in his eyes gave Logan no satisfaction.
Lucien put his hands up. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“No?” Logan challenged scornfully. “You show up out of the clear blue one day and demand an audience with the son you’ve never acknowledged or claimed. But you expect me to believe you’re not here to cause trouble?”
Lucien held his hostile gaze for a long moment. “I just want to talk, Logan.”
“You want to talk?” Logan plopped down on the couch, draped his arms across the back and glared furiously at his father. “Talk.”
Lucien’s eyes moved around the expansive living area, taking in every detail. “Nice place.” He smiled approvingly, the perfect white of his teeth shining like a bar of light. “You’ve done very well for yourself.”
“No fucking thanks to you,” Logan said coldly.
“No. I suppose not.” Dipping his hands in his pockets again, Lucien moved toward the wall of windows and stared outside. “I will say…it’s good to see that my investment paid off.”
Logan went still, his eyes narrowing as he stared intently at his father. “What the hell are you talking about? What inve
stment?”
Lucien turned from the windows to meet his suspicious gaze. “Not many kids have the resources to play an exorbitantly expensive sport like hockey.” He paused. “Who do you think sponsored you all those years?”
As the meaning of his words registered, Logan felt the blood drain from his head. He stared at his father, shaking his head slowly.
“No,” he whispered in disbelief. “He would have told me—”
“He didn’t know. I went through a third party to get the funds to you. All Mr. Tavárez knew was that you had a generous benefactor who wished to remain anonymous.” Lucien paused, observing Logan’s stunned and staring eyes. “I wanted it that way.”
Logan was so furious he thought his head would explode. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Lucien watched him with the barest hint of satisfaction.
Livid with rage, Logan lunged to his feet and stalked down the hall to his library, where he grabbed his checkbook and wrote out a check for five million dollars.
He stormed back into the living room and thrust the check at his father. “Here’s your repayment. With interest.”
Lucien glanced down at the check, but made no move to reach for it.
“Take it,” Logan snapped.
“No.”
“Take it!”
His father shook his head. “I don’t want your money.”
“AND I DIDN’T WANT YOURS!” Logan exploded.
Lucien flinched in the face of his fury. “You had raw talent, Logan. I didn’t want you to be robbed of the opportunity to reach your full potential.”
Logan stared at him, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “What did you say?”
Hearing the menace in his tone, Lucien swallowed nervously. “I wanted—”
“You abominable son of a bitch!” Logan roared furiously in his face. “What gives you the right to come slithering into my life after all these years? You think I owe you something just because you threw some coins my way in a pathetic attempt to compensate for your absence? You think I should be grateful to you? I was an orphan, a fucking ward of the state. I spent years bouncing between group homes and juvie halls. I got the shit beat out of me until I learned to fight back. By the time I was ten years old, I had a fucking rap sheet! You knew all that, and it still wasn’t enough to make you man up and come get me. Instead you cowered in the shadows, assuaging your conscience by anonymously sending donations so I could play hockey.” Logan sneered contemptuously. “Fuck you and your donations. I needed a father, not some spineless deadbeat with a fat wallet.”
Lucien’s face was taut and pale, his lips compressed into a thin line.
Logan had never despised anyone as much as he despised this man. It was all he could do not to spit in his face—or worse.
He thrust the check out again. “Take the money,” he bit out. “I refuse to owe you one damn cent.”
Lucien looked down at the check. “The fact that you can write a check for this amount without batting an eye makes me proud.”
“FUCK YOU!” Logan thundered. “I don’t need you to be proud of me! I worked my ass off to get where I am! You had nothing to do with it, you understand? You don’t deserve a single ounce of credit for anything I’ve accomplished!” He threw the check at Lucien. “Now take the money and get the fuck out!”
The check fluttered to the floor, untouched.
Logan glared at his father, jaw clenched tight. “Take it and go.”
A muscle ticked in Lucien’s temple as he stared back at Logan. After another moment, he lowered himself into an elegant crouch, picked up the check and slowly stood. Lifting his eyes to Logan’s, he deliberately ripped up the check and dropped the pieces on the table next to him.
“I don’t need or want your money, Logan,” he said in a quiet tone.
Logan narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Then what the hell do you want?”
Lucien met his gaze straight on. “I want to get to know my son.”
“Your son,” Logan spat the words at him. “You’ve denied my existence for twenty-five years. Fuck you. I’m not your son, and you damn sure aren’t my father.”
Lucien’s nostrils flared with anger. “I had a paternity test done when you were born. I assure you, Logan, you are very much my son—”
“But you’re not my father! Don’t you get it? Being a father takes more than donating DNA! Santino Tavárez and I don’t share a drop of blood, but he’s been more of a father to me than you will ever be!”
Lucien flinched at his words. “There are things you don’t understand. I was engaged to someone else when I met your mother. I would have lost my inheritance if I’d broken the engagement. And then what good would I have been to—”
“ENOUGH!” Logan erupted with deadly fury. “Not another fucking word, or so help me God I will kill you with my bare hands.”
Lucien swallowed nervously.
Seething with rage, Logan stalked over to the windows and glared outside at the deceptively bright day. The happiness he’d felt just half an hour ago was crumbling around him. He should have known it wouldn’t last. Nothing good ever did.
Lucien said quietly, “There must be some part of you that wants to connect with your fam—”
“There isn’t.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” Lucien paused. “I know you came to see me that day.”
Logan immediately tensed.
“You were seventeen years old, the junior hockey sensation of Canada. Everyone in Toronto was raving about you and praying that you would be drafted by the Maple Leafs. I watched all of your games, didn’t miss a single one. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I was proud of you. Fiercely proud. You had beaten the odds with the same iron will and fortitude that brought your great-grandfather from the shores of Belgium to Canada. I watched you, Logan, and there was no mistaking that you’re a Brassard through and through.”
Lucien paused, his voice quieting. “I was in a meeting the day you showed up to see me. I came out of my office just in time to watch you walk out the door. I can’t tell you how many times I had envisioned the day when we would finally meet face to face. Unfortunately, when that day came, I found myself paralyzed with indecision. I didn’t know whether to run after you or let you go.” He paused and audibly swallowed. “Ultimately, I decided it was best for me to stay out of your life. You see, Logan, you were seizing your destiny. You were on a path to greatness, and I didn’t want to get in your way.”
When Lucien finished speaking, Logan turned very slowly from the window, lifted his hands and did a slow clap.
Lucien looked startled.
“Bravo. That was beautiful. Really touching. Truly. I’m almost in tears over here.” A derisive smirk curled Logan’s lips. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to rush into your arms, call you ‘Dad’ and tell you all is forgiven? Is that what you were expecting?”
Lucien’s mouth tightened, humiliation flaring in his eyes.
“Oh wow. That is what you were expecting.” Logan shook his head, his expression hardening with contempt. “I’ve got news for you, old man. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a pretty speech to make me forgive and forget what an unconscionable, scum-sucking bastard you were to my mother and me.”
Lucien rubbed an unsteady hand over his jaw and nodded slowly. “I don’t expect you to forgive—”
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t seeking forgiveness.”
Lucien stared at him for a long moment without speaking.
Logan waited, leaning back against the window with his arms folded across his chest.
“When I learned that your mother had…given you up—”
“She didn’t give me up! She deserted me at a fucking casino! You know why? Because you forced her to be a single parent and she couldn’t handle it!”
His father swallowed visibly. “When I learned what she’d done, I was…stunned.”
Logan gave a harsh snort. “S
ure you were.”
“I was. Never in a million years did I imagine…” He trailed off as Logan pushed away from the window and started stalking toward him.
“Where are you going with all this?” Logan said in a low growl.
“I’m trying to tell you,” Lucien said, taking a cautious step backward. “After I learned that you were in foster care, I had a private investigator track your mother down.”
Logan stopped and stared at him, afraid to ask but knowing he had to. “Do you know where she is?”
His father looked at him without answering.
“Where did she go?” Logan persisted. “When she left me all those years ago, where the hell did she go?”
It was a long time before his father spoke. “She went to Argentina.”
Logan felt the floor tilt beneath his feet, the words hitting him like a semi truck. He must have swayed a little because his father took a concerned step forward.
Logan shook his head, warning him off. Then he leaned back against the table behind him and closed his eyes, trying to regain his balance.
“Logan—”
“I had a vision about her.” His voice was a raw whisper. “She was standing at a bus stop. She had on her old cocktail waitress uniform and…she was looking right at me. But when I went after her…she disappeared.”
There was silence. He could feel his father watching him, pitying him.
“Is she…” He managed a painful swallow and tried again. “Is she dead?”
Another excruciatingly long pause.
“Yes.”
Logan didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until he heard himself gasping for air, his lungs filling and contracting.
How did she die? When???
The questions clawed at his insides, burned in his throat. But he wouldn’t give voice to the words. He couldn’t.
He stood on trembling legs and turned away from his father, gripping the edge of the table so hard he thought he would break off a piece. His knuckles were white as chalk.
“Logan—”
“Get out.” His voice was low and hard. “Get the hell out and don’t ever come back. If you come anywhere near me again, I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”
Sin Bin Page 45
