by L. A. Fiore
“David’s fans are coming to Harrington. Eventually they’re going to put two and two together, that it’s not David living there but Logan.”
“Maybe, but from my experience, the ones hungry for the story are really only interested in the pictures. The stories they make up are whatever will help those pictures sell papers. The person I am is of little consequence to them.”
“Don’t you hate it?”
“Yeah, but I’ve learned to deal. My sculptures are viewed around the world. I have pieces in museums, private collections, there’s even a sculpture in the White House. To have reached that level of success in a field I love, I can endure the bad that comes with the good.”
“I’m sensing a but.”
He glances at me. “I like that you know me well enough to sense the but. But yes, sometimes that bad goes beyond what’s tolerable.”
“Meaning?” And then I answer my own question. “You’ve had crazy fans.”
“A few.”
“Like stalker-crazy fans?”
“Yes.”
Can’t help the tingle of fear that raises the hair on my arms. Could he be worried about a stalker-crazy fan? “How bad?”
“One broke into my house once, slashed some things, took some others. The police arrested her down the street attacking some poor tabloid grunt who got her picture leaving my house. She wasn’t after the picture to save herself, she wanted the picture for her collection.”
“Creepy.”
“And dangerous. Any attention that seems even slightly off, I take very seriously.”
I have the sense there’s more he wants to say, but he decides against it and changes the subject and since the old subject was disturbing, I’m just fine with that. But a kernel of fear has rooted firmly in my gut.
We’re just passing Boston. The leaves on the trees lining the road are all changing colors, a palette of gold, burgundy, and rust. A sign with mile markings for the upcoming towns comes into view and it is then that I know the surprise. I have never in my life had the need to cry because of intense happiness, but I am feeling the need now. Emotion tightens my throat. “You’re taking me to Salem.”
“A family vacation.” He smiles at me with an almost uncharacteristic warmth. “I’m not your family, but I would like to be.”
The words can’t be stopped, rushing up my throat and out of my mouth because every cell of my being is screaming them. “I love you.”
He touches my cheek, wiping the tear away with his thumb. He doesn’t say it back, not with words, but I feel it all the same.
Logan got us a room in the Coach House Inn—a hand-carved mahogany bed, a little sitting area with wingback chairs, and a fireplace combine to send me into movie-quality fantasies. Logan sets our bags near the closet before reaching for a black duffel that he drops on the bed and opens.
I try to reach into his bag and he actually slaps my hand away.
“Patience, Saffron.” This new boyishness about him absolutely charms me. He glances over and grins before he starts unloading the bag. “We have popcorn, I made sure that there was a microwave in the room, Junior Mints, Sour Patch Kids, M&M’s, soda, and wine.”
“Logan . . .”
“I’m not done. As I’ve been instructed, proper movie attire is pajamas. Unfortunately, I own none.”
This I know because the man sleeps in the nude and I have only two words to say about that.
Hell. Yeah.
He then lifts out a pair of black flannel pajama pants from his bag. “It’s the best I could do.”
I’ve always heard guys say it’s more of a turn-on to have a woman scantily clad than completely bare because the imagining makes all the difference. “That should do,” I say with sudden hoarseness. Logan in those, knowing what I know is hiding under them . . . Hell. Yeah.
He puts the candy and drinks on the table in the sitting area before he folds his pajamas and lays them at the base of the bed; I feel a pang of sadness watching him. He turns to me and clearly realizes that something has distressed me, so he walks over and brushes his hand down my cheek.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s not really fair, is it?”
“What’s not fair?”
“When people see you they see this.” My fingers brush along his jaw. “And don’t get me wrong, this is exceptional, but there’s so much more to you than a pretty face, but those groupies of David’s that won’t give you any peace, they only see this.”
“That doesn’t bother me. I actually prefer it. You see the man under the celebrity and you’re the only one that matters.”
We decide to start our adventures in Salem by riding mopeds through town. There’s a place that rents them right near our inn. Reaper is vacationing at Uncle Tommy’s, who will no doubt spoil him, but I do miss him.
I can’t believe Logan not only remembered my story about wishing for a family vacation, but he actually planned one. Walking through graveyards, ghost tours, and haunted houses is so not his thing and yet he’s going to do them with me. I’m not really sure what I did in my life that my karma landed me a man like Logan, but I thank the stars every night for him.
Logan is filling out the paperwork for our mopeds and I’m scoping out the shops because I’ve found I’m a bit of a souvenir junkie. It’s a beautiful autumn day, the air crisp and cool. The tranquility is interrupted when two little girls just down the street from me get their ice cream cones knocked out of their hands by a boy who is as frightening as Scut Farkus from A Christmas Story. The cones sail through the air and crash into a messy blob on the sidewalk. Even from my distance, I can see the tears filling the girls’ eyes. Their parents appear, taking the girls by the hand, leading them away from the boy and to more ice cream.
A dog barks, which captures the demon’s attention and he walks over to the husky, who’s leashed to a bench, and starts antagonizing the poor animal. Thinking of someone doing that to Reaper infuriates me. We all know how this will end. The dog will eventually feel so threatened that he will attack to protect himself, and will end up being put down. That is exactly where the little drama before me is leading.
As I stand there, I’m wondering where his mother is and why the hell she isn’t paying any attention to her kid. He’s captured the attention of pretty much everyone on the street except his own damn mother. I scan the crowd and my eyes land on a woman with the same orange-red hair, flirting like a schoolgirl with Logan; more than likely she’s a David groupie. He’s being nice about it but the back-off vibe is definitely clear. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
A few people seem to have started searching out the owner of the dog. I notice bikers parked across the street. Looking at the leather-clad bodies, the chains, the tattoos, and the hair, I get the glimmer of a wickedly childish plan. To be a part of perhaps the only time in his life where a little jerk like this will have the shit scared out of him.
As I cross the street toward the bikers, their attentions shift from the boy to me. A few even give me a very blatant perusal. My momentum slows with that hard, mean-looking attention. I stop in front of the man who appears to be the leader of the group and, though he isn’t ugly, or as old as I expected, he is scowling. And then I realize he’s scowling at me, so I immediately extend my hand. “Hi. I’m Saffron.”
“Dirk.”
“This is kind of out of the blue, but I noticed you were watching that future felon across the street.”
“Yeah, kid needs a good kick in the ass.”
“I agree. I would hate to see any harm come to that dog because of that little monster, so I had a thought.”
“I’m listening.”
After I share my plan, he throws his blond mane back and howls with laughter. He climbs off his bike. “Sounds like fun, count us in.”
I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am.
Dirk nods at the little bastard across the street. “Any idea where his mom is?”
“Yeah. She’s in t
he shop trying to dry hump my boyfriend.”
This gets more laughter from several of the other bikers. “So we good?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
Crossing the street, I head for the devil’s spawn. I don’t have siblings, but, as I’ve already noted, I have watched more than my fair share of movies and television. It seems like kids at his age react to being asked to stop something in one of only a few ways. I’m banking that he’s going to go with the most obvious reply. Stopping just in front of him, I slip my hands into my pockets before I attempt my best John Wayne impersonation. “I think you best leave that dog alone, kid.”
A chill goes through me at the coldness in his eyes. He curls his lips and practically spits his reply. “Make me.”
Bingo. I take a step closer. “Okay.”
Shock flashes across his face, which turns to fear at the sound of shit-kicking boots thundering behind me. A wall of leather and muscle is starting across the street toward us. Beelzebub’s eyes have widened with fear and his jaw has dropped nearly to the ground.
“My friends are animal lovers. If I were you, I’d run.”
And just like that the kid takes off down the street, leaving a blazing trail in his wake. Applause breaks out. All the clapping and cheering finally stirs the mother from her lascivious plans for Logan and she hurries down the street after her son. Logan joins me just as Dirk and his gang step up on the curb.
One of the old ladies behind Dirk purrs, “Very, very nice.”
She’s eying Logan even though she’s standing with a man who looks very much like the mythical Thor: big and tall with piercing blue eyes that startle a “Likewise” right out of me.
This earns me a hiss from the old lady and a grin and a wink from Thor.
“Dirk, this is Logan.”
“Nice to meet you,” Logan offers as he shakes Dirk’s hand. “I guess I missed all the fun.”
“Yeah, man, but you were too busy with that woman trying to get you to impregnate her.”
A visible shudder goes through Logan as he makes an ick face. “She had nails like talons.”
“Nasty business that. We’re having a clambake later right on the beach. Why don’t you two come?”
Logan glances at me before he says, “We’d like that.”
And we did. We sat around a bonfire, ate clams, drank beer, and then later the guitars came out and Logan drew me up from our spot on the rocks so we could dance under the moon, joined by several of the other couples. Before we left, we gave Dirk our address in Harrington and told him and his crew to stop by whenever they were in the area.
The following morning, Logan and I set off for the beach for the annual sand sculpture competition. I wonder why Chastity never thought to do a sand sculpture competition. Maybe I should put that in the suggestion box, anonymously, of course. When we arrive the contest is well under way and most of the competitors have a fairly discernible sculpture, all but one. The kid is by himself and, though he’s working very hard, there’s no way he’s going to be able to pull it off on his own. He’s young too, maybe eight or nine.
“I wonder where his parents are?” I say this to myself because Logan is no longer at my side, he’s approaching the boy. He stops to chat with him for a few minutes and then he moves to the judges’ table. After a moment, he’s given a number to pin on his shirt before he returns to the boy. It’s adorable watching as Logan listens to his directions before he starts sculpting.
It’s completely an unfair advantage having a master sculptor competing, but watching Logan turn sand and water into a dragon is incredible. The detail is so fine that it looks as if at any moment the dragon will either stand up and fly off or open his mouth and scorch us all with his fire breath.
Logan is so focused, though, that he doesn’t notice the crowd forming around him, but he does stop every now and again and ask the boy for direction to make sure that what he’s creating is what the boy wants. At this point, the boy is so in awe that he can only watch with his little mouth hanging open. Two hours later, the most incredible dragon I’ve ever seen stands before the crowd, but there are just enough childlike components to show that it wasn’t all done by Logan. The judges do their thing and some kids that made a car out of sand win first place, but the boy doesn’t seem to care as he looks in wonder at his dragon.
When Logan starts back up the beach to me, he’s stopped and asked for autographs and photos since people now recognize who he is. He handles the requests with quiet courtesy. Some time later he drops down on the sand next to me and yanks me down so I’m lying flat on my back before he rests his head on my stomach.
“I need a nap.”
“I think you’ve earned one. I love your dragon.”
He eyes me through his lashes. “It’s pretty fucking cool, isn’t it? The kid was okay that it wasn’t going to get judged, he just wanted a wicked dragon. His words.”
Before he settles in for his nap, a woman appears, her head blocking out the sun. Unlike the others who waited a bit of a distance from Logan, this chick moves right up into our personal space as if she has every right to be there.
“You’re David Cambre.”
Logan sits up, game to give her an autograph. In the next minute she’s got her phone out taking our pictures. I feel like I’m in a modeling shoot. Logan jumps to his feet, the girl steps back but she’s still clicking away. Grabbing my hand, he pulls me up against his side, turning me into his chest so the camera doesn’t get my face and moves us away from her at a ground-eating pace.
“Wait until I post these. My friends aren’t going to believe it. Is that your girlfriend? What’s her name?” The chick screams down the beach as she follows after us. What the fuck? “C’mon, what’s her name?”
I can feel every muscle in his body go hard. He’s about to lay into the girl, but she’s saved by one of her friends, who calls her back. At least someone in her company recognizes that she’s acting like an ass.
Her parting words: “Thanks for the pictures, sexy.”
It’s my turn to lay into her, my body is halfway around, but Logan’s hold on me turns to steel. “Let it go, Saffron.”
“Sexy, I’ll give her sexy when I shove my size seven up her ass.” I scream the last part.
Logan’s shoulders are shaking with his laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’d actually like to see that.”
“I’d ruin my shoes.” Now he’s howling with laughter. The sight of him with his head tilted back is magnificent and I am not the only one to think so; there is definite envy in some of the ladies we pass.
“I’m sorry, Saffron.”
“Annoying and rude, ignorant and infuriating, but not a big deal.”
“It’s a fucking invasion of privacy.”
He’s not wrong, but getting upset over some stupid bimbo who doesn’t have the sense God gave a mule is pointless. My arms tighten around his waist. “Let’s go back to the room and fool around.”
“Good plan.”
“So is that what a stalker fan is like?”
“No, she was just a stupid kid, ignorant but harmless.”
That was harmless? Just how far would these stalker fans go to get to him? That question is so disturbing I immediately force it from my head. Now is not the time.
“I don’t want your first vacation ruined by shit like that.”
“Won’t ruin it for me, so don’t let it ruin it for you. Deal?”
It takes him a beat longer to agree but he does, holding me closer and pressing a kiss on my head to seal it. “Deal.”
Yep, I am a very lucky lady.
Looking up at the ceiling, I search for guidance and patience before turning my attention back to the man currently lounging on the bed. I realize he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he’s being extremely difficult in accepting that he’s wrong: totally and completely wrong.
“As I’ve explained, Logan, an Alien will never defeat a Predator in a fair fight
.”
“I disagree. We’re talking acid for blood, Saffron, that’s a pretty significant weapon against any foe. The Predators aren’t immune to it.”
“Yes, this is true, but the Predator is a species born and bred for battle much like the Spartans. The Aliens are just mutant serpents.”
“I’m sorry, but I agree with Tommy on this. The Aliens are serious badasses.”
“You don’t even believe in aliens.”
He shifts so he can rest his head on his hand as a grin turns up his mouth on the one side. “I do, now.”
We’ve watched Alien vs. Predator, but I don’t know how anyone can watch that movie and take from it that the Aliens are cooler than the Predators. I mean, there’s no competition. It’s like comparing Brad Pitt to one of the dudes from The Big Bang Theory. I give up. Trying to make Logan see the error in his thinking is just more than I can handle, especially when he’s lying there with that truly spectacular chest exposed for my viewing pleasure.
Crawling over to him, I straddle his lap as I run my hands down his chest. He’s no longer thinking about Aliens or Predators either.
“There’s a Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. I think we need to check that out.”
He rolls to shift our positions and grins down at me. “We’ll check it out after.”
And then his mouth takes mine. My hands move down that chest, loving the way his muscles respond to my touch. I barely have breath to say, “Too many clothes.”
He’s off me and pulling that flannel down his legs in a flash and I don’t waste any time yanking off my nightgown and slipping my panties off, tossing them on the floor. He grabs me and rolls so I’m straddling him again and I take him in my hand and center him right where he needs to be.
The frenzied rush turns to lazy deliberateness when I slowly sink down onto him. His hold on my thighs is painful as his hips move against mine. My hands come to rest on either side of his head as I move, finding that right spot that makes my toes curl. Logan’s tongue touches my nipple before he pulls it into his mouth. Moving, I guide the neglected breast to his mouth and he sucks on it hard. I feel the orgasm start just as Logan slips his hand between our bodies and hits that spot that sends me over.
